I Drew You Once in Art Class

One Hundred Six

"She really thought it was a bug bite?"

"It's not funny, asshole! Stop laughing!"

Gerard settled for a smug grin instead.

"It's been a day! How long before it goes away?!"

"I don't... know!"

Gerard had begun laughing again midsentence, leaning against Frank's headboard, his arms crossed and legs in front of him. He stopped for a second before it turned into a low, closed-mouth giggle, which made Frank throw a pillow at him.

Gerard rolled his eyes playfully. "Relax! Your mom didn't ask any more questions. She doesn't know. She probably thought it was a bug bite."

Frank was just about to respond before he was cut off by a distant call.

"Frank!"

"What, mom!"

"Come down here!"

"Why!"

"I don't want to shout!"

Frank rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ. Be right back."

"Don't let any more bugs bite you on the way down."

"You shut the hell up."

Frank walked down the stairs, adjusting his shirt best he could to hide the reddish mark.

She wasn't gonna mention it, right? It was just a stupid bug bite.

His mom was in the dining room, her reading glasses on, staring at her laptop.

"Hey, hon," she said, distractedly, her eyes still on her laptop, before ripping them away and looking at him.

"Couple things. One. I found you some stuff for your bug bite, Granny said it was pretty bad."

Before Frank could protest, Linda pulled the corner of his shirt to examine said bug bite. Her eyes immediately raised, giving him an "I know exactly what that is I'm not stupid" look. She put the shirt back and looked at him, still with that facial expression. She handed him a little jar of some sort of ointment, wordlessly.

"Ahem. We'll talk about that later. Secondly, there's a letter for you. It's on the end of the table."

Frank walked to the other end, picking up the rectangular envelope and turning it over in his hand.

New Jersey State Prison.

He looked at his mom. She looked back and took off her reading glasses.

"Listen, honey, I know you don't normally read them... I still have them in a box whenever you're ready. But... maybe it's time to start forgiving him. I'm sure he'd love to hear from you."

Frank nodded slowly, half listening. Staring at the letter pinched between his pointer, index, and his thumb, he held the railing as he climbed the stairs, and walked into his room, where Gerard had been picking at his nails.

"Oo, whatcha got?" He asked, his interest perking up now that Frank was back.

"Um. A letter. From my dad."

He closed the door gently behind him, still staring down at the flat rectangle in his hand.

"Oh, shit. Do you want me to leave? Give you some space?"

"No. Please, please don't leave."

"Okay."

Frank sat on the bed next to Gerard, gently sliding his thumb under the flap of the envelope. He pulled out a piece of paper, writing covering one page, his hand shaking just a little bit. This is the first time he's answered or even read a letter since the very first one, two years ago. The handwriting was a slanted scrawl, just how it'd always been.

It read like this:

Frank,

Your mom told me you don't read my letters. That's fair. I did a shitty thing, and you have every right to be angry with me.

I do miss you, though.

I want to know how you're doing, what classes you like, and all about your friends. I'm missing out on a really important part of your life, and I know that's my fault, honey, I really do. But I want to get to know who you are now. People change a lot in two years. I know I have. Your mom tells me you really like to draw. I'd love it if you sent me some of your drawings.

I'll keep it short, I don't want to take too much of your time.

Your mom is visiting in January. I'd love it if you came with her. I miss you.

Love, Dad.

Frank shook, silent tears running down his face. He wasn't aware that Gerard had been holding his hand the whole time until he felt his knuckles cramp. He didn't realize how tightly he'd been gripping, either.

Frank folded the letter gently, sliding it back into its envelope. "I haven't seen him or even written to him in two years." His voice was a shaky whisper.

"I mean, how are you feeling about it?" Gerard asked, quietly.

"Guilty. He misses me."

"That's not your fault."

"Yeah but-"

"It's not your fault." Gerard was whispering now, kissing Frank briefly on the temple repeatedly, holding him from behind. Frank's face was wet, and Gerard's might have been too.

They sat there in silence, heads leaned together, knuckles white, silent tears against their faces, and thought about what this all meant.

Christ.

Parents are so goddamn problematic sometimes.