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Frank heard a thump from downstairs. Who the hell was in his studio? As far as he knew, Jamia and the kids were upstairs sleeping. It would be impossible for someone to get into the basement without being seen from the kitchen.
The dogs couldn’t open doorknobs (but it would be super rad if they could), so maybe one of the kids was trying to find him. Still, it left him feeling a bit odd even if it wasn’t that weird. Maybe a rat had found it’s way into his studio or an amp fell over and turned itself into scraps. That would fucking suck, but only one way to find out.
He walked across the open kitchen space towards the basement door and went for the handle, not yet turning it. Frank was no stranger to anxiety, but he really couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
Wait! It was Christmas Eve, so it was probably Jamia down there. Maybe she got him that pedal he had been eyeing? Maybe the thump was her trying to bring something down there. Of course she would know how to sneak past him, he laughed to himself. Then he should go help her, right?
Frank immediately turned the handle and hopped down the steps as fast as his joints would let him. He turned the corner at the bottom and-
A shocked face stared back at him. His face.
Frank felt himself freeze, muscles completely stiff. He doesn’t remember what went through his mind, but next thing he knew he was slamming the basement door behind himself. He had booked it back up the stairs as fast as he could and had his breath caught to prove it.
He leaned back against the door trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Was that really his younger self sitting on the floor of his studio? Was he finally losing his mind at the ripe old age of 41? I’m fine, Frank mumbled to himself. He doesn’t move away from the door though.
What the fuck was he supposed to do, go back down there? He couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. What if that really was a younger version of himself? And what if that version was evil? You never know!
He reluctantly put his hand back on the door handle, wincing as he turned it, and let his feet lead the way down the basement stairs once more.
A floorboard creaked as he slowly made his way down, and then a voice called out. “Hey man, where the fuck am I?” And he felt himself freeze. There was no mistaking it, that voice was his.
“Who the fuck is that?” Frank whispered to himself. Against his better judgement, he continued down the steps. He turned at the bottom of the stairs for a second time, only to be met with hazel eyes locked onto him. A second time.
And it was him. From almost 20 years ago. Fuck.
Frank had the strangest feeling after zoning back into the present. The other Frank gawked at him. Other Frank? Well… fuck.
“Wh- who are you?” Frank asked. Why was his voice so goddamn shaky? This was a totally normal situation. He could do this, of course he could.
“Um, I’m Frank. I dunno, I just fucking woke up here, man. Kinda freaked out if I’m being honest,” the younger guy laughed a bit nervously, hand going up to pull at his hair. “And now I’m in this fucking room and you look like me but also like my dad?” Poor kid looked so lost. “What the fuck is going on?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he mumbled. “Well, I’m also Frank, so…” he shrugged.
“We’re both Frank?” He had never seen someone so confused. It would’ve been funnier if he wasn’t wearing the same fucking expression. The other Frank’s eyes were wide when he stole a glance at the elder’s face. “Geez, that weed must’ve laced with something.”
Frank was absolutely at a loss for words at that moment, but he had to do something. “Okay, talk me through it. For the sake of both our brains, let’s pretend this is a movie. What were you doing before you woke up here? Because that’s usually pretty important for these kinds of stories, right?”
The kid shrugged. “I dunno, I was watching a movie last night. The whole plot was like, they give a kid a wand and something something if you make a wish with all your heart, it’ll happen. And now I’m here.”
“What do you mean, now you’re here. You don’t just fucking appear,” he hissed. Frankie didn’t say anything to that, and instead stared at the older Frank currently awaiting his reply. Geez, what was with this kid and staring? Did he do that a lot when he was teenager? Anyways, the kid wasn’t talking so he decided to try a different question. God, he needed a drink. Did this happen to everyone when they hit 40? “What did you wish for with all your heart then? Indulge me.”
Frankie was quiet for a moment before being able to find his words. “I wanted so badly to know that we’d make it,” he said, a sad look briefly muting his features. And there it is. It’s gonna be one of those nights where they both need a drink. “Gerard’s been getting worse and the fucking van breaks down and we never have enough to money for all shit we need. I love it though, I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” he smiled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I really want it to work out, but it doesn’t mean that it will. And it scares the shit out of me. I don’t- I don’t think I could do anything else,” he gulped and let his eyes drift to the walls around him, eyeing the albums that he doesn’t even know are his. Doesn’t know how far they're all gonna go.
“Yeah, I remember that,” Frank nodded.
Frankie raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You’re not gonna give me some long speech about how I should never give up or some shit?”
“I just- That’s the thing though. You don’t know if things will work out, but you do it anyways. You give it your all, even if you don’t know what direction you’re going. And that’s part of the deal. You’re doing it with people you love and that’s all that matters.”
“Well, it’s not that simple,” his voice took on an edge. “I want it to be all that matters, but I don’t think life works that way, man. There’s always shit to worry about. Like Jamia’s waiting for me because she’s fucking awesome, but we’re about to tour and I’m not gonna see her for a while. And if the album doesn’t do well, then what? I move back to fucking Belleville? Go to my old manager and beg for a fucking job at Staples?”
“Would it matter? Isn’t the whole point that you tried?” he countered.
Frankie’s face soured, “I guess.”
“You just don’t want it to be in vain, right? You don’t wanna go into it not knowing if you’re gonna crash and burn.”
A smile reluctantly cracked through his scowl, “How’d you know?”
“Because I’m you, fucker,” he laughed. “And I remember what it was like. You guys put together all the cash you made that night and it was 43 fucking dollars. And even though it should’ve been spent on food, you were all so excited that they decided to put that money towards a fucking scorpion on your neck instead.” And with that his eyes fell to the crisp-looking tattoo on Frankie’s neck. It wasn't faded the way that his was now. It made his heart ache a little.
“Yeah, it was great,” Frankie smiled almost dreamily.
“You remember when we filled in another group’s slot when we first started? And I was so fucking nervous, and we were two songs in playing Headfirst, and I opened my eyes and just- I knew that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to do whatever I could to make that shit happen every night. All those people singing our songs, all the energy in the crowd, all the kids who came up after the show to tell us what we were doing fucking mattered. That’s what it’s about. You’re worrying about something you can’t even know.”
“Well, you’re sitting here in front of me, so technically I do know.”
“And what do you know?”
“That you’re old,” he laughed.
“You’re such a little shit sometimes. And I know you’re deflecting because I’m you.” Frankie groaned and sunk further into the couch. “Point is, no one can take that feeling away from you. It’s okay to let yourself get lost in it. You’re what, 22? You’re so young, you know that? So it’s okay to make a bunch of mistakes and do things you never wanna do again and get it in trouble and regret most of it.” He gestured around the room, “This stuff here is waiting for you, but don’t fucking back out just because you’re scared that you’re gonna fall.” Frankie just looked at him, face blank. Frank knew that the younger probably felt like shit having to tell another living person how scared of his future he actually was. He remembers being 20 and feeling like he needed to be invincible. Frank clasped his hands together. “Let’s say that it didn’t work out, would you do it all over again?”
“Yeah, of course. Because it was us,” he nodded and tried to find the rest of his words. “And it doesn’t matter if we don’t work out, because I know that we would’ve fought to the end.” Frank laughed to himself, fighting to the end was one way to put it.
“See, all the shit you go through changes you, for better or worse. But it’s still gonna happen, so why fight it? If it doesn’t work out, you’ll be fine. If it does, then you’ll be great. Either way…” Frank trailed off and shrugged. “You lived your life the way you saw fit.”
Frankie was quiet, “Okay, I can get with that. I dunno, I’ve just been so fucking nervous lately,” he frowned.
“Yeah, you’re life’s changing a lot right now, it’s pretty normal to have some amount of anxiety about it.”
Frankie laughed. “When did you get all wise?”
“Give it twenty years,” Frank smiled back at him.
“So what year is this?” The guy looked around the basement studio like it would give him some magical clue.
“Um, I don’t know if I’m supposed to answer that?” Wasn’t that how people fucked up the timeline or space continuum or whatever?
Frankie whined. “Come on, man.”
He was sure this would be one of the easier questions he'd answer tonight. “Fine, it’s 2022.”
“Holy shit, you’re 40?”
“Yeah, 41 a few months ago,” he nodded.
“And the date?”
“It’s uh- it’s Christmas Eve actually.”
“Are you alone on Christmas?” he asked, eyes wide.
“Oh god no!” Frank laughed. “I’m down here in my studio before all the crazy tomorrow. Just taking my own kind of breather, and then suddenly there’s a younger version of me looking like he’s about to freak out.”
“So what’s um- What does your tomorrow look like?” Frankie asked, trying to be slick. He had gotten a feeling that the older version of him didn’t want to say too much.
Frank smiled, “I’m guessing you have questions about your life twenty years from now?”
“Fuck yeah I do.”
He was tired, but maybe this would be fun. He thought he needed a drink but what he actually needed was a smoke. “Okay, you know what?” he sighed, “Why-fucking-not. Ask away, kid.”
Frank pulled out his pre-rolls, internally groaning when he remembered just how high his tolerance was back then. That kid would eat through his stash like a feral termite, but he figured they both needed it considering how quickly the younger had started firing off questions and how he was gonna be the one to answer them all. Well, this was definitely one way to spend a Christmas Eve.