Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Knocking on his door, I smoothed my t-shirt a little, after crushing on my best friend for ages, I was going to finally tell him.
I had tried before, but when I had texted him, I'd gotten a reply saying he was driving and could we talk later. But we never did, and I hadn't managed to pluck up the courage again.
His mother, Linda, answered the door, and with a small sad smile she told me to come in.
“Do you want some coffee dear?” She asked, her normally perfect jet black hair was a mess cascading down to her shoulders.
I shook my head, “No thank you, Linda. I'm just gonna go see Frankie.”
Climbing the stairs to his room, I noticed his door was shut, so I knocked loudly knowing he wouldn't be able to hear me properly over the loud music coming from his shitty little stereo.
“Come in Mom!” He answered, so I pushed open his door. “Oh Gee, hey!”
Frank was sitting on his bed, his pristine white guitar sitting in his lap, his fingers working over the frets. He had been my best friend since we were eight years old, when his favourite pencil had snapped in class and he nudged me asking if I had a spare. Which of course I did because even at eight I loved drawing and had an array of different type pencils in my bag.
“So I – I have something important to tell you.” I stood at the foot of his bed, picking at the fraying end of my jacket. He patted the spot on the bed next to him, telling me to sit down. But I was too nervous to sit, I felt like if I even moved an inch I would through up.
He looked at me inquisitively, “What is it Gee? You know you can tell me anything.”
I stared down at my feet, “I sort of h – have a crush.” Glancing quickly at him, I saw his face waver from his big smile – just for a second – until he smiled again with a bit too much force.
“Oh what's his name?”
“I – Frank – shit.”
I had looked at his pillow to see a newspaper with the headline 'Local Teen Killed in Freak Car Accident' with his school picture ridiculously large on the front. The date read '27th October 1996'.
Turning away, I bolted out his door and down the stairs.
Linda glanced up from her spot on the couch, she was holding one of Frank jumpers, tears streaming down her face. “Gerard, whats -” I didn't hear the rest of her sentence as I ran out the front door.
I didn't stop running until I reached the park in between our houses. I stumbled to the bench and sat down, trying to catch my breath.
The newspaper had to be a joke, I'd been going to his house nearly every day since forever, and even after the text, I still went and saw him.
Standing up, I pulled out my packet of smokes from my pocket and lit one, relishing the calming feeling from inhaling its toxic fumes.
I walked briskly to the local library where I knew they had all the recent and old newspapers for anyone to read. My body felt numb as I found the newspaper section and rifled through until I found the one I was hoping not to find.
Local Teen Killed in Freak Car Accident.
Yesterday, October 26th, Queen of Peace senior student, Franklin Iero, 17, died after his car swerved off the road, hitting the curb, and rolled three times. It was stated he was driving to his home on Salter Place, when he swerved to narrowly miss an animal which had walked out in front of his car. His friends and family will be holding a service at St Peters Catholic Church at 11am Wednesday the 30th.
Photocopying the article, I rushed back to his house, storming in through the front door and straight to his room.
It was empty, his guitar sat against his dresser where it always sat and the newspaper still sitting on his pillow.
“Gerard -” Linda stood behind me at the door, she raised her hand to put on my shoulder but I shrank away.
“What is going on Linda.” I finally managed to spit out after a lengthy silence.
She shook her head as a new tear slid down her already tear stained cheeks, “He's been gone a month Gerard.”
I slowly slid down to sit beside his bed, “No – no you guys are playing some sort of sick joke,” my breathing was becoming fast and shallow. “Frank is careful, he would never – he would never crash his car.” Linda stepped in and wrapped her arms around me. “I love him, he is best friend. And I've been coming here, every day like normal and he's been here. He's been talking back to me.”
I felt her shake as sobs overtook her body, “You've been talking to yourself, I – I've watched you from the door, he's gone Gerard.”
Hours later, I finally reached my front door after walking around the neighbourhood.
Nothing felt right, especially after learning the truth. I had a bottle of the cheapest vodka I could find at the once place that never asked for ID in my hands as I crawled into my bed, hugging the pillow that smelt a little like Frank.
I had tried before, but when I had texted him, I'd gotten a reply saying he was driving and could we talk later. But we never did, and I hadn't managed to pluck up the courage again.
His mother, Linda, answered the door, and with a small sad smile she told me to come in.
“Do you want some coffee dear?” She asked, her normally perfect jet black hair was a mess cascading down to her shoulders.
I shook my head, “No thank you, Linda. I'm just gonna go see Frankie.”
Climbing the stairs to his room, I noticed his door was shut, so I knocked loudly knowing he wouldn't be able to hear me properly over the loud music coming from his shitty little stereo.
“Come in Mom!” He answered, so I pushed open his door. “Oh Gee, hey!”
Frank was sitting on his bed, his pristine white guitar sitting in his lap, his fingers working over the frets. He had been my best friend since we were eight years old, when his favourite pencil had snapped in class and he nudged me asking if I had a spare. Which of course I did because even at eight I loved drawing and had an array of different type pencils in my bag.
“So I – I have something important to tell you.” I stood at the foot of his bed, picking at the fraying end of my jacket. He patted the spot on the bed next to him, telling me to sit down. But I was too nervous to sit, I felt like if I even moved an inch I would through up.
He looked at me inquisitively, “What is it Gee? You know you can tell me anything.”
I stared down at my feet, “I sort of h – have a crush.” Glancing quickly at him, I saw his face waver from his big smile – just for a second – until he smiled again with a bit too much force.
“Oh what's his name?”
“I – Frank – shit.”
I had looked at his pillow to see a newspaper with the headline 'Local Teen Killed in Freak Car Accident' with his school picture ridiculously large on the front. The date read '27th October 1996'.
Turning away, I bolted out his door and down the stairs.
Linda glanced up from her spot on the couch, she was holding one of Frank jumpers, tears streaming down her face. “Gerard, whats -” I didn't hear the rest of her sentence as I ran out the front door.
I didn't stop running until I reached the park in between our houses. I stumbled to the bench and sat down, trying to catch my breath.
The newspaper had to be a joke, I'd been going to his house nearly every day since forever, and even after the text, I still went and saw him.
Standing up, I pulled out my packet of smokes from my pocket and lit one, relishing the calming feeling from inhaling its toxic fumes.
I walked briskly to the local library where I knew they had all the recent and old newspapers for anyone to read. My body felt numb as I found the newspaper section and rifled through until I found the one I was hoping not to find.
Local Teen Killed in Freak Car Accident.
Yesterday, October 26th, Queen of Peace senior student, Franklin Iero, 17, died after his car swerved off the road, hitting the curb, and rolled three times. It was stated he was driving to his home on Salter Place, when he swerved to narrowly miss an animal which had walked out in front of his car. His friends and family will be holding a service at St Peters Catholic Church at 11am Wednesday the 30th.
Photocopying the article, I rushed back to his house, storming in through the front door and straight to his room.
It was empty, his guitar sat against his dresser where it always sat and the newspaper still sitting on his pillow.
“Gerard -” Linda stood behind me at the door, she raised her hand to put on my shoulder but I shrank away.
“What is going on Linda.” I finally managed to spit out after a lengthy silence.
She shook her head as a new tear slid down her already tear stained cheeks, “He's been gone a month Gerard.”
I slowly slid down to sit beside his bed, “No – no you guys are playing some sort of sick joke,” my breathing was becoming fast and shallow. “Frank is careful, he would never – he would never crash his car.” Linda stepped in and wrapped her arms around me. “I love him, he is best friend. And I've been coming here, every day like normal and he's been here. He's been talking back to me.”
I felt her shake as sobs overtook her body, “You've been talking to yourself, I – I've watched you from the door, he's gone Gerard.”
Hours later, I finally reached my front door after walking around the neighbourhood.
Nothing felt right, especially after learning the truth. I had a bottle of the cheapest vodka I could find at the once place that never asked for ID in my hands as I crawled into my bed, hugging the pillow that smelt a little like Frank.
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