Last Chance

The train ride was torture, every on of Frank’s muscles screaming with each bump. His head felt swollen, and he spent the entire trip with his eyes sealed against the light from the train’s windows.

When they rattled into his stop, Frank had to shake himself into motion. He pushed through the turnstiles and shuffled up the stairs to the parking lot.

His brain turned on though, when he got to the space that his car had been parked in. The lot was now filled up by another car, one much nicer than Frank’s, and Frank asked god why that car hadn’t been stolen instead of his. That was the only fucking explanation for where his car had gone, and Frank should’ve known better than to leave it overnight. Fuck, if he was in the shit before, he was dead now.

The walk home was torture. The streets were damp, gray, and dangerous. Worse, the wind bit at every inch of Frank’s skin, turning it bright red and irritated. By the time he reached his neighborhood, Frank was regretting ever leaving yesterday, even more than he already did. It had been stupid, reckless, and now Frank’s car had been stolen and he was out of cigarettes.

His mood just sunk lower and lower as he walked, and eventually Frank just felt completely numb. Like the wind had scraped away all of his emotions and thoughts. It didn’t last long though, because Frank’s entire body flooded with panic when he turned onto his street and saw a cop car parked on the curb of his house.

Frank’s ears filled with the faraway sound of his rushing footsteps and his too-close heartbeat, he could feel his breath burn in his throat as he picked up his pace. By the time he reached his driveway, his eyes were watering so bad from the wind that he could barely see.

Still, he could make out the shape and color of his car. And suddenly, Frank knew without a doubt why the cops were here. He wanted to smash his head against a brick wall for being so stupid. He wanted to take back the last 24 hours. Most of all, Frank wished that he’d answered his parents’ phone calls instead of turning it off and frolicking around the city.

The front door opened, and chaos spilled out onto the street. Frank’s mother came stumbling down the stairs, followed by a stoic policeman. Behind them came Frank’s father, and Frank caught the look of wild fury that flashed across the man’s face before he managed to suppress it.

The next thing Frank’s brain registered was his mom’s arms around his neck, squeezing the breath from his body. She was saying something, but Frank couldn’t make out the words from where his head was shoved against her cheek.

When she pulled away, Frank finally managed to speak.

“What’s going on? What is this?”

His mother pulled away just an inch. Shock had swamped her eyes, and her mouth went very tight and very small. She didn’t say anything. Finally, the police officer cleared his throat and set his bored look on Frank.

“Son, your parents reported you missing this morning. You’ve been gone for over 24 hours.”

His tone was nonchalant, and he looked like he was itching to get back in his cruiser now that Frank had been ‘found’.

“I wasn’t missing,” Frank said, but he didn’t elaborate.

His mother pulled away from him then, and shuffled over to the cop, where they spoke for a few quiet minutes. Frank felt awkward and out of place. He knew the cop couldn’t do anything, seeing as Frank had come home of his own will, but Frank couldn’t say the same about his parents. What would Frank tell them when the cop left?

Nothing had come to his mind by the time the cop car was pulling away, leaving Frank and his parents freezing and frozen in the driveway.

The world remained quiet for a full minute. Birds chirped, car engines rumbled, ice glimmered from the gray-washed one stories of the street. Then everything shattered, like the frozen snow globe it was.

Suddenly, Frank’s father lunged forward, skidding comically across the ice of the driveway, then his hands were on Frank. They crushed the muscles of Frank’s biceps, but the pain was nothing compared to the terror that crashed onto Frank. His father looked uncontrollable, inconsolable, and Frank suddenly knew that no explanation he could think into existence would be enough.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” Frank’s father shouted, face contorted and lined.

Then he was hauling Frank across the yard violently. All Frank could do was stumble along, and twist his body to minimize the pain of his father’s grip. He knew he’d have wicked bruises on his arms, and he winced at the thought.

They were on the porch when Frank’s father suddenly let go and Frank fell backward from the release. He landed with a bone dislodging thump, and only looked up from the wood of the porch when the world went quiet again.

His father was standing above him, and Frank could see his mom at the porch stairs, just watching and looking helpless. Tension made the air feel sluggish, and Frank’s heart slammed against his ribs as he waited for what was next.

Finally, his father spoke, voice taunt and gruff. “I don’t know what you’re doing with your life anymore, Frank. You’ve become a waste of space and money and emotion. You skip school almost every day, and you throw away ever opportunity your mother and I slave to give you.” The anger was a thin stream buzzing beneath Frank Sr.’s voice and body, but he paused and some of it diffused.

When he continued, his voice was softer. “Your car is ours. Your phone is ours, also. And we will be sending you to an alternative school, where you will attend every day like the grateful bastard you should be. This is the last time I want to hear anything from you Frank. You will spend your time in your room, and god forbid you leave it. Now stand up.”

Frank’s mouth had gone dry, along with any words he could think of to say. So he struggled to his feet, body feeling bruised and tired.

When Frank was standing straight, there was a moment when he thought everything was done, that his dad would walk away and Frank would be okay. But that moment ended when his father’s eyes flashed, his fist raised, and Frank went sprawling again, world tumbling in and out of focus. For a moment, the pain was so massive that it blocked out all the sound of the world.

Finally, everything came back to life. Frank felt hands on his shirt front, and he forcefully opened his watering eyes, in case there was another blow. There wasn’t. All there was was his father back in Frank face, the man’s rage a tangible terror surrounding them.

“Grow up and become a man, Frank. This isn’t a world where the stupid survive,” his father spit. Then, the man was dislodging his fingers from Frank’s jacket and retreating. Frank heard the front door slam, the wood quivering in its place.

His mother wandered up to him next, still with that hopeless and helpless look. Frank wanted to wipe it off her face, but instead he stilled and let his mother smooth down his hair. After a moment, she held out her hand and Frank placed his cell phone and car keys into it. Then she, too, left him on the porch.

Frank saw no point in getting up again. Besides, he wasn’t even sure his head could take it. It felt fuzzy, and the rest of Frank’s body felt too shocked to move either. He slumped against the floor of the deck. It was iced over, and the cool felt amazing on Frank’s aching face. His skull resounded with pain as he lay there, and Frank knew his father hadn’t held back on the punch at all. His fist had even clashed with Frank’s nose ring, smashing it against the bridge of his nose and leaving a cut.

Frank didn’t move for the next five minutes. The ice below his cheek melted into a mix of water and blood, but Frank remained frozen. The bone of his cheek felt shaken, and bruised, and worse, Frank’s left eye had begun to sway and swell and shut. A fucking black eye.

The world watched him, its eyes curious. It watched the boy from New Jersey shatter in a snow globe life. But it didn’t pause, it never did. It just watched and waited and snowed, and time slugged on around the bruised boy.