Nostalgia, like any drug, has the potential to be either a poison or a remedy. I woke up snuggled into Gerard's chest. His arms were wrapped around me, a feeling of security and warmth washed over me like a blanket. It reminded me of when I was a kid, and how I'd sneak into my grandmother's bedroom some nights as I was scared of the dark. She would move around to make space for the two of us to fit comfortably onto her squeaky twin sized bed. Gerard was something that I never expected.
I was never the little girl to dream of finding my one true love or Prince Charming and ride away on a horse drawn carriage to the perfect Disney life. Instead, I was the odd girl who dressed in boy clothes and spent her time drawing spacecrafts and rather weird looking aliens from outer-space. My grandmother, bless her soul, raised me fine, always sitting on her rocking chair by the window in the small psychic shop she ran. The old woman wouldn't hurt a fly, and she believed strongly in the idea that people were good at heart. I was named after her, Francesca Antoinette. My granny was a fucking saint; I don't think I am even worthy enough to share the same name as her. She would walk me to the local church on sunny Sunday mornings, even though she claimed to follow Buddhist beliefs. She only attended the morning mass to watch the old pianist play; they were childhood sweat-hearts and she was mesmerized by his skillful playing.
The day my grandmother died was the day that my world went black. She was a candle, with a strong light, leading me through the unknown darkness that is life. Flickering once in a while, like the time she broke her hip and I had to fend for myself for some time, I was very aware at the fact that my sweet, old granny wouldn't be there for me my whole life.
It was a rather pretty April day when my grandmother passed away. A junior in high-school, I wasn't the best of a student. I was quiet, had my little group of friends, but overall was not minded by the teachers. All throughout growing up, I had plenty of stomach issues. I had to watch what I'd eat because if not, I'd be throwing up whatever I had eaten. This made my life a bit harder. It was a particularly bad day for me, my stomach was killing me with cramps and I had several exams which I had not studied for, and I was on the verge of failing most of my classes. I had decided on skipping out for the day once lunch time rolled around. Riding away on my rusty bicycle, I pedalled thirty minutes without stopping through the scariest looking streets of Jersey until I reached the hospital where the elderly woman had been recovering from some lung disease with a name I couldn't pronounce. The nurses knew me quite well since I spent hours at the hospital sitting by my granny's bed; they always were extra nice to me, since they felt pity towards the sad kid I was. I didn't care. There was a pit feeling deep inside me, I didn't know why. I couldn't wait to climb the five flight of stairs all the way to her room, where I would find my grandmother, whom I somewhat resembled, reading some thriller novel. I had so much going through my head that day, though I can clearly remember bursting in through the hospital doors at noon, earlier than usual, and how my grandmother's assigned nurse, Nelly, came to where I stood, wrapping her arms around me in a motherly way. She proceeded to tell me about my grandmother's passing.
That moment marked a change in my life. I found out that the real world is a lot more unforgiving than I thought it would be. It also smelt a lot more like cigarettes than I thought it would. My granny had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you've been mean to someone, they won't believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it's time to stop being nice, then destroy them. Well, that second part I learned myself, since I was off on my own. My father left as soon as he found out that my mother was pregnant with his kid. Mama used to live with my grandmother and me until one day she went out to get the groceries supposedly, but instead never returned.
Looking back, sixteen year old Frankie was just a sad kid. With lipstick stains on her teeth and scars down her arms, she was only alive when she scored anything from the junkies she hung with. She was pure dynamite, destroying the hearts of anyone that got in her way. Translucent skin from the constant use of drugs and sleepless nights, dangerously underweight and eyes with a crazed look, I was a walking nightmare. I had dropped out of school when I got sick of attending class and dealing with everyone there, and proceeded to living out on the streets. From party to party, I was well known for being a bad girl and made the little money I managed to earn by sleeping around with people, most of the time it was pity sex.
When I turned seventeen, I was officially hired at some strip club in some obscure part of Brooklyn, New York. I partied hard and became a serious dancer. My dancing was time itself, night and day, eternity and end. It was all I breathed. I wanted to get something out of life, other than being stoned all day and rolling on a mattress with strangers. I had a tiny studio in some run down apartment complex and split the rent with two of my friends since I barely made any money, having only a mattress and stale crackers. Those days were dark for me, and even though I didn't have hope of the future getting better, I did not give up.
Working for more than a year in that club, I had slowly been earning more money and I had was getting a reputation around strip clubs in the Brooklyn area. I remember fucking some manager of a club in Manhattan; he gave me a promotion and I went into the big leagues. I was now hired at a well known place, dancing and stripping, more money in my pockets. Life was alright, although I was being used a lot by men, and was most often taken advantage of, but I didn't care. It was then when I met Gerard Way.
He was my drugstore mafioso hit type, Italian alloy, classical American. I was America's sweetheart, and he liked my jeans tight, long hair, and my mean self. Living off the grid, shining in the crime life, we were the best of the best, born to kill. I was a bad girl, and he'd shower me with diamonds and gold. His dangerous girl, he was my hero while I was in the worst times of my life. The world can be a very cold and dark place sometimes. But isn't it curious how on the coldest winter nights, the stars always seem to shine the brightest?
