Chapter Text
Too dark. Too many people. Too many smells. Too many voices.
Halloween.
"I have more candy than you!" a younger boy cries out to another, and I quickly scoot away from the sudden outburst of noise. Too loud. "No, you don't! See, you forgot to count this lollipop!" comes the reply, high-pitched and angry. My heart beats quickly in my small chest, and I wipe my free and sweaty hand on my green hoodie. Too hot. Too cold.
Halloween.
The streets are full of small children, even a few teenagers and older kids amongst us, but it doesn't matter how old or young they are. They're still people, and I'm still afraid of them. It's not the silly costumes or the funny noises they make, like "Roar!" or "Boo!". No, it's just the fact that they're people, and I just happen to be terrified of people and engaging in conversation with them.
"Gee, sweetie, why don't you try that house? It looks nice," my mother coaxes me, and I look up at her, my eyes wide and fearful. I glance up the driveway of the house she's speaking of and immediately decide to avoid it, as there are at least ten kids in line. "No, no, not that one," I plead as she grabs my hand and drags me to the door of the house, behind the line of waiting children. "Oh, Gerard, you're fine. There are only a few kids, and they all look nice. See, this one looks very nice!" she exclaims, tapping a boy a little shorter than me on the back.
The boy turns around slowly, his face concealed by a comical zombie mask. On his body is a green hoodie identical to my own, and there's an awkward exchange of glances as we look each other over. The boy pulls back the hood to reveal a mess of black hair and also removes the mask. I notice that he's actually very cute, but I stop myself before I can get too attached. He's a person. He's scary. "Hello, lovely," Mother cooes at the boy, and he smiles a small smile, "What's your name?"
He ruffles his hair and stands up on his tippy-toes, bouncing up and down as he cries out proudly, "Frank! Frank Anthony Iero!" I immediately recognize the name, and recall this boy being in my kindergarten class. Yes, Frank. He's as quiet as myself, though he gets a bit loud while playing with himself. "And how old are you, Frank?" my mother continues, and I pull her sleeve, my heart racing. I can't do this. I can't talk. I can't be in situations like this.
She ignores me and waits for Frank to answer, who's frantically counting his fingers over and over again. "Uh, six! I turned six today!" he yells over the noise, holding up seven fingers. Mother chuckles and pushes me forward slightly, to which I redden and bite my lip nervously. "So is Gerard! He turned six earlier this year," she prompts, and I sigh sadly.
"Oh, I know you!" Frank says gleefully, and I fake a smile. "Yeah," I reply quietly, and he looks in my bucket of candy. And by bucket of candy, I mean that there are three suckers and a gumball. "You barely have any candy," Frank says, his voice full of concern, "Here, have some of mine!" With that, he dunks his hand into his own candy basket and pulls out a handful, one dropping to the concrete as he transfers them to my bag. I smile widely at this, suddenly really liking Frank.
He's very nice.
He drops another piece in for good luck and smiles, leaning back on his heels. "Why... Why did you do that?" I ask as quietly as I can so that he can still hear me above the buzz of Halloween, and he shrugs carelessly. "Because you're cute and you didn't have any!" he replies, and we both giggle. My mother is obviously delighted with my conversation, and she stands up. "Where's your mother, Frank?" she asks, and Frank stops smiling.
Instead, he concentrates on his shoes, which are black and untied. "She's at home. She doesn't live that far, though," he responds emotionlessly, gritting his teeth. I frown and set down my candy bag, bending down in front of Frank. "Do you want me to tie your shoes?" I ask, and he nods. "I don't know how," he admits, so I show him.
Actually, I don't know how to tie shoes, either. I just pretend like I do, so that I can make him feel better. "And then this goes through this hole and–oops!" I cry as the laces come undone, and we erupt into giggles. Mommy continues to look at Frank sadly, but I'm very pleased with my newfound friend. If he is a friend.
"So, your name is Gerard. I'm Frank. That means that we should be friends!" Frank says as it's finally out turn to receive our candy, and a towering figure stands in the doorway of the home. "Trick or treat?" they ask, and Frank and I chime, "Treat!"
After we receive a ton of candy from this kind person, my mom asks Frank if he wants to keep trick-or-treating with us, and he screams, "Yes! Gee and I are best friends, so we have to!" Best friends? Yes, best friends.
So we go around the neighborhood, calling out our chant of "Trick or Treat!" and getting handfuls of candy poured into our buckets, simply because we're the "cutest little things" people have ever seen.
We're practically unstoppable.
"Gerard! You have something on your face," Frank alerts me as I munch on a chocolate bar, and I get really nervous. How embarrassing that he can see how messy I am, even in the dark. "Oh, no! Where? Where?" I cry frantically, and Frank licks his finger and wipes at my lip, just like Mom does whenever I get messy.
I giggle and take the candy bar away from my mouth, actually enjoying Frank wiping the stuff off of my face. "Did you get it?" I ask through giggles, and Frank nods, licking his sucker, which smells like strawberries. I love strawberries.
Frank notices me staring, and offers his sucker to me. "Want some?" he asks, to which I reply by taking the candy and shoving it in my mouth, and though it's sticky and has somewhat lost its flavor, it's still tasty. If Mommy sees this, she doesn't care, because she just continues to hold my hand like grown ups do. "Okay, boys," she says after a few more moments of me and Frank exchanging candy and babbling nonsense about comics and video games, "We're about to cross the street, so Frank, grab someone's hand."
I'm not too used to having both of my hands held at once, so as Frank slips his somewhat sticky, dirty hand into mine, the feeling is foreign. I slip my handy bag to the crook of my arm so that I can hold both my mom's hand and Frank's, but holding Frank's hand is different. He's someone else than Mom, and he's a boy. Some people, Mom has told me, think that boys that like boys are gross.
I refuse to admit this to her, but I think that I might like boys.
Besides, girls have cooties. But Mommy says that even if I did like boys that she'd always love me, but I can't believe her. The last time I told a boy that he was cute and that I liked him a lot, he ran away and told on me, which is why I stopped talking to people. After that, I got bullied a lot, and this all happened at daycare. Dad never was around, though I'm not even sure what he actually does, and Mommy has to work a lot. So she drops me off at daycare, which is where I first saw Frankie.
Frankie. Frank. I like both of those names for him.
He never played with other kids, but instead played with action figures and sometimes Barbie dolls, and I would just sit and color with crayons. And whenever we had a group coloring time, he would color on himself with markers, saying that the pictures were tattoos when asked by the supervisors, and he was immediately sent to timeout for making the comparisons. "Your mother wouldn't want you talking like that, and you're too young for this!" they would scold, and it would always attract a lot of attention.
"Gerard," my mother's voice comes from far away, and I snap out of my thoughts. Flinching, I look up at her, and she smiles irritably. "I was just asking you if you wanted to help me walk Frankie here home," she says, and I nod. "So early?" I whine, and she lets go of my hand to cross her arms. We had made our way safely across the street, and we're now in front of a small house not too different from our own.
Frank is still holding my hand, even though we're not in the street anymore. I look at our hands and look back up at him, and he smiles cheerfully. "Why are you still holding my hand?" I ask, a little nervous. Maybe he thinks that I'm scared or something.
"Because I like holding your hand," he replies, swinging our arms, "It's nice!" I smile and we swing our arms around in circles, but Mommy stops the chaos and points to the house. "So this one is your house?" she asks Frank, who nods. "Yep!" he cries, and he drags me up the driveway and to the porch.
Mom follows us quickly, and we finally meet the light overhead. "Are you a scarecrow?" Frank asks, examining my face. I nod and unzip my hoodie, showing him torn and faded overalls and my face paint. "I am! Do you like it?" I ask for his approval, to which he nods. He's still holding my hand.
We giggle again and shove each other around as Mom knocks on the door a few times, and I sing, "Frankie! Frankie! He's my new best friend! Frankie! Frankie! He's my new–"
I'm cut off suddenly by the door being unlocked, and Frank flinches, so I hug him reassuringly. This form of contact and affection is different and newer to me, even though I do it to my mom all the time, but again, this is different. The door opens slowly, and a woman peaks her head out, catching sight of Frankie and gasping. "Frankie!" she cries, throwing open the door and reaching out for him, but instinctively, I pull him closer until I'm hugging him again. "No!" I yell, suddenly very confident and protective, "Don't hurt him!"
Mom and the lady work to separate us, me screaming and kicking my legs as the lady picks up Frank and squeezes him, and he yells, "Mom! You're crushing me!" My heart leaps to my chest and I kick out, writhing in my mother's grasp. She's crushing Frank!
"Frank! It's okay, I'll save you!" I call, trying to push my mom away. But she's too strong, and she smiles apologetically at the other woman. "I'm so sorry," she says softly, still grasping me roughly, "He wigs out in social situations. I think he may have social anxiety, and I have a therapist scheduled to check him out and talk to him next week." The lady nods understandingly and kisses Frank on the cheek, and he wipes it off. "Frank Anthony Iero!" she scolds, setting Frank down. He crosses his arms and sticks out his tongue.
"I told you to wait for me! And you ran out there alone? At night? Do you know how many people could've hurt you?" Frank's mom cries, falling to her knees to become level with the very short Frank. "I was fine! I'm a big boy, and Gerard was with me!" he yells back angrily, looking up at me and tugging my leg.
Mom sets me down and I run towards Frankie, and we meet in an embrace. Both of the moms squeal and exchange light conversation. "I'm Linda, and you've met little Frankie," Frank's mother says, messing with Frank's hair. My mom giggles and shakes the woman's hand, introducing me and herself. "I believe that the two boys go to school together? They hit it off real well! Maybe they could hang out some time and we could get together," my mom says, and I bounce from foot-to-foot.
Frank does the same, calling out, "Oh, can we Mommy? Can we?" His mom says, "Of course! We just need to talk a little more and then we can all be friends." I'm surprised at how easily she can talk and then just be friends with someone, and even though I wish that I could be like that, even Mommy has told me that I won't really be able to do that. It's just the way I am.
"Well, it was lovely meeting you, Donna and little Gerard," Frank's mother says, scooping up Frank, "We'll see you at school. Thank you so much for taking care of him. I was calling all over, and I was just about to call the police. Thank you, just thank you!" There's some more talking between the adults, so Frank and I begin to talk again.
"Moms are very weird," Frank comments, and I nod and smile.
"Yeah. Are we friends now?"
"Yes. Best friends. We'll play together all the time and make each other feel better and sleep together and eat together and kiss each others' boo-boo's when we get them."
"Really?"
"Really."
I smile and reach out for Frank as his mother brings him back into the house, and he waves wildly as he disappears behind the door. "Bye, Gerard! Best friends forever!" he calls loudly, and I giggle.
"Bye, Frankie!"