Of All The Broken People

The Power In A Promise

FOR SOMEONE WITH such short legs and two schoolbags weighing them down, Frank sure moved fast. Or maybe I was just ridiculously out of shape (I suspected the latter.) By the time we reached the craggy, weather-worn steps leading to the wraparound porch, I was nearly breathless. If Frank noticed the poor state of my respiratory system, he didn't make it obvious. I had to say, it was nice to have my flaws overlooked rather than pointed out for a change.

"It's a bit messy," Frank warned as the door opened with a harsh, creaking moan. Furniture sat away from the walls unnaturally, yet to be pushed into their more permanent placements. The place felt frozen, as if everything inside this house was just awakening from a deep slumber. I took a breath, filling my lungs with what felt like the air of another time period. "My room is this way," Frank directed, dancing around the minefield of belongings littering the frayed carpet. I followed after him much less gracefully. I was bigger, and clumsier than Frank; and the growing dizziness in my head wasn't helping much either.

After successfully making it across the floor without face-planting, I trailed Frank up a rickety, winding staircase that opened up onto a carpeted landing. So far, this was the only part of house that was anywhere
close to being "put together". A fully hooked up television set sat cornered against the far back walls, which were painted a cozy dark grey. Placed perfectly centered in front of it lay a worn-out black and white polka dot bean bag that had clearly seen better days. I counted two visible patches and one fresh tear that hadn't been repaired yet.

"This whole space is kinda mine, I guess," Frank said, sliding his leather jacket off and hanging it over the banister rail. "I don't have any siblings or anything. It's just my mom and I now." He dropped both our bags next to the entrance to the stairway and showed me to the door leading to his room. The positive glow in his eyes told me he was proud of this space that he'd made his own, and he had every right to be: the room was badass in the coziest of ways. The walls were black with red splatter paint, creating a darkly creative look. A glossy black nightstand rested beside his bed, which was pushed against the far right wall. The comforter spread across his bed was decorated with a red and black quilted pattern that reminded me of Harley Quinn. The walls were adorned with a few posters, but the sunlight flooding through the four paned window prevented me from making out what they were advertising. Given Frank and I's style similarities, I suspected an assortment of punk bands; but then again, it wasn't right to make assumptions off of appearances.

"Nice room," I complimented, truly a bit in awe at the hominess of the space. I felt more comfortable here than I did in my own room, which was miraculous considering I spent most of my time there. Frank beamed like I'd just praised his only child. "Thanks, Gee-rard." If it hadn't been for the stunning grin, I might've scolded him for the name butchering, but I let it go: this time. Without waiting for his permission, I flopped back onto the bed, which turned out to be much squishier than it looked. Frank took a seat next to me; a little closer than I would have liked, but I wasn't about to correct him on it. He'd been too nice to me so far for me to ruin it by pulling out a piece of my rude, overcorrective personality and shoving it in his face.

"So." I licked my lips, dropping my eyes to my shoes. "No offense but ... how did you manage to scare off all those guys earlier? I've had more run-ins with them than I can count, and they've never just backed off like that." I didn't wanna say that he didn't look tough enough to scare them away (even though he truly didn't.) I hated feeling weak, and I didn't want to make anyone else feel that way, intentionally or unintentionally. For all I knew, Frank could be a black belt in martial arts or something along those lines. I didn't want to accidentally insult my first friend in two years.

Frank's face flushed a pale pink color that almost matched the eyeshadow smattered around his eyes in an intentionally messy way. "It wasn't me that scared them off." He lifted his shirt and pulled a black handled switchblade out of his jeans pocket. My eyes bugged and I whispered, shocked, "You brought a knife to school?" Frank went a shade darker than the eyeshadow. "I had to. I just don't feel safe without it."

"Why's that?" It was an intrusive question, but my curiousity was peaked and I wanted desperately to know what had happened to make Frank feel the need to keep a blade on him at all times. I had some speculations, but that wasn't the same as knowing the real story.

"It's not really something I like to share ..." Frank paused, seeming to choose his next words carefully. "I especially couldn't tell it to someone I just met. I'm sorry, Gerard. Maybe one day I could bring myself to tell you, but that day is not today."

"That's alright," I said quickly. I felt a bit insensitive for not considering that it might be a personal sort of thing. "You can tell me if and when you feel ready to. No worries."

He smiled slightly, and I felt better. "You don't seem bad, like they say you are," Frank said hesitantly. "Why do they hate you so much?"

I shrugged, trying to seem as nonchalant about the subject is possible. In reality, it tore me apart inside, but I wasn't about to let anyone see that. "I'm different," I offer. "I dress different, have different likes and dislikes. People don't like differences."

"They call you a ..." Frank stopped himself, pursing his lips and looking away in an embarrassed fashion.

"A faggot," I finished for him, and he nodded timidly. I didn't want to confirm that I was gay to him. What if he was a homophobe and didn't want to talk to me anymore? I had a new friend, and I didn't wanna ruin that for myself ... But I also couldn't lie about who I was, because even if I did Frank was sure to figure things out on his own eventually. I had to be upfront about this, even if I was afraid .. even if it ruined everything.

"That's not the term I'd prefer for myself ... but they are right about part of it - I like guys. But I'm not the raging homo-slut they make me out to be. In fact, I've never had any kind of sex at all, ever." I stopped once I realized I was talking too much and far too loudly. I tended to raise my voice when I was nervous.

I examined Frank's face, waiting for the shocked and disgusted expression to smear across his boyish features and shatter my hopes. But all that Frank's face portrayed was sadness. He reached a hand over and, on impulse, I assumed I was going to be slapped, and I flinched. The touch was anything but a blow, however; it was ginger and gentle, like a butterfly hovering delicately over a flower. I don't recall anyone other than Mikey ever laying a single finger on me so tenderly, and so I allowed myself to be touched. "Gerard, I'm going to promise you something, and you might not believe it but I mean it with everything I've got." Anxiety welled in my chest as I waited for his next words, a flash flood of panic and suspense that made me feel like my ribs and lungs were being crushed simultaneously.

"I will never hurt you for being who you are. You're brave, for being different, and I will always respect that." He let his hand fall away from my bruised cheek, but kept his eyes on me. "And I will certainly never hurt you for the way that you love.

"That's my promise to you, Gerard. And I swear, no matter what trouble it brings me, I'm going to keep it."