Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Hybrid Moments
Hybrid Moments
Frank Iero has just started a new school in Bellevue, New Jersey. Despite his reluctance to begin again, things start to change.
?Blocked
Today was really not Frank Iero's day.
He had put up a serious fight when his mother, well-meaning but often so oblivious, had excitedly informed him that they would be moving to New Jersey because she got a new job. A month had passed and today was "the big day." The day Frank's life ended in Connecticut and began again in Bellevue, New Jersey. As the moving trucks arrived and a dozen burly men piled out, Frank tossed on a hoodie and sidled out the door of his soon-to-be 'old house.' He had plans to meet his friends at a park a couple blocks away. As he walked, he thought bitterly about his mom's words on the matter - at first she tried with all her might to sell Frank on the idea of moving, to convince him it would be "a new adventure," as she called it. As time wore on, she got progressively more frustrated with his stubborn refusal to acknowledge the move. He unpacked boxes, cancelled three appointments with the movers by posing as his father, and even convinced his principal his mother was mentally unstable and had only imagined they were moving, and if he missed more than a day of school to alert the authorities.
But it seemed it was all for naught. Here he was, watching a bunch of guys manhandle his furniture and effectively dismantle his childhood home. He lit a cigarette, pushing his hair out of the way so as not to set it ablaze. Frank was quite nearly seventeen, and he reckoned that made him eligible to decide what was best for him. He had initially opted to move in with his father, who was living on the other side of town and was almost completely batshit crazy, but both his mother and his father had denied this request. He had been so discouraged by his father's outright rejection that he didn't bother with the legal proceedings, which he could've gone through, if only just to be an asshole.
Approaching the park, he saw his friends in the distance, lurking around the teeter-totters dressed in black and alarming all nearby parental units. He decided then and there not to officially tell them goodbye. He knew he would be back, and then they would just laugh this all off.
After spending a solid hour with his friends, Frank's phone was getting blown up by his mother, who was not only pissed that he had left, but had not even noticed until it was time to go. He apologised hurriedly and bid them the most chaste goodbye he could manage, even managing to skip the hugs and wistful looks. Once he had arrived back him, he had about three seconds to get in the van before he was "GROUNDED FOR LIFE, MISTER," so he did as he was told, muttering darkly all the way. He jammed a pair of headphones into his ears, cranked the volume and prepared himself for a long car ride.
By the time they had arrived at their destination, Frank was bleary-eyed and irritated in general, and this was before his mother had leapt out of their car to run shrieking through the yard of their new house. He was quite concerned that she was going to piss off the neighbors before they'd even have their shot to bring over cookies or whatever it is neighbors do. He wanted cookies and thus rolled down the window to shout, "Shut up!" He noticed the glee on his mother's face dampen slightly and she lifted a hand to flip him off before trouncing in the front door of the house.
It wasn't much. Gray. Rather nondescript, if you asked Frank (although obviously nobody did). It had a long, sloping lawn with a set of crumbling cement stairs, leading to a wraparound porch and, of course, the front door. Dandelions in various stages of maturity peppered the lawn. Frank made it a point to kick as many as he could as he crossed the yard, skipping the stairs just to see how steep it was. He stepped inside, turning off his iPod and slouching into the kitchen where his mother had already begun to unpack dishware. She seemed to be more or less in the way of all the movers, who grunted in annoyance at her cheerful presence each time they passed carrying an armoire or whatever.
"Which bedroom's yours, then?" He asked his mom as disinterestedly as he could. "Yours is upstairs, last on the left." While Frank appreciated her unintentional mention of a 70's horror he quite enjoyed, he didn't remark on it. He climbed the stairs and entered his room, finding it to be actually rather large and accented by a massive three-paneled window which overlooked his next-door neighbor's backyard and part of their house. At least, Frank thought wryly, if I ever get on house arrest or break both of my legs I will have a window to peek in. There wasn't any furniture yet so he sat on the floor, dozing off only to wake up and crawl into his bed once the movers hauled it in.
The next couple of days were the weekend and Frank spent them consuming disgusting amounts of ice cream and dreading his impending first day of school. It wasn't far into the semester (in fact, it was September, a month Frank enjoyed simply because it wasn't December) and he wouldn't be terribly behind.
Soon enough, Monday rolled around and Frank found himself awake at an ungodly hour in order to consume orange juice and Quaker Oats in a half unpacked kitchen. His mother looked a bit like the harried, forgetful mothers of John Hughes films, what with her curlers and plaid bathrobe, and he contemplated telling her she had forgotten his sixteenth birthday because he was too tired to think of something more clever to say.
The minutes ticked by and Frank was growing painfully anxious, to the point where he began asking his mother questions that left no room to doubt his insecurities.
"What if everyone hates me?"
"Everyone will love you, so long as you don't act and dress like a fuck-up."
"What if I'm a fuck-up?"
"Then stop it."
"What if someone frames me for drugs and then the resident dealers think I have drugs and then they try and beat me up for entering in on their turf?"
Frank's mother rolled her eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Frank." She snapped, lighting a cigarette off of the toaster and removing a curler from her hair. Upon noticing the look of pain on his face, her tone softened. "It's going to be fine. Just don't worry. Go get dressed."
Frank did as he was told, but he felt as though there were a stone in his stomach.
He had put up a serious fight when his mother, well-meaning but often so oblivious, had excitedly informed him that they would be moving to New Jersey because she got a new job. A month had passed and today was "the big day." The day Frank's life ended in Connecticut and began again in Bellevue, New Jersey. As the moving trucks arrived and a dozen burly men piled out, Frank tossed on a hoodie and sidled out the door of his soon-to-be 'old house.' He had plans to meet his friends at a park a couple blocks away. As he walked, he thought bitterly about his mom's words on the matter - at first she tried with all her might to sell Frank on the idea of moving, to convince him it would be "a new adventure," as she called it. As time wore on, she got progressively more frustrated with his stubborn refusal to acknowledge the move. He unpacked boxes, cancelled three appointments with the movers by posing as his father, and even convinced his principal his mother was mentally unstable and had only imagined they were moving, and if he missed more than a day of school to alert the authorities.
But it seemed it was all for naught. Here he was, watching a bunch of guys manhandle his furniture and effectively dismantle his childhood home. He lit a cigarette, pushing his hair out of the way so as not to set it ablaze. Frank was quite nearly seventeen, and he reckoned that made him eligible to decide what was best for him. He had initially opted to move in with his father, who was living on the other side of town and was almost completely batshit crazy, but both his mother and his father had denied this request. He had been so discouraged by his father's outright rejection that he didn't bother with the legal proceedings, which he could've gone through, if only just to be an asshole.
Approaching the park, he saw his friends in the distance, lurking around the teeter-totters dressed in black and alarming all nearby parental units. He decided then and there not to officially tell them goodbye. He knew he would be back, and then they would just laugh this all off.
After spending a solid hour with his friends, Frank's phone was getting blown up by his mother, who was not only pissed that he had left, but had not even noticed until it was time to go. He apologised hurriedly and bid them the most chaste goodbye he could manage, even managing to skip the hugs and wistful looks. Once he had arrived back him, he had about three seconds to get in the van before he was "GROUNDED FOR LIFE, MISTER," so he did as he was told, muttering darkly all the way. He jammed a pair of headphones into his ears, cranked the volume and prepared himself for a long car ride.
By the time they had arrived at their destination, Frank was bleary-eyed and irritated in general, and this was before his mother had leapt out of their car to run shrieking through the yard of their new house. He was quite concerned that she was going to piss off the neighbors before they'd even have their shot to bring over cookies or whatever it is neighbors do. He wanted cookies and thus rolled down the window to shout, "Shut up!" He noticed the glee on his mother's face dampen slightly and she lifted a hand to flip him off before trouncing in the front door of the house.
It wasn't much. Gray. Rather nondescript, if you asked Frank (although obviously nobody did). It had a long, sloping lawn with a set of crumbling cement stairs, leading to a wraparound porch and, of course, the front door. Dandelions in various stages of maturity peppered the lawn. Frank made it a point to kick as many as he could as he crossed the yard, skipping the stairs just to see how steep it was. He stepped inside, turning off his iPod and slouching into the kitchen where his mother had already begun to unpack dishware. She seemed to be more or less in the way of all the movers, who grunted in annoyance at her cheerful presence each time they passed carrying an armoire or whatever.
"Which bedroom's yours, then?" He asked his mom as disinterestedly as he could. "Yours is upstairs, last on the left." While Frank appreciated her unintentional mention of a 70's horror he quite enjoyed, he didn't remark on it. He climbed the stairs and entered his room, finding it to be actually rather large and accented by a massive three-paneled window which overlooked his next-door neighbor's backyard and part of their house. At least, Frank thought wryly, if I ever get on house arrest or break both of my legs I will have a window to peek in. There wasn't any furniture yet so he sat on the floor, dozing off only to wake up and crawl into his bed once the movers hauled it in.
The next couple of days were the weekend and Frank spent them consuming disgusting amounts of ice cream and dreading his impending first day of school. It wasn't far into the semester (in fact, it was September, a month Frank enjoyed simply because it wasn't December) and he wouldn't be terribly behind.
Soon enough, Monday rolled around and Frank found himself awake at an ungodly hour in order to consume orange juice and Quaker Oats in a half unpacked kitchen. His mother looked a bit like the harried, forgetful mothers of John Hughes films, what with her curlers and plaid bathrobe, and he contemplated telling her she had forgotten his sixteenth birthday because he was too tired to think of something more clever to say.
The minutes ticked by and Frank was growing painfully anxious, to the point where he began asking his mother questions that left no room to doubt his insecurities.
"What if everyone hates me?"
"Everyone will love you, so long as you don't act and dress like a fuck-up."
"What if I'm a fuck-up?"
"Then stop it."
"What if someone frames me for drugs and then the resident dealers think I have drugs and then they try and beat me up for entering in on their turf?"
Frank's mother rolled her eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Frank." She snapped, lighting a cigarette off of the toaster and removing a curler from her hair. Upon noticing the look of pain on his face, her tone softened. "It's going to be fine. Just don't worry. Go get dressed."
Frank did as he was told, but he felt as though there were a stone in his stomach.
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