Play The Field.

You know, most people say that on the morning of an event that completely changes their lives, they just knew it was going to happen. Like, they just had this premonition or feeling in their stomach that said to them, 'today, something very bad is going to happen to you.'

When I was six years old, I didn't experience anything like this. When I woke up on the morning that everything in the house across the street just exploded, I felt completely fine actually. My stomach wasn't queasy, my head wasn't throbbing and I didn't have an "eerie" sense that something was about to happen.

No, to be honest, I was just excited that, for the first time in our friendship, I was going to spend the day at Frank's house, instead of the other way around.

I wasn't actually allowed to go over until after one; Frank and his family had went to visit Frank's aunt the previous night and they would be getting back around that time. So, for the four hours I had to wait, I ended up hanging out with Joey and Gerard in the living room while Mom went on a mission to clean our house from top to bottom.

Neither Gerard or Joey seemed to mind having me around; in fact, they actually included me in their conversations, instead of pretending like I wasn't there. A week ago, I would have expected them to do the latter but since the hospital incident, Gerard had changed once again, although this time, he had become a lot more nicer. By no means was he as nice as the previous year, when he helped me with every thing I asked of him, but he was no longer sending me death glares every time we locked eyes. Joey was acting like usual, saying things I didn't understand before bursting out into raucous laughter, socking me lightly on the arm.

I just smiled because to be honest, I liked the mood like this. The tension between everyone had seemingly vanished overnight.

After awhile of just watching cartoons, I began to get fidgety. Gerard was lying on the floor, propped up on his elbow while Joey was sprawled across the couch, his feet only an inch or so away from my leg. They both seemed perfectly content to be lazy all day and just tell jokes, but I wasn't. Being around Joey only reminded me of my question that had never been resolved and that had started the huge fight.

What's a fag?

After awhile, I simply couldn't take the uncertainty anymore. From how my mother had reacted and the insanity that ensued afterwards, I knew that, at least by an adult's standards, the word meant something rude and filthy. However, a child's standards are much different than that of an adult or even a teenager. They find different things humorous, think some words or concepts aren't nearly as dirty as you might think when you're older. So I wanted the answer from either my brother or his friend. I wanted to know what they thought of the word.

"Hey Joey, can I ask you a question?" I scooted up and sat on his outstretched legs, wriggling around slightly to get comfy; he was one bony kid.

"Sure Mikey, go right ahead," he answered, turning his head away from the television to look at me. For a few seconds I simply gnawed on my lip, trying to figure out the best way to word my question in a way that wouldn't be offending or rude. Finally, I just threw it out there, hoping for the best.

"What's a fag?" I asked quickly, looking down at the floor the entire time. My cheeks felt like they'd warmed up and I knew that I was probably blushing. After a few seconds of silence where I was almost positive that someone was gonna pummel me, Joey spoke once again.

"It's just a boy that likes other boys," he answered, shrugging and turning back towards the television. "Why you wanna know?"

"No reason, just curious." I moved back off his legs and returned to my former spot, pondering what he'd said in my head. My mother's reaction seemed like it had been a tad exaggerated; what Joey had said didn't sound like a bad thing at all. I was a boy and I liked Frank, so did that mean I was a fag?

What I couldn't comprehend however was why the word sounded so awful. There was just something about it that made it more than just a word, something that made it bad. But I couldn't figure out what it was; after all, at the age of six, when someone says the word like, you usually don't think they mean 'more than a friend.'

"Joey, are you a fag?" I asked, wincing as the word rolled off my tongue. He shrugged again, his eyes still on the cartoon currently playing.

"I don't know Mikes," he said. "I'm too young to know."

This only made me more confused than ever but I didn't put an exceptional amount of thought into the situation. I was too excited that I had only a few hours left until Frank was going to be home and I'd be able to see my best friend again.

**************************************************************************

Half an hour before Frank was due to come home, I positioned myself on the sill of our living room window, letting the curtain dangle over me so that only my feet were visible to Joey and Gerard, who hadn't moved from their spots. The minutes seemed to take eons to pass; every time I poked my head out to glance at the clock that hung above our television, it appeared to have stayed in the same spot.

At about ten minutes after one, just when my young mind was giving up hope on Frank ever coming home, I caught a quiet murmur coming up our road from the left, a sound that happened so frequent most people tuned it out. However, the sound of a car going by has always affected me; maybe because I associated it with the unpleasant events that occurred that day.

I don't know, I'm no shrink, although I've been told I could use one.

The instant that the blue sedan belonging to Frank's mother pulled into their driveway, I was up and out the door, only stopping to jam my feet into my Velcro sneakers. By the time I reached the sidewalk, he had already met me halfway, grin stretched from ear to ear.

"Hi Frankie!" I yelled, despite him being a mere foot or so in front of me. "Did you have fun at your aunt's?"

"Eww, no," he said, making me giggle loudly. "My aunt is fat and her whole house smells like cats. I don't know how my mom is her sister. My mom's real pretty, isn't she?"

"Yep!" I hated lying to my friend but there was no way I could disagree with him; that would just be mean, even if it was the truth. Frank's mom looked like she had been pretty at one point in time, but that time had passed her by, ruining her potential. The hair that must have been luxurious and coal black at one point was now limp and streaked with gray, it's texture equivalent to straw. Her eyes were always red at the corner with purple bags under them, as if she'd messed up on her makeup horribly and on top of it all, wrinkles were starting to form at the corner of her mouth, giving her a permanent frown.

Sure, I didn't think she was pretty, but I wasn't about to hurt Frank's feelings. By this point, he had grabbed my hand and dragged me back across the road towards his house, where his father was still pulling bags out of the trunk. His mother had already disappeared, presumably inside, which was where Frank ended up pulling me.

My suspicions were right; Linda was on the living room couch with a glass filled with dark liquid and ice cubes in her hand. Even as we walked by, she took a giant gulp from it, downing almost half in one go. Frank merely smiled sadly and continued pulling me swiftly down the main hallway, barely giving me a chance to glimpse any other rooms in his house. After taking a right, the hallway abruptly ended with a door that was half open, with a sweater hanging off the doorknob.

Frank's room.

"This is where I sleep," he said shyly, dropping my hand so he could open the door a bit more and slide in. As soon as I was inside he quickly shut it again, leaving us in darkness until he turned on the light. Needless to say, just like most six year olds, Frank's room was an absolute disaster. It was almost impossible to tell what color carpeting he had under the thick layer of clothes covering the entire floor, and there were various toys poking out everywhere, causing a hazard for any unsuspecting feet.

"I like your room Frank," I said, carefully stepping over an action figure to sit down on the messy bed. He plopped down beside me, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

"I like your room better," he answered. "It's not such a mess."

"That's because my mom always cleans it for me." Whenever Mom went on one of her cleaning raids, she cleaned every room in the house, including mine and Gerard's. So as a result of her fanaticism, my bedroom was usually relatively spotless. A silence fell between us for a moment, during which I simply gazed around the room, taking in all the details of it. It wasn't painted or wall papered; the walls were a off-white color, stained in spots with specks of red. Besides Frank's bed and a toy box in the corner, there wasn't any furniture. As far as I could see, he didn't have a night light either, which I thought to be amazing; Frank was one brave boy if he had already conquered fear of the dark.

My young mind was too pure to think of the sinister undertones of the whole situation. No light, red specks on the walls? It all practically screamed abuse, but how was I supposed to connect those dots?

"So, how long do you wanna stay over Mikey?" he asked finally, drawing my gaze back to him. I shrugged and slid off the bed onto the ground, picking up one of the many action figures scattered across the room.

"Doesn't matter to me!" He grinned and joined me on the floor, where we ended up engaged in a loud bout of battle between his various sets of toys. The hours ticked by and we were blissfully unaware, locked in our own little peaceful world where the biggest problems were his Deceptions taking over my Autobots.

To be honest, I think that was the last time we were ever so naive and innocent, for it was shattered moments later... almost literally actually.

The first thing that brought us out of our sheltered world was the sound of something crashing against a wall with great impact, followed by the tinkling of glass hitting the ground. The voices immediately followed and only then did I get the feeling that something horrible was about to happen.

"Linda, calm the hell down!" Frank's father yelled from somewhere quite close. Frank immediately dropped his toy and clambered back up onto the bed, pulling the covers over his head. I followed him and slid underneath the blankets as well, reaching out to hug him the best I could. He laid his head on my shoulder, his faint whimpers making his entire body shake.

"It's gonna be okay Frank," I whispered, wincing as out in the hall, the yelling continued.

"Why don't you just get the fuck out of my life Frank?" The words were slurred into each other, obviously belonging to Linda.

"Do you see what you're doing to our son? You ignore him, hurt him... you're not a mother at all, you're a witch!"

"I'm not a witch," Linda weakly protested but Frank wasn't done yelling yet; his voice easily overwhelmed hers.

"You're a fucking drunk is what you are! Do you even realize what you're doing to Frank?!" Frank's whimpers had now turned into full blown sobs and my thin shirt was starting to soak through with his tears. I only held him closer and tried to think of ways to calm him down... when the argument ended as quickly as it had begun.

"I want a divorce."