against the works of the flesh//frerard

chapter three

It's five fifteen when Frank's bandmates knock on the front door. Frank takes them to the garage through the gate outside and they talk about what they want to play today. Frank tells them about the new riffs he has been thinking about and they chat excitedly about those new ideas.

The garage gate finally opens and they stroll to the corner where they've got their gear. Frank rolls his shoulders so that he feels relaxed enough to play some music, although he knows he won't be relaxed enough until he holds his guitar close.

Every day, they play until seven PM. They practice in Frank's garage on week days, Mondays through Thursdays, while on Friday and Saturday evenings, they go to a small studio owned by a cousin of someone Jeremy knows.

Jeremy is the oldest guy in the band, their lead guitarist and kind of leader, and Frank looks up to him a lot. He's a free spirit, working at his parents' supermarket since he was fifteen, but as far as Frank knows, he's also working a few hours at a record label. Being involved in music is one of Frank's dreams.

His father and grandfather always played the drums, only not professionally, and Frank's passion for music comes about because of them. He's been to their gigs since he was very young, and has tried to learn a lot of instruments through his life. He tried learning the drums, the saxophone, the trumpet, the violin, the piano and the bass, but none gives Frank as many feelings as when he touches a guitar. He loves feeling the strings under his fingers, and the bruises on his palms and fingertips if he plays too rough or for too long; loves the touch of the guitar's body and neck under his hands whether he's playing or not. His guitar is so white that it almost glows when the sunlight or the moonlight hits it. It's a gorgeous guitar he got from his grandfather when he turned eleven; a curved body and a long neck making Frank proud every time he can show it off to friends or friends' acquaintances.

Frank practically melts under the weight of his guitar and the sounds he creates with it, focused on Lukas's keyboards, and Jonas's drumming, and Gordon's bass groove and strident voice. This is Frank's favorite thing in the world. He gets totally lost when he's playing, and only notices the time when the whole garage falls into a sudden silence. Frank sighs. It's time already.

At seven PM sharp, his mother cuts the power to the garage so that they know that practice is over for the day. Frank doesn't really complain because they live in a familiar neighborhood and making too much noise after a certain hour can piss off a lot of people, and he doesn't want any trouble. He wants to practice every day, even if only for a couple of hours. It's better than not playing at all.

The group of five friends say goodbye to each other. They'll see each other tomorrow. For now, Frank sees them off, before closing the garage gate and going into the house. It's time for dinner, but it ends up being an awkward meal all over again, with barely any sound being made except for the clink of cutlery and glasses. And the radio, which is always on when they share a meal at the kitchen table; thankfully it's on the news station and Frank doesn't hear any homophobic comments tonight.

He spends the rest of the night in his bedroom, telling his family that he's got homework to finish. With Father Way's words on his mind, he keeps the ceiling lamp on and turns on his laptop, so he can work on that summary. He knows he has to add a brief description of what he intends to write on the twenty pages he is due, but ends up with a full page of goals and questions he plans on developing in the essay. After that's done, he goes online and looks for a few book titles he can include as his research references, a few links as well, and fills half a page with it as neatly as he can.

In the end, Frank's satisfied. He saves the document on his pen drive and takes it downstairs with him. He finds his parents sitting on the couch. His grandfather is most likely in bed already. He smiles at them, knowing fully well that he has to ask for their permission to use the only printer in the house, and asks, "Dad, I need to use the printer in the office for some homework I'm due tomorrow. You mind if I—"

"Of course," his father says, gesturing mindlessly with one hand.

His mother, however, doesn't let him go so easily. She tells his father to go with him, like she suspects that Frank might use the printer for other purposes rather than strictly homework. It's not like Frank would print anything else while they're at home, especially when she is. He feels tempted to roll his eyes at the thought of it, but he's still facing them and doesn't want to risk being seen by her. It would probably turn into a disaster and he wouldn't get his work printed in any way.

His father doesn't mind coming to the office and, in fact, Frank can't be more relieved that it's him and not his mother. She would definitely read the document in its whole and put a lot of restrictions on his plans to write this, including forcing Frank to work on something entirely different, something of her own choice. His father does take a look at what Frank is printing and although his eyes bug out alarmingly, he doesn't say anything in the end. And Frank knows this secret is safe with him, especially when they leave the office and Frank Sr. pats his head in a soft gesture.

"Good luck with that essay, son," he says, smiling softly. Frank knows what he means and thanks him sincerely. They wish each other a good night and Frank goes by the living room to wish his mother the same.

Back upstairs, Frank closes his bedroom door behind himself with a huge grin on his lips. His father is absolutely the best.