At first, Frank wouldn't stay quiet in the chair, deadly scared about his hair's fate. As soon as Alicia warned him that so much movement could cause her to ruin his hair, he became a statue.
"Shave it! Shave it!" Mikey cheered. I guessed he would never give up on trying to anger Frankie. It was one of his favorite sports.
"N-NO! F-FUCK YOU!"
"I'm gonna shave your balls." Alicia told her boyfriend.
"Oh, yeah? And then what would you play with?" he wiggled his eyebrows. Eww. "Better shave Gerard's, he's done it before."
"Y-you shaved your b-balls?" Frankie gasped, looking at me for an affirmation.
"What? NO!"
"Yes, you did!" Mikey insisted. "Once you said that they s-"
"Enough, Mikey. Not true." I stopped him. As far as I knew, that had never happened. I might have done some crazy things while being wasted, but if I had shaved my balls I would have noticed afterwards...right?
Mikey eventually shut up and let Alicia do her job. Frankie was not only satisfied with the result, he loved it. He kept on looking at himself in the mirror and touching his hair, shaking his head and asking us what we thought. He looked wonderful. His hair was now of a similar length to the first time I saw him, just above his shoulders. Alicia had cut it into two different layers, so it slightly curled without having too much volume -which he hated. It also made it seem darker, his light eyes sticking out. The front had been done scale-shaped, his fringe combed to a side and still long enough to be tucked behind the ear if necessary. He was adorable with that lock of hair partially falling on his face, but it wouldn't be practical at school.
*******^******
With only one day left for his school debut, Frank was so nervous that we thought he wouldn't make it. He walked in circles, talked to himself, checked his backpack every hour, hardly slept and refused to take sedatives because 'it'd make him more stupid for school'.
Amazingly -or not that much knowing him- he was the first one to wake up in the morning, getting dressed at record speed -he could wear whatever he wanted- and jumping on Tony and Greg's bed screeching: 'Daddies, get up or I'm gonna be late!'
Since it was a special occasion and we knew how scared Frankie was, the three of us escorted him to school. Before we got off the car I gave my boyfriend a good-luck kiss. Once we entered the building, I became his uncle for everybody. Our reality was a delicate subject. We had legal approval, yet we couldn't expect everybody to understand and accept it. Anthony and Greg had offered to hide their relationship too, but Frankie and I voted against it. That place was full of people who dealt with and fought against discrimination every day of their life. I thought it'd be ridiculous if a boy was discriminated there for having two male parents. When later that day we went to pick Frank up and he introduced his dads to some teachers, I could feel that they had nothing to fear. The women smiled and they all congratulated the couple for how polite, sweet and kind to everybody their son was.
The second week, Frankie began to take the school bus every morning. It wasn't an easy decision for us, we were nearly devastated to see him board a vehicle that wasn't hours. The people in charge had to endure an exhausting interrogatory until we were sure that they conformed to the required security measures: buses in good condition, qualified drivers, children-proof windows and enough staff to watch over the students. You couldn't call our concern exaggeration when we were talking about a bus full of kids with mental -and in some cases also physical- problems. On the other hand we were conscious that Frank needed more independence, and it'd also help him make more friends besides the ones in his class.
That being said, we weren't strong enough to completely cut the ties. In our defense, it was Frankie who asked for things to be the way they ended up being: he went to school on the bus, but Anthony and Greg -or Ray if they were out of town playing- drove him home. Feeling left out because of my work schedule, I would sometimes beckon at the bus driver to continue on his way so I could drop off Frankie myself.
We were a very particular family who loved each other too much to be separated. This included Puppy. If Frankie wasn't home, our dog would jump into whoever's car was started because he knew it'd take him to his owner.
As weeks passed bye, Frank enjoyed school more and more; even if it was certainly hard for him and he'd often leave frustrated and cursing. He knew that he was there to learn. No one would get mad at him for making mistakes or asking many questions. All the teachers were nice and patient and the lessons were simplified, dynamic and divided in short periods to keep the pupils' attention. We were all proud of Frankie for just trying and he was obstinate enough to not give up.
He would get lazy at times, during those days when everything felt too complicated for his troubled, medicated brain. He never asked us to skip school, though. The teachers didn't force him if he didn't feel up to learning. Instead he was allowed to stay in the art room where he could draw, paint, or do craft activities. They also had a music room where Frankie could sit in front of the drums and show off what Greg had taught him. He was still rather messy and rough to play, but was slowly getting a handle on the rhythm.
His interest in music had increased since he finally dared to go see his father's band play. It was in a big place not far from home and Anthony had been told that it never got too packed, so we talked to Frank and convinced him to give it a try; if the music was too loud for him, I'd take him home. At the last moment Ray had an idea that worked perfectly: we got Frankie ear plugs. He could still hear, but the volume was significantly reduced. His fear quickly disappeared when he realised that the sound was just okay for him, and he enjoyed the show like The Homeless Souls' number one fan he was. Knowing most of the songs from being at some rehearsals or hearing recordings, he stood in front of the stage and sang along. We couldn't make him sit. For the last song, Anthony invited him on and proudly told everybody that Frankie was his beloved son and would share the microphone with Jack.
From that night, after being on stage and listening to the applauses, Frank turned into an habitue of the school's music classroom. He announced that one day he would learn to play drums well enough and he also wanted to take singing lessons.
Besides art in all its forms, the other thing Frankie adored about school was making friends. Friends that were somehow like him and wouldn't make fun of the way he talked, the things he said, his glasses or his eyes. Of course there were a few exceptions, just like everywhere; although being outnumbered there wasn't much those mean kids could do, and the teachers always insisted on inculcating egalitarian ideas.
Even though Frankie continued to be Mel's friend and they would frequently meet at the park, he also made a best friend at school. His name was James. He was my age, much larger than Frank and with a coarse, deep voice; but with the mentality of a 10-year old.
Frankie had never lost that sixth sense most children owned, the same that Mel had once demonstrated while talking to her father about Frank: they could see people's souls, their essence. They treated them according to that, regardless of the way they looked or their chronological age.
The moment they exchanged their first words, Frankie knew how to behave around James without needing anyone's instructions.
James' story had some points in common with Frankie's, his adoptive mother had told us about it. Due to complications during birth, his brain had lacked oxygen for too long and was permanently damaged. Upon hearing the news -though no one knew what the real consequences would be- his parents had chosen to give him away for adoption. For more than 20 years he lived in a orphanage until this elderly woman started working there as a volunteer and grew too fond of him. Together with her husband, she decided to adopt James and provide him with the education he'd never had. This was his second year at this school and he and Frankie were in the same class. The boy spoke perfectly fine and was notably smart on the intellectual level, although contrary to Frank -who could act childish but experienced the same feelings as any person his age- James was one hundred percent a child emotionally.
Frank and James had complemented each other from the start. Frankie took care of James and snapped at anyone who mocked his friend for not acting like the big boy he appeared to be: 'C-can't you see he's j-just a kid?'. James got into bodyguard mode if any older, taller boy made fun of Frankie's height: 'He's small but can kick your ass hard. And if he doesn't, I will.' Frankie helped James in art class while James assisted Frankie with calculations or anything that might be giving him trouble. They fought a lot too, especially when they got together at our house or James' to do homework; but their arguments never lasted.
******^******
"N-no...no, you sh-shut up! Shh...l-lemme think! N-no...mess, th-there, no. Is...it's n-not that. A...a p-path and...and f-flowers, maybe. Y-yes birds. N-no, not that...no..." Frankie seemed to be discussing something, and at first I though he was having that conversation with James. After minutes of not hearing the other boy say a word, I stopped what I was doing on the kitchen's counter and gave him a look. Frank was talking to himself and basically raving. Nodding, shaking his head, hitting it with his hand and waving around. It often happened when he forced his brain past its limits while doing homework, especially maths.
"Frankie...you're saying crazy things." James tilted his head and frowned. In his innocence, he couldn't help but find it funny. He didn't know much about mental illnesses and didn't take any kind of medication himself. Failing to obtain any reaction from the younger one, he pinched his nose. "Frankie!"
"Ouch! Y-yeah...what?"
"You were saying crazy things again." James repeated.
"D-don't say that, as-asshole! I...I'm n-not crazy!" Frankie whined angrily.
"Frankie...James didn't mean it in a bad way, calm down." I came in to help.
"No I didn't! It's just that...what you were saying made no sense and you were doing weird things." James played with his middle-length hair nervously. He'd always feel bad when something he said hurt Frankie.
"Oh...I...d-don't know. S-sometimes people say I w-was talking and...and I d-didn't know I was t-talking. M-my brain gets f-fucked up. Y-yeah. S-sorry, James...d-don't remember. B-but...but this...TH-THIS IS SHIT AND...AND I C-CAN'T DO IT! M-MAKES ME MAD AND I'M T-TOO STUPID AND C-CAN'T, GEE!" he threw his folder to the floor and cried over the table.
It was a frequent scene and we couldn't blame him. School -even a second grade level- was a real challenge for someone in Frank's condition who hadn't gotten the advisable training and stimulus during his first years of life. Specialists would recommend to start the learning process much earlier than usual in cases like his. Frank had gone to some sort of school for barely three years when he was 8, and it was evident that the teacher didn't pay him the needed attention; he had only learned basic writing and reading in all that time.
"Shh...it's ok, you're too tired now. You don't have to do it for tomorrow, the teacher won't get angry." I hugged him and kissed his head. I wished I could comfort him better, I knew other kind of kisses would have a greater effect in him.
"I...I kn-know, but I w-want to. M-most kids will h-have it done!"
"It doesn't matter, everyone does things at their own pace. Don't be so hard on yourself, drink your milk before it goes cold." I placed the smoky cup of chocolate in front of him, handing James his and leaving a plate with cookies on the center of the table.
"B-but...but..."
"I'll help you." James smiled at him. "I can explain things many many many many many times, really! I don't mind, I like playing teacher! Want me too?"
"K-kay...then I'll h-help you c-color the drawing you m-made at school." Frank assented, drying the tears with his hoodie's sleeve.
"Deal! I'm oh so bad at that! I sucky suck." he giggled while he sipped at his milk. "You'll do it much better."
"N-no but...I'll h-help you. W-won't do it f-for you, l-lazy-ass!" Frank clarified.
"I...I know..."
"Frankie...that's fine, but have in mind that James won't do the calculations for you either." I pointed out.
"Wh-why?"
"Because you'll never learn if you don't practice. He'll just explain things to you and help you, okay?" I stared at Frank, awaiting.
"B-but...I c-can't!"
"Yes, you can. You either do as I say or wait until tomorrow when you're less tired, James won't do your homework."
"I could!" James asserted happily.
"I know, but it'll be better if you just play to be the teacher like you said." I patted his back.
It had taken me some time to get used to the novelties. In the beginning, when James would visit us, it was awkward to have another boy to watch over besides Frankie. A boy who was really an adult and didn't even look much younger. At a point I relaxed and attempted to know him for what he was inside, like Frankie had done. I forgot about the exterior and centered on the intangible until that transcended everything, allowing me to see the kid James was.
"Oh, okay! Do you have brownies?"
"Uh...I think I do! Frankie...?"
"Y-yes, I want b-brownies!" he jumped.
"Of course you'd want brownies." I rolled my eyes. "That was not the question. I was waiting for you to tell me if you understood that James is only going to..."
"...ex-explain, yeah. K-kay, cruel p-person." he huffed.
"Cruel person! You're so funny, Frankie!" James burst into laughter, slamming the table and making some milk from the two cups spill. "Oops!"
"It's ok, I'll go get something to clean it up." I resigned, still smiling. It was just another day playing the 'uncle' facet of my new life. And I loved it. I didn't mind pretending for a couple of hours, I knew things would be back to normal once Frankie and I were alone or with the other couple of the house. Then we'd act like the hopelessly in love boyfriends we were.
All the changes that befell us after Linda and Damon went to prison not only made our lives better and easier; they also strengthened our relationship. We didn't need to refrain ourselves in front of Tony and Greg. Of course we kept certain things private, but there was no need to break a make-out session on the couch just because one of them stepped in. They'd laugh it off, apologize and leave us to it. It was the same if we caught them, only that Frankie would sometimes stay and 'awww'.
Living with them also meant that I didn't always have to play the father role with Frankie. I was thankful for that because it felt confusing and odd for both of us. During the weeks where Anthony was home, I could be just Frankie's boyfriend and let his dad be the one to reprimand him if necessary.
I didn't mind that Frank's new activities and friends left us with less time together alone; he was oozing happiness, still finding all this sudden normality that surrounded him strange and exhilarating. I felt ecstatic for him, and our love was too strong to let a little time reduction intimidate it. We made each minute together worth an hour and weekends were completely ours, sacred.
We'd never had sex again, but we would often make love. An interchange of kisses, caresses, friction, strokes. Words delicately whispered in each other's ears sending shivers down our spines. Nape hairs bristling, pearly sweat forming on our foreheads, hearts racing. Eyes ajar, fixed looks, swollen lips and fingers brushing damp locks off blushed faces. Pure passion, pleasure and love despoiled of any discomfort, awkward procedures or possible pain. Our favorite way, our natural way, our intercourse of body, heart and soul.
******^******
One night during May...
Frankie and I had gone out. The pitch-black sky was starry, welcomely shorn of clouds and crowned with a bright, white full moon. The soft, cool breeze that alleviated the heat of the imminent summer had been so inviting when we opened our bedroom's window that we couldn't refuse. We walked hand in hand, laughing and kissing no matter who saw or whether they liked it. We arrived downtown and Frankie's eyes didn't suffice him to behold the city that laid before us. He looked around, pointed at buildings, asked me what they were. He wanted to see them all closer. Why wouldn't I comply? There was no hurry, no planned date, only two people in love walking down the street.
Money was required for our next destination. It was just for three seconds that I let go of his hand to fish into my wallet. He was cheering, jumping up and down, applauding hyperactively. For three seconds I lowered my head and he was gone, he got ahead.
I ran. I elbowed my way through people and didn't care about the ones calling after me or what they might be saying. I knew where Frankie was going and I had to reach him.
It was crowded. Strident sounds, screams, people passing me by fast. And I saw him; I spotted him bathed in red and white lights, but I couldn't get to him. He was dancing, just like in that unforgettable night one year ago. His hair hovering as he turned round and round, twisting his whole body and shaking his hips clad in tight blue jeans. He looked chaotically beautiful, sexy; yet I had to go for him or I might lose him.
Frank was encircled by noise, blinding lights and confusion, but he didn't seem to care; he just wanted to dance. Everybody was too close to him, so close that some crashed against him. He stumbled and fell, and all of a sudden he looked scared and small down there. Maybe hurt.
I pushed all the obstacles away. They cursed and shoved me back and the lights made it hard to see. Frankie was only a few feet away from me, but it felt like miles. I crouched in front of him and helped him up. He smiled astonishingly wide and then his lips found mine.
"Fuck, baby! Why'd you run like that?" I questioned. Frankie didn't hear me. He couldn't hear me. He kept on looking at me, the flickering lights reflecting on his glasses. Reds and yellows and greens playing in his irises.
That's when the music changed. The invigorating notes of hard rock gave way to a ballad and we both grinned.
"I love you." I blurted out, stirred up. This time he heard, he perceived the particular emotion behind my words and his eyes shined.
"L-love you too, s-sorry for es-escaping. Th-the disco called m-me!" he replied.
"I'm here now, it's okay" my hands rested on the small of his back as I brought him closer. I sensed fingers graze my shoulders and soon his arms were wrapped around my neck.
We danced with our eyes shut. We kissed as if nobody was watching us. We listened to the music and nothing else.
Who cared what the world around us was doing, thinking? Who cared about that, when I couldn't discern which heart belonged to each of us? They beat in unison, I could feel them; we had become one. And as one same person we carried on dancing. Inexpertly shuffling to the rhythm, swaying, spinning like a wind-up toy.
I met a blind man who taught me how to see.
Yeah, a blind man who could change night into day.
And if a -I can, I'm gonna make you come with me.
Yeah, because here comes the sun,
and we'll be chasing all the clouds away.
~~~*~~~
Don't make no sense lightin' candles,
there's too much moonlight in our eyes....
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