Just Through The Window. |FRERARD| COMPLETED|

Rickety staircase

When I awoke in the morning it was still dark out. I could see the rain falling down and making soft white noise.

The rain was always an interesting thing to me. It was so peaceful and beautiful. People always hate it though.

I sat up in my bed and looked around the vacant area. I didn't have much in my room. Only a desk, my bed, the guitar In the corner, and a pile of clothes  next to the sketchbooks.

The room was a vacancy. The only word I can describe it as. Nothing In here but a few shitty things. The walls stained with nicotine from the times I smoked. The white turned yellow along the top of the wall. The floor was wooden and had paint splattered on it. I dropped paint a lot just to add new spots that were never there before.  To add something new and create something. In a sense I was destroying the floor instead of creating it. The floor couldn't fight back. Couldn't say stop. It was just a floor. A floor that used to be completely clean and uncluttered but, that was years ago.

Sometimes the paint is from my sketchbooks. Things I don't like or messed up on being covered by black paint. The black paint would seep out of the sides, inevitably fall to the floor. The paint would make the pages stick together. Always sticking together and binding the pages together like a marriage. When I pulled the pages apart it was like a divorce. Hard and angry. Though when they finally separate, it was pure relief.

The guitar in the corner was old and beat up. Notches along the edges and scratches all over it. The color dull and vintage. Almost as if it was from another world. The strings were still golden, though they were washed out. Every now and then I'd brush my fingers against them, just to hear the little noise emit from it.

The guitar always reminded me of frank. Frank would play me music sometimes when I couldn't sleep. He was really good at it. His fingers would always move so delicately down the neck of the guitar. They'd spread out to form the right chords and strum the strings. It was an honor to be the one he played to for.

I smiled at the memories of sitting at the window on nights where I had nightmares or cluttered thoughts while frank slowly and softly played a lulling tune. Each time he did I'd sit there and watch him as if it was the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen. He was golden in those moments. Not like the strings on the old guitar but like a pure golden ray of sun. He shown through his music.

Looking around the room again with a small smile on my face, I decided I'd try to go down and get something to eat. I was still in the clothes from the day before. When I opened the door I was greeted with the dark hallway. It was faintly lit by the windows streaming in light from outside, which was hardly any. I took quite, gingerly steps on the floor boards making my way to the stairs. The wooden staircase was old and long. Some steps were very squeaky and even rickety. I stopped for a second listening into the house. The soft buzz of a voice on the tv was playing. That meant my parents were up. Holding my breath I took the first step onto the top step. A squeak echoed through the house. No furniture to silence the echo. There were quick footsteps heard below.

When I saw my mothers face poke out around the corner of the stair case I mumbled a 'sorry' and quickly walked down the stairs. She only nodded and walked behind me. On the table there was pancakes waiting to be eaten.

"I thought you'd come eat today so I made them for you.." she said quietly.

I sat down and looked at her. "Thank you."

Nodding, she walked out of the room and back to the lounge.

The soft buzz and hum of the tv was a little louder now but still on the quiet side. That's how the house was. Forever in silence. Drawing. No attention from unwanted guests. My parents said that the outside world was dangerous. It seems like inside the house is too. My dad drinks a lot and yells. He's never hit us but he still gets angry and says things.

I wonder what franks house is like. Maybe it's better or maybe it's worse. Maybe it's just the same. It could be a whole different world there. I'll have to ask him about it when we talk.

I finished eating and thanked my mother again walking back up the stairs. Every squeak and crack echoed once more through the vacant halls.

Once back in my room I sat down on my bed again. Then I heard it. A small tapping noise. I smiled and walked over to the window greeted by frank. He gave a small wave.

"Hey, you okay?" I asked loud enough for him to hear me. He was looking down and he had no smile today. Maybe something happened. Maybe he didn't want to see me.

"Yeah." Was all he said before looking up at me. A little smile played on his lips. It was a small smile you'd give when you saw a baby for the first time. When you held them for the first time.

"Uh D-did you read that note?" His smile now gone and eyes glassy.

I looked at him for a moment. Something was happening or had happened. He looked so worn out. So tired and sad. He was decaying like a corpse in a coffin six feet under the ground. His eyes weren't bright anymore. They weren't that color of amber that was so close to rum. They were dark almost black. As if his pupil was taking over his whole iris. "No. I haven't yet."

He looked down for a second wiping his face. "O-okay uh I was wondering if you could just throw it back?" His voice cracked at end. I wanted so badly to just give him a hug and tell him that no matter what that he'll be okay. We are in this together no matter what happens. If only I could.

"Yeah I'll find it hold on." I walked over to the desk and grabbed a paper and a pen. Quickly I wrote out some stuff and folded it up into the paper plane he had given me, making sure to keep a corner peeking out so he'd see it.

Walking back to the window I held it up and shook it to show him I had it. He looked and moved aside so I could throw it.

After I threw it he smiled and walked into the darkness of his room again. Coming back with his guitar and smokes.

He started to slowly and gently play a tune. It sounded so pretty. It was different from the other times though. It was sadder. It held a heavy meaning behind it. He started to sing in a different language. Swedish I think.

"Jag ligger hemma i min säng en helt vanlig dag
runt om mig finns tusentals och här finns bara jag
kroppen skriker efter sömn men hjärnan säger nej
för jag tänker att jag aldrig mer ska träffa nån som dig"

His voice was smooth. The words flowed like water out of his mouth. It was a sweet sound. Franks voice was always so deep and raspy. In different languages, when he spoke them, they rolled effortlessly into the air.

"Du visade mig nånting som jag inte trodde fanns
någonting som gjorde att det obehagliga försvann
du skakade om mitt huvud och förstorade min pupill
och tog mig till ett ställe där man gör vad fan man vill"

I had no idea what he was saying but it was truly a beautiful thing. After those words, he stopped playing and looked at me.

For a few minutes it was silent as we looked at each other. I finally looked down and started picking the skin around my finger nails.

"Ya know," he said softly making me look up. "I wish we could hang out together in the same room. Not by windows."

I hummed a knowing hum. "Yeah, that would me nice."

He nodded and lit his cigarette. When he blew it out I could smell the smoke. There was a noise coming from franks house. He looked into the dark room to where I guess his door was.

"Look Gerard, I gotta go maybe we can talk later okay??" He said in a hurried manner.

"Okay" I said nodding. "Bye Frankie."

He smiled. "Bye gee." He dropped the cigarette into the wet grass below and closed the window.

I got up walked to my desk. Sliding papers and markers around to clear up space. The urge to draw frank from when he was playing that song was very strong. Now I finally got to.