Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
not nostalgia
1 reviewFrank is alone after Christmas and takes a look back on things. Implied Frerard.
1Ambiance
He looked over at his Christmas tree, vaguely aware that he’d have to take it down soon. January 4th. Already the new year had begun but Frank had taken no notice of it. Somewhere in his mind it was still December, still that old year. Old things were always better, he thought. His eyes washed over miniscule scroll menus on his cell phone, seeking out a specific photo he’d taken long ago. When he was younger, in a time that was now old, Christmas brought squeals and anticipation and a day that seemed to span almost a week. Time went slower when he was five years old. He could recall the hours he’d spent rolling his toy fire truck round on the floor and out into the snow. His fifth Christmas. Things played out much the same on his sixth Christmas. And his seventh; his eleventh, in terms of time.
But sometime soon after that things changed. The clock began to move a little faster, alarms seemed to go off a little sooner, and the sun disappeared more quickly at the end of each day. The older he got, the faster it got. It was like he was trying to catch up with Time, in some ridiculous metaphorical race, getting faster and faster in his perception of it that one day he’d get too fast and outrun it and just… die.
Time sped past him, sweeping him along involuntarily. He kissed goodbye to 12 and 13, made a quick stop on his fourteenth Christmas where he got a camera... For his eighteenth Christmas he got a tattoo. And for his 20th Christmas he got Gerard Way.
He found it. The photo; a picture if that very man, taken February 2002. He wasn’t smiling, people always smiled in photographs and to Frank it looked false, a meaningless pose of here was a (not) good day, take a photo and remember it! It had not been a very good day, really, but Gerard looked happy… in a subdued sort of way; brows pulled back in a look of semi-relaxation.
Funny to think that those teenage years had gone by so quickly. And yet, in a sense, he was glad they were over. When he was fifteen the only thing he’d wanted was to be older. To maybe buy a cigarette or a pack of beer without being shifty about it or getting someone older to do it. He wanted self-destructive freedom. He wanted into the bars and maybe even into the girls, though he kept his mouth shut about that one. When he turned 20 some of that changed. He joined Gerard’s band and was given a guitar. Now he wanted into the bars, sure, but then on to the stage and into the music. Sometimes into the toilet cubicle with a gram of something-or-other and another person who usually turned out to be Gerard. In those circumstances time often slowed down. A cocaine high or drunken haze had that general effect anyway, and there the next logical thing he had to get into was Gerard.
He shuddered at the recollection. The memory of his youthful carelessness. Well, he still possessed that, really, but back then it had an overwhelming infestation. He would buy unlabelled cans of food for a couple of cents and eat them uncooked. He would go do a small-time gig and get so excited, feel so revved (like he was actually doing something incredible and not just playing guitar for 40 people). So much so that he didn’t care that the next foolish thing his mind told him to do finished in the back of a van with his skin hot and damp and moving against another body. Gerard’s body.
He shrunk away from the thought. It had used to feel private and perfect, and warm in a heated way that maybe it shouldn’t have. Now it was not unlike the thought of French-kissing his grandmother.
His mind shrieked. It fled from that first thought. The cold air on the underside of his legs. Stomach muscles pressing into his abdomen stickily. Everything that was probably in the movie Tight Fuck 4, although truthfully Frank had never watched it that night when he was 12 despite telling his friends that he had.
It made him shudder again. In a way, he wanted to think back on those nights… get a little hot and think yeah, I could feel that again. Perhaps fantasize a little, imagine what it would be like if he and Gerard could… but that was the problem.
Time moved too quickly.
They were young then. They didn’t take notice, didn’t know things or think too much.
It felt… frankly it felt kind of wrong now. If a small part of Frank’s mind said otherwise right now, he ignored it. He would be thirty soon. Maybe older. Time had rushed by and in an instant he had become what he’d always dreaded as a kid: older. An adult. Someone with experience to draw upon and things he ‘knew better’ about… knew better than to do.
He sighed. The Christmas tree lights flickered and shed drops of light from their tiny plastic facets. They’re really kind of pretty, he thought.
Looking down at his cell phone he had the inane urge to kiss the screen’s picture.
Then the urge to vomit.
He held down the little top button and the image turned black.
But sometime soon after that things changed. The clock began to move a little faster, alarms seemed to go off a little sooner, and the sun disappeared more quickly at the end of each day. The older he got, the faster it got. It was like he was trying to catch up with Time, in some ridiculous metaphorical race, getting faster and faster in his perception of it that one day he’d get too fast and outrun it and just… die.
Time sped past him, sweeping him along involuntarily. He kissed goodbye to 12 and 13, made a quick stop on his fourteenth Christmas where he got a camera... For his eighteenth Christmas he got a tattoo. And for his 20th Christmas he got Gerard Way.
He found it. The photo; a picture if that very man, taken February 2002. He wasn’t smiling, people always smiled in photographs and to Frank it looked false, a meaningless pose of here was a (not) good day, take a photo and remember it! It had not been a very good day, really, but Gerard looked happy… in a subdued sort of way; brows pulled back in a look of semi-relaxation.
Funny to think that those teenage years had gone by so quickly. And yet, in a sense, he was glad they were over. When he was fifteen the only thing he’d wanted was to be older. To maybe buy a cigarette or a pack of beer without being shifty about it or getting someone older to do it. He wanted self-destructive freedom. He wanted into the bars and maybe even into the girls, though he kept his mouth shut about that one. When he turned 20 some of that changed. He joined Gerard’s band and was given a guitar. Now he wanted into the bars, sure, but then on to the stage and into the music. Sometimes into the toilet cubicle with a gram of something-or-other and another person who usually turned out to be Gerard. In those circumstances time often slowed down. A cocaine high or drunken haze had that general effect anyway, and there the next logical thing he had to get into was Gerard.
He shuddered at the recollection. The memory of his youthful carelessness. Well, he still possessed that, really, but back then it had an overwhelming infestation. He would buy unlabelled cans of food for a couple of cents and eat them uncooked. He would go do a small-time gig and get so excited, feel so revved (like he was actually doing something incredible and not just playing guitar for 40 people). So much so that he didn’t care that the next foolish thing his mind told him to do finished in the back of a van with his skin hot and damp and moving against another body. Gerard’s body.
He shrunk away from the thought. It had used to feel private and perfect, and warm in a heated way that maybe it shouldn’t have. Now it was not unlike the thought of French-kissing his grandmother.
His mind shrieked. It fled from that first thought. The cold air on the underside of his legs. Stomach muscles pressing into his abdomen stickily. Everything that was probably in the movie Tight Fuck 4, although truthfully Frank had never watched it that night when he was 12 despite telling his friends that he had.
It made him shudder again. In a way, he wanted to think back on those nights… get a little hot and think yeah, I could feel that again. Perhaps fantasize a little, imagine what it would be like if he and Gerard could… but that was the problem.
Time moved too quickly.
They were young then. They didn’t take notice, didn’t know things or think too much.
It felt… frankly it felt kind of wrong now. If a small part of Frank’s mind said otherwise right now, he ignored it. He would be thirty soon. Maybe older. Time had rushed by and in an instant he had become what he’d always dreaded as a kid: older. An adult. Someone with experience to draw upon and things he ‘knew better’ about… knew better than to do.
He sighed. The Christmas tree lights flickered and shed drops of light from their tiny plastic facets. They’re really kind of pretty, he thought.
Looking down at his cell phone he had the inane urge to kiss the screen’s picture.
Then the urge to vomit.
He held down the little top button and the image turned black.
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