Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > A Derisory Tale
The Beginning...
1 Reviews"Frank was always late. He would double back and forth to his room, which was kind of the only exercise that he would get out of the day. He would forget the stupidest things, like, his pants."
Frank was always late. He would double back and forth to his room, which was kind of the only exercise that he would get out of the day. He would forget the stupidest things, like, his pants. His shoes in the middle of January. And he would go on, heading out the door, feeling as normal as ever until his mother would rush him back inside.
Frank was the most forgetful person.
In fact, sixty three percent of the conversations with his mother would just be something like this:
“Did you remember your phone?”
“Uhmmmmm.”
“Go get it.”
Or this:
“Did you remember your head?”
“Uhmmmmm…oh, yeah! It was a joke. Not very funny, but a joke…”
“Mhmm.”
And so on. It had gotten to the point of utter annoyance. His mother felt like taking him to a therapist. Or something. She didn’t know the proper protocol. He even forgot things that he liked to do! He forgot to bring his guitar to the school for his recital, in which he was giving a Bouncing Souls tribute. A type of music his mother did not quite like, a little too rowdy for her taste. She preferred those Fleetwood Mac albums. Vinyl was the only real thing her and her son both liked.
But this particular morning, Frank doesn't have to ride the bus. So he didn’t have to be woken from his precious sleep. That was another thing. He slept fourteen hours a day and still yawned during classes, barely able to keep his mouth shut.
“Come on, kid!” His mother yells up the stairs. “I have to go to the bank…what’s taking you so long?” She begins her walk upstairs, just as Frank opens the door. She points at his feet, which are indeed bare. He looks down and sighs, rushing back into his room.
“We good now? Have I got it all?”
“I swear, Frank. You’re going to lose your head someday.” She shakes her own head and starts down the stairs. He quickly follows after her.
“But, not today, right?” He asked, a toothy grin plasters on his face.
“Right. Because I have the electric bill due today and you’re not going to be able to play your guitar if I don’t go pay it now.” She opens the door for him, letting the cold November air tear in. He runs to the fridge, rolling his eyes and grabbing an apple.
“Mom. I can still play it. It just won’t be amplified.” He shrugs and hops down the steps to the sidewalk.
“Yeah, yeah, just get in the car.” And with that, the cold air could no longer invade the warm air, as the door slammed to the outside. Another victory for the temperate air!
Frank was the most forgetful person.
In fact, sixty three percent of the conversations with his mother would just be something like this:
“Did you remember your phone?”
“Uhmmmmm.”
“Go get it.”
Or this:
“Did you remember your head?”
“Uhmmmmm…oh, yeah! It was a joke. Not very funny, but a joke…”
“Mhmm.”
And so on. It had gotten to the point of utter annoyance. His mother felt like taking him to a therapist. Or something. She didn’t know the proper protocol. He even forgot things that he liked to do! He forgot to bring his guitar to the school for his recital, in which he was giving a Bouncing Souls tribute. A type of music his mother did not quite like, a little too rowdy for her taste. She preferred those Fleetwood Mac albums. Vinyl was the only real thing her and her son both liked.
But this particular morning, Frank doesn't have to ride the bus. So he didn’t have to be woken from his precious sleep. That was another thing. He slept fourteen hours a day and still yawned during classes, barely able to keep his mouth shut.
“Come on, kid!” His mother yells up the stairs. “I have to go to the bank…what’s taking you so long?” She begins her walk upstairs, just as Frank opens the door. She points at his feet, which are indeed bare. He looks down and sighs, rushing back into his room.
“We good now? Have I got it all?”
“I swear, Frank. You’re going to lose your head someday.” She shakes her own head and starts down the stairs. He quickly follows after her.
“But, not today, right?” He asked, a toothy grin plasters on his face.
“Right. Because I have the electric bill due today and you’re not going to be able to play your guitar if I don’t go pay it now.” She opens the door for him, letting the cold November air tear in. He runs to the fridge, rolling his eyes and grabbing an apple.
“Mom. I can still play it. It just won’t be amplified.” He shrugs and hops down the steps to the sidewalk.
“Yeah, yeah, just get in the car.” And with that, the cold air could no longer invade the warm air, as the door slammed to the outside. Another victory for the temperate air!
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