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Epilogue:: And I Can't Erase The Things That I've Done
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Epilogue: And I Can't Erase The Things That I've Done
June 22, 2009
But there were more pieces of history, fabricating themselves into Frank's life, tying themselves to the lives of everyone around him.
The young man sat in the waiting room, his head in his hands. He's asleep, the steady rising of his chest making it clear. Another man in a white coat walks into the room and says his name softly. His head jerks up and the doctor says a few words. A wide smile slowly spreads across the young man's face. He gets up and follows the doctor; he leads him to a room with a large window. Jamia sleeps in the hospital bed and next to her on the tile sits a cradle, in it a small, red-faced baby. His baby. His little girl.
The same young man, slightly older, holding a squealing two-year-old in the air, a taller, older man with a wild mess of curly hair holding a home video camera. A dark-haired woman stands next to him, laughing; the younger man's eyes sparkle with laughter as he holds his daughter in his arms.
The young man, a little older now, a little worse for the wear, backstage after a show. His hands curled around a guitar that a few teenage girls stare at in awe; he offers it to them and they eagerly reach out and place a hand on it. He smiles at them and one of them giggles. It's what he lives for.
But one memory stuck out above the others.
The same young man, hardly a man now, barely twenty, sitting in front of a stage. Large letters above the stage blaze 'Headlining Act: Green Day' and smaller letters below it say 'Opening Act: My Chemical Romance'. He glances up at the letters; the beginning of a grin starting at his mouth. Someday, he thinks, that will say 'Headlining Act: My Chemical Romance' and then he'll be famous like Green Day. In his hands is the same white guitar; he holds it reverently-it's the only one he's got and he's got to make it last. Absently, he picks out a tune from an old Neil Young song. As he plays, he whispers, "It's better to burn out than... to fade away."
Before the blood, before the tears...
There was only the sound of a guitar, and a song.
June 22, 2009
But there were more pieces of history, fabricating themselves into Frank's life, tying themselves to the lives of everyone around him.
The young man sat in the waiting room, his head in his hands. He's asleep, the steady rising of his chest making it clear. Another man in a white coat walks into the room and says his name softly. His head jerks up and the doctor says a few words. A wide smile slowly spreads across the young man's face. He gets up and follows the doctor; he leads him to a room with a large window. Jamia sleeps in the hospital bed and next to her on the tile sits a cradle, in it a small, red-faced baby. His baby. His little girl.
The same young man, slightly older, holding a squealing two-year-old in the air, a taller, older man with a wild mess of curly hair holding a home video camera. A dark-haired woman stands next to him, laughing; the younger man's eyes sparkle with laughter as he holds his daughter in his arms.
The young man, a little older now, a little worse for the wear, backstage after a show. His hands curled around a guitar that a few teenage girls stare at in awe; he offers it to them and they eagerly reach out and place a hand on it. He smiles at them and one of them giggles. It's what he lives for.
But one memory stuck out above the others.
The same young man, hardly a man now, barely twenty, sitting in front of a stage. Large letters above the stage blaze 'Headlining Act: Green Day' and smaller letters below it say 'Opening Act: My Chemical Romance'. He glances up at the letters; the beginning of a grin starting at his mouth. Someday, he thinks, that will say 'Headlining Act: My Chemical Romance' and then he'll be famous like Green Day. In his hands is the same white guitar; he holds it reverently-it's the only one he's got and he's got to make it last. Absently, he picks out a tune from an old Neil Young song. As he plays, he whispers, "It's better to burn out than... to fade away."
Before the blood, before the tears...
There was only the sound of a guitar, and a song.
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