"Tomorrow I'd start my junior year, and I had to admit it...I was scared shitless." (Frerard)
Some Other Way To Continue To Hide My Face
“Everything looks fine. Nothing odd or out of place. You seem to be in tip-top shape,” said my doctor in a stern voice. The kind of voice you imagine doctors having, like the ones you see on TV? He actually had that voice. Sometimes it was comforting to know he wasn’t shitting around. Other times, it was just plain creepy. “You’re clear to check out. See you next week,” Dr. Reid said, snapping shut the vanilla colored folder that held all of my medical records from when I first popped out of the womb, up until a few seconds ago. He gave me a small warm smile that spread all the way up to his honey caramel colored eyes, then stepped out of the grey dimly lit room to see his next patient.
This was my third check-up since being told nearly five weeks ago, I was infull remission after about a three year long battle with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I was forced to get checked every one to two weeks to see how I was progressing, make sure nothing weird popped up, no dis-functions and such. And for my puny lungs that tend to give out every now and then.
“How is your hair?” my mom asked after a few moments of silence. “Can I see?” she wondered slowly getting up from her chair to stand by the bed’s side.
I rarely let my mom see my head. I wasn’t exactly embarrassed, more or so say exposed. I felt exposed and vulnerable without my beanie. It’s been my source of protection, my substitute for my once long, black dyed bangs that fell out along with the rest of the hair on my head through out the various rounds of chemotherapy and radiation. I carefully pulled off my Black Flag beanie, revealing the thin dark brown tuft spots of hair. My mom ran her fingers through them and smiled.
“Dr. Reid said it should all be fully back by Friday. Not as long as you used to have it, but enough to cover your whole head if you keep taking the hair progressing pills he prescribed.” She smoothed my hair over. “Are you sure you wan-“
“Yes mom! I’m not changing my mind.”
“We can always start next year, that way you’ll have more time to get ready. You’re hair will be back to its regular length an-“
“Mom, I’ve already missed half of the whole experience, I’m not missing anymore. Before any of this ever happened, I had my mind set to it, and you know that. I’m not changing it for anything.” I sniffled and crossed my arms, trying to look tall and final, but that was pretty hard for me to do considering I’m only 5’4.
She sighed. “Okay. How about we go shopping for some new clothes? You’ve worn your skull right through that hat! You look like a homeless orphan in it.”
I mock gasped at her, earning a laugh. She was right though. Whenever I was outside, I could feel the breeze on my head through the holes. And being my height, I could pass as a homeless seven year old.
“Could I get eyeliner too? Please, mom?” I begged giving her my best puppy dog eyed look.
“I don’t understand why you enjoy wearing that crap so much! You wear it more than I do.”
“Well it’s not gonna be cool when you get knocked around at school for wearing it, Frank. Honey, most people don’t take guys wearing makeup lightly.”
“Mom, you know I can take them. If they cause me any shit, I’ll knock them out.” She stifled a laugh and I rolled my eyes as we stepped out of the clinic.
Two weeks passed. My hair had grown much faster than anticipated. Not only did it cover all of my head, but it grew enough to give me a little shag. Damn, those pills were miracle workers. Sadly, I was out of them and my hair would have to grow naturally from here on out. Shopping had gone really well too. I bought at least fifteen new band tees, a few pairs of skinnies, three hoodies, a few beanies, and managed to convince my mom to take me to Sephora to buy some eyeliner. Although that trip was kind of awkward when I was forced to go in alone.
“You want the eyeliner, you go in and buy it. I’m not going with you,” my mom walking out of the store to sit on the bench outside.
I quickly latched onto her arm and started dragging her back like a five year old that wants a teddy bear from their favorite store. I held on for dear life and clung to her, hanging in the air. “NO! MOM PLEASE NO! If you truly love me you won’t make me go in there alone! PLEASE MOM! I’m begging you! It’s going to be so awkward! Please!” People walking by stared as I screamed and pleaded with my mom.
“Frank Anthony Iero, you let go of me RIGHT NOW! You wanted that makeup! I kept my promise and brought you here. If you want that eyeliner so badly, I suggest you man up, grow a pair, step into that store and buy it, otherwise we are leaving, your face remaining like all the other teenage boys at your school!”
She shook me off and I fell on my ass with a thud. I frowned and sulked into the store. It was brightly lit with sections of different makeup brands everywhere. The store was blasting the latest Katy Perry song, bass up full notch. If you looked close enough you could see the shelves vibrating. I carefully made my way over to the Kat Von D shelf scanning the rows for her eyeliners. I plucked out two, black and red, before making my way over to the cash registers.
The lady had blond curls and startling green eyes. She spun around saying, “Hi..OH! Um, will this be all for…you?” Guess she never saw a guy come in before to buy stuff for himself.
“Um, yeah. That’s all..for me,” I mumbled. Fuck I was so awkward.
She rang up the total, placed my liners, in one of those signature black and white little Sephora bags with the red tissue paper, and I bolted for the door..well I tried.
When I turned around and ran for the exit, my stupid self decided not to pay attention and accidentally ran into another customer.
“Oh, shit. Oh god, um I’m sorry!” I muttered, looking up to meet a frazzled, scared pair of hazel eyes planted on a pale face.
It was a guy.
He had semi-long jet black hair, choppy with layers and side bangs that landed just above his thick, light colored eyebrows and right below that were his terrified green brown eyes. In the center of his face was a little pointy nose as cute as a button, and under that were pink chapped lips. He was wearing a red Queen shirt, blue jeans that were way too big for his figure, and black converse. In between his index and thumb was a long black box that held a eyeliner pencil.
“Um, it’s cool. Happens a lot actually..” he mumbled, looking down at his hands twisting the box. “Uh, ya know, next time you should try Urban Decay. Their stuff is a few bucks cheaper and last longer than Kat’s stuff.” His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink.
“Oh. Cool. Thanks. I’ll do that.” He looked back up at me and I moved out of his way and met my mom outside.
She had a smirk on her face and I scowled at her. “Never again, mom.”
“Well, then I guess you better not wear those pencils down, because I’m not going in with you anymore.” I groaned.
The weekend passed by slowly. I spent Sunday afternoon packing my backpack, and fiddling with my new liners. I never really wanted to admit it to myself, but I was nervous. I’d never actually gone to public school before. I didn’t have any friends, despite James, but he was still at my old Catholic school. I fucking hated church. Since day one, I’ve been begging my mom to let me escape that place and be a normal kid and go to public school. My eighth year, my mom agreed I could start high school at a public school, but then I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s and I missed the first two years fighting it. But the fight was over now. I had won, and I was going to go through high school like a normal kid. All I’ve ever wanted was to be normal, even though I know for a fact I’m far from it. Tomorrow I’d start my junior year. And I had to admit it.
I was scared shitless.
Next Chapter: Frank learns the downs and perks of high school, makes a friend or two, and encounters someone he never thought he'd see.
Author's Note: How was it? I'm not completely confident in it, or the concept. I don't know..but I haven't really seen anything like this. But yeah, I thought it might be kind of cool. And Hodgkin's Lymphoma is actually linked to the disease Frank has in real life (Epstein-Barr Virus). It's kind of sad to think Frank is more likely to get that :'( But thank god he doesn't! Oh and about the title! It's in Italian, and it has to do with the story. I'll reveal what it means later on in it (unless you decide to spoil it and google it). Please R&R and tell me what you think and if I should continue! I plan on having the next chapter up tomorrow, if you like! Thanks!