Tomorrowland: Frank and Athena

Chapter 2 - Frank

December, 1963

"FRANK! I need you to head out to the north field and check that break in the fence before school!"

The loud voice of Frank's father carried from outside the house, through the front door, up the stairs and straight through his closed door, making Frank flinch, followed by a grimace. He glanced at the clock, seeing 6:45 on a cold, winter morning. He'd been about to sneak out to his workshop in the barn, so he was already awake. Unfortunately, it looked like those plans were on hold.

Currently in his workshop was his most recent experiment, which wasn't technically authorized by his father. It was a distillery that created high-concentration hydrogen peroxide, and his first batch yesterday had worked perfectly. The problem was that peroxide stills were rather dangerous and his father would most likely frown on it. A book he had found described how to turn the cheap 3% peroxide that colored a woman's hair into 80% peroxide that was much more potent – rocket potent. Of course, the book had many dire warnings about exploding stills, as well as numerous skull-and-crossbones symbols. Frank was confident, but he wasn't reckless – or, at least, he tried not to be, as much as an exceptionally bright eleven-year-old can be safe. He had salvaged a lot of old steel car chassis panels to build a primitive, but effective blast cage, and only made small amounts at a time. If he was honest, his motivation for the caution was equal parts fear for his safety and fear of his father's reaction if he managed to blow up the barn. But a definite bonus of the blast cage was that it hid the whole thing from his father, who often wasn't as supportive of his projects as Frank would like – whether they were safe or unsafe. Getting forgiveness was definitely easier than permission in most cases, though forgiveness wasn't given all that willingly, either.

Frank glanced at a picture of his mother on his desk. She'd been much more tolerant of Frank's "hobbies" as she called them, even giving him a rare smile when she thought he did something particularly clever – at least the ones she understood. Those rare memories were like gold to Frank, who kept them safely locked away in his mind. But she was gone, buried in Autumn Grove Cemetery for two years now. The picture Frank kept was one of her smiling in a very similar way, hence the reason it was his favorite.

"FRANK!" his father bellowed again.

Frank sighed. He cracked open his door and called down, "Coming, Pa! I'll do it in a minute! Just let me get dressed!" Of course, he was already dressed, but it bought him a little extra time to pull himself together.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his thoughts returning to rockets for a few precious minutes. The hydrogen peroxide was going to power an experimental rocket he was working on, based on plans he'd found digging through the university library. He was sure it would work, but as he well knew from experience, theory didn't always lead to success – at least, not at first. Frank was an optimist, or at least he tried to be one in his secret heart. The rest of his life often felt like a windstorm blowing him around like a leaf, giving him about as much control. But in his workshop, with his projects, he was in command and he considered every one, whether success or failure, a stepping stone to where he wanted to go.

He looked out his window, which happened to have a view of the north field his father wanted him to check. It was currently covered in a thin layer of white snow, though in a matter of months the snow would clear and by spring it would be time for planting. He and his father would begin planting corn, as they did every year as long as he could remember. His father loved the spring, because he could plant, and he loved autumn because he could harvest. In short, his father loved farming and everything about it.

Frank hated farming.

He'd think those thoughts, but he'd never say them out loud. He was too afraid of his father hearing; even if his father was miles away, he might hear it, somehow. His father knew he wasn't enthused about farming (that was obvious, despite Frank's best effort), but he suspected his father didn't understand the depth of his loathing for it.