Play The Field.

The next day dawned bright and early for both Frank and I. At nine o'clock in the morning, we were already up and watching television, cereal bowls filled to the brim with Cap'n Crunch carefully balanced on our laps. Frank's was gone within mere minutes, while I ate mine so slowly it ended up going soggy. Frank always ate ravenously whenever he was over, but I just figured he had a big appetite like Joey; he'd been known to eat his and Gerard's portions of supper when he was over.

Besides the quiet murmur of our television, our house was nearly completely silent. Dad had already left for work, nearly three hours earlier, and Mom was probably still dreaming of the perfect kitchen. As for Joey and Gerard, there was no chance in hell that they were getting up before noon, so at least they wouldn't be around for a bit.

At nearly ten thirty, my mom came downstairs, her hair a mess and her pink terrycloth robe draped on her frame. That word, that horrible sounding word, was still implanted in my memory and it was almost excruciating not knowing what it meant. However, until my mother had had a glass of coffee, there was no way in hell I'd be able to get a straight answer out of her.

So, I sat impatiently and tried to focus on the television. For some reason, Frank wasn't his usual talkative self; he was just lying on the couch, legs tucked up to his chest. He smiled reassuringly at me every few moments but I could see his eyes constantly flickering over to the uncovered window, where his house, cold and silent, was clearly visible. It was obvious that he didn't want to go home, but he couldn't stay here all day; his mother was sure to disapprove of that.

After another few minutes, my mother joined us in the living room, looking a lot more perky. Her eyes were brighter and she was smiling widely, still holding her coffee mug in her hand.

"Good morning boys," she said, taking another sip and glancing at the show we were watching. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not too long Mrs. Way," Frank replied, looking over at her with an actual smile. "Only since the big hand was pointing at the nine."

"Mom," I said, interrupting before anything else was said, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure honey." She put down her mug and pulled me up from the floor onto her lap, bouncing me slightly on her knee. "What is it munchkin?"

"Uhm... do you know what the word fag means?" I asked in a voice barely above a whisper, staring down at my lap the entire time. As soon as the word left my mouth, I could feel her stiffen up beneath me and a quick glance at her face revealed that she looked absolutely horrified.

"Mikey, where did you hear that word?" she asked slowly and deliberately, carefully measuring each syllable. At the other end of the couch, Frank sat up and looked right at me. There was no anger, shock or horror in his eyes; simply curiosity. I guess he hadn't heard it before either.

"I heard Joey say it last night... he said Frankie and I were gonna be fags when we grew up," I answered, swallowing the lump in my throat. Although I knew lying was bad, telling the truth in this situation just didn't seem right. "What was he talking about?"

"That is a very, very horrible word Mikey and I don't want you to ever say it again, okay? The same goes for you Frank," she added, lightly pushing me off her lap and standing up. By now, any faint traces of her lack of sleep had completely disappeared; for lack of a better word, she looked pissed.

"Mommy, where are you going?" I asked, as she headed towards the hallway.

"I'm going to have a talk with Joey about his language." I instinctively slid down the couch towards Frank, leaning my head on his shoulder. Only seconds later, I heard a door open down the hallway and the yelling began.

"Nathan Jordison!" I immediately winced; although Nathan was his real name, Joey never went by it, even at school. My mom really must have been upset. "We need to have a talk about the kind of language you are using."

After that, I kind of stopped listening and just stared aimlessly at the wall, trying to block out the angry voices in the background. Frank's hand was resting on my shoulder, absently playing with my hair, which calmed me down a bit. It amazed me that even so young, Frank always knew just what to do to make me feel better.

After only a few minutes, I could hear someone stomping down the hallway and I briefly caught a glimpse of Joey's long hair and orange jacket as he breezed past the living room before crashing through the front door, slamming it so hard I could feel the vibrations on the couch. Gerard and my mother were still fighting in the background and I could feel hot tears practically cascading down my cheeks.

I hated conflict and I absolutely despised people yelling at each other. It never failed to upset me and this was certainly no exception; it was my fault that I'd made Gerard angry and my mother upset. I'd only wanted to ask a simple question, not start an all out war.

Mom came back into the living room a few minutes later, her eyes red once again. From Gerard's room there was nothing but silence and the occasional not so muffled curse. Once he found out that it was inadvertently my fault that Joey had taken off, if he didn't already know, I was in for a pounding.

"Frankie, maybe it's time you go home," Mom whispered, running a hand through her frizzy hair. "Mikey will walk you across." We silently untangled ourselves and headed back to my room to gather up his clothes and costume from the night before. In there, Gerard was a lot clearer and it was quite evident that he was punching the wall; when I laid my ear against the cool paint, I could feel the impact on the other side.

"This is all my fault!" I wailed, sitting down on the edge of my bed and bringing my knees up to my chest. Frank was immediately by my side, hugging me tightly like I always hugged him when he was upset.

"It's not your fault Mikey. You just wanted to know what the word meant. I don't even know what it means," he said, rocking us back and forth slightly. He lightly pressed a kiss to my cheek before unwrapping his arms and tugging me to my feet. Neither of us bothered changing into actual clothing for the brief walk over; after all, it was still early Saturday morning. Who really expected two six year olds to be dressed?

When we reached his doorstep, Frank hugged me one more time and just as his front door opened to reveal his slightly red faced mother standing just beyond the threshold, he kissed me one more time.

"Hello Mrs. Iero," I muttered, watching as Frank slipped past her and inside. She only nodded curtly and slammed the door, plunging her house into silence once again. Once I got back to mine, ours was quiet as well; the television was turned off and from the looks of things, Mom had retired back to her bedroom. As I approached my room, I noticed something seemed off; there was no longer any kind of noise coming from Gerard's room. I would have figured that he would still be raving mad, but maybe he'd went back to bed too. It was early for him after all.

However, when my guard was down, he struck. The instant I stepped into my doorway, he stepped out from behind it and slammed my door shut, hitting me in the face and breaking my glasses beyond repair. That wasn't all that hurt though; I could hear a loud crunch and out of nowhere, blinding pain shot through my nose and into my skull, making me drop to my knees, shrieking in agony. When the bedroom door opened again, it had blood on it's exterior.

"Serves you right," Gerard muttered, stepping over me and ducking back into his room just as my mother came by my side, screaming as she saw the state I was in.

I never should have told, but even though I didn't find my answer out that day... it wasn't even a week later that I learned what I'd been looking for.