Props & Mayhem - Frerard

1

- 9:27 a.m., outside Fresh Produce -

"Fuck off!"

The punk, clad in a studded hand-me-down leather jacket, shot the man a dirty look. Stupid motherfucker, do I look like I have shit to my name? No, asshole; now leave me alone with you and your charity work, I don't got shit to spare. And I don't have all day to waste listening to you ramble about god's plan.*

It wasn't an exaggeration - the money part, I mean. Frank Anthony hadn't held more than ten dollars in his hand in well over six months.

Why? You can thank mum for that.

Okay, okay. You can thank me for that. But she was partly to blame.

While the annoying comments and constant questioning hadn't done much more than ruffle his hormonal feathers, his mother had eventually taken it to the extreme when she forced him into therapy; there he made the acquaintance of a conservative counselor who told him that to follow God's path, he'd have to "adopt a better attitude towards life".

That "better attitude" included a complete Frank-makeover, which meant dropping out of his friends' band and telling his friends they could no longer sleep over.

Frank's mom had been dropping worried looks every time Frank had a male friend over, ever since one morning when he was fourteen and she knocked on his door to find the two of them sleeping in a cuddling position. (Fully clothed, mind you - Jesus.)

Right? Cause it's a crime for two boys to hold hands or spoon while watching an episode of Star Trek.

Frank had never had a boyfriend, per se, but a lot of his gay high school friends got awfully cuddly with him and, truth be told, it wasn't anything he minded. After a while, he grew to enjoy the affection and even questioned why men didn't do this more often. Was it really de-masculinizing to be fluffy with a friend?

He pushed his mother's concerns to he back of his mind as a general, universal "mom thing" until said shitty "Frank makeover" began. She wouldn't let him hang out with the guy friends he knew from school, and she even pulled him out of their band, Toadstools.

So, what? You're going to be an over-paranoid, pretentious bitch, I'll leave! That's what he'd said as he slammed the fridge door and sat down to have a "talk" with her.

Ultimately, cut to the chase, Frank left with the clothes on his back and a dejected mother sobbing into the specially embroidered, family-heirloom tablecloth. He told himself the guilt was a fleeting thing and to get over it, and eventually, maybe he did.

(Heck, maybe it was just down there somewhere along with the other crap and rubble that had been building since he hit pubescence, but who knew?)

Frank didn't care. He hit the streets with his guitar, the only part of his band left with him, and played songs for a living. Okay, I can't exactly call it a living, but it was something. It was waking up every morning in a new place and having secrets; it was owing no obligation to anyone, being his own man, or something close to a man. At seventeen, he was caught in a fragile age, one of turmoil and too much testosterone, but Frank dealt. He managed.

And, it started to pay off. He knew the local people, knew who would lend him a few dollars on their way to work. He learned how to defend himself after getting in a few scuffles. He adapted.

But the best was yet to come.

He saw the kid for a fleeting moment, shuffling past him on the crowded sidewalk in a blaze of striking blond hair, and god damn, what an interesting specimen.

--

A/N:

*any religious comments in this book, just to clarify, are not meant as a jibe against Christianity or any other religion. I don't have any problem with religion; I respect it, and I respect other people's opinions. It's simply in there to shed light on Frank's personality and develop him as a character; so is the excessive cursing you'll find in the first couple paragraphs.

Again, this is not meant for shock factor or anything; I'm just trying to show you Frank's...well, his rough personality, and his worldview, and that's what this story is for. It's all fictional, none of the ideas are supposed to reflect my opinion. This is Frank's story and he's narrating.

That's all!