Goodbye Frank Rogers
By Heather B. Thomas, © 2002
As she thought back to high school she remembered so much about Frank Rogers…odd since she hadn't seen him since he graduated and they had dated when she was a freshman (12 years ago). What's strange is that she had dated other men since him, and she could remember things about him after all these years that she couldn't remember about the others.
* * * * * * *
I remember the first day I finally noticed him my freshman year. It was late fall – heading into winter. I was waiting outside the room my Spanish class was held in, talking to my best friend Melinda, both of us yammering about our day. I was jumping from foot to foot anxiously waiting to get in and claim a seat. Then he walked out of the room. Dark curly hair and somber eyes decorated his slim features, yet he owned the most amazingly sweet smile I had ever seen. He was talking with another boy as he walked out of the room, sauntering down the stairs, wearing an old army jacket and carrying his books (not using a book bag – how totally cool). I stood there and poked Melinda in her side.
"Look," I whispered. "Who's that? He's so cute."
Then he turned, looked me straight in the eyes, and gave me a smile, a smile just for me. His eyes were darkly fringed, haunting and beautiful. Melinda witnessed this, and poked me back, and we both ended up in a fit of giggles, tittering the way young fourteen year old girls do.
* * * * * * *
In her mind's eye, she could see the look on his face as he walked out of the classroom and caught her eye, smiling his sweet smile at her as she shyly looked away, only to glance back and watch as he walked away. She could remember the feeling in her chest, the tightness of her lungs and the butterflies in her stomach. She could remember grabbing her best friend as he walked out class and whispered to her…
* * * * * * *
It wasn't long after that moment that the passing of notes began, the whispering to friends to pass their notes to each other during class, all without physically talking to each other. Melinda knew one of his best friends from another one of her classes, and his friend happened to be in my class now, so our whole network of communication began across our school – just to connect this boy with the sweetly sly smile to me.
Shortly after that was the first real contact, the first hand holding, the first hug behind the lockers and the first sweet tender kisses after school before we were picked up by our parents. Those tender moments tucked away by his locker, his hands holding me close, tenderly embracing, never letting go. These times seemed to last forever, never in my wildest dreams did I think they wouldn't be like this always.
Frank and I took long walks with his friends, these lunches usually ended up with us sitting on the bleachers by the baseball practice fields, talking and holding hands. His fingers were long and they would just wrap around mine in the most amazing way engulfing them completely. But then again, I was only fourteen. Other times we would leave campus, grab lunch at the deli across the street, and walk to his friend Tony's. There was a whole group of us that would go to lunch. As all Frank's friends were single, I was always the only girl, and every day we rushed back to campus so we wouldn't be late for class.
Our first real kiss happened next to those baseball practice fields on our way back to school after lunch in the spring. Frank's friends had all walked past us continuing on to the main campus, and he grabbed me by the hand pulling me over to the fence. He put his arms around me, held me tight, and planted a big kiss on my mouth. The feelings that flooded my body at that moment were too strong to put into words, but I knew I'd always feel a tingle in my gut as I thought back to that time, even when I'm old and gray.
That day was my first "French Kiss", his lips on mine, his tongue slowly entering my mouth, gentle and tasting like coffee, later in life to taste like cigarettes too. And then we parted, he looked me deeply in the eyes. I held him tight, pulled him closer and rested my head on his chest for a moment.
"We should probably head back to campus," I said. My heart pounding in my chest, my tongue still feeling the pressure of his. I thought he would be able to feel my heart pounding as we held each other. Licking my lips nervously, I pulled away, reached for his hand and held it in mine as we walked back to school.
A few weeks later we were standing at his locker (of course, because where else did we spend our time) and he placed his hands on my shoulders. His long, thin fingers began to trace the outline of my collar bones.
"It would be so easy to hook meat hooks through your collar bones," he whispered in a menacing voice, chills running down my spine, fright bumps raising on my arms.
Of course though, this was during his obsession with the original "Nightmare on Elm Street" movie, so I took it with a grain of salt, and knew deep down that he didn't mean any harm.
"Stop it," I said, slapping his hands away. "You're creeping me out. Ugh!"
Later that year we went out on our first "date", though technically it wasn't a "date" as I wasn't aloud to go on those until I was sixteen. But my parents had given it much thought and were willing to make an exception this one time.
Our "dates" were always with Barbara his mom and Jake her boyfriend. At first, I thought this an unfair rule, but we had a good time despite our chaperones (besides, how would we have even gotten to the restaurants if she hadn't driven as neither of us had our driver's license yet).
We went to a Chinese restaurant and ate everything family style. It was one of my first venues into Asian food and I was hooked. After dinner, Barbara and Jake left us on our own as they went to the Icehouse theatre to get ready for the play she was directing.
The night was cold, and time passed slowly until the play started and we could get into the warmth of the theatre, but I looked cute even though I was cold and there was a nip to the air. I had on my long black over coat with the blue plaid stripes, matching wool gloves and the pink scarf my girlfriend Linda had given me as a present the year before. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 8pm already and would normally have to be heading home soon, but smiled to myself because I had permission to be out past curfew. We walked around for a while, and then he pulled me aside.
"Here, I have something for you," he said, and pulled out a small box. "I got this at the antique show yesterday."
I took the box in my hands and opened it. Inside there was an enameled pin of a Geisha hiding behind her fan.
"I was looking for another salamander," he said. "To replace Sam."
Sam was my salamander pin that I had worn every day on my jacket, but who had had an accident when his clasp opened and he fell of my jacket a few weeks ago.
"I know it isn't another Sam, but I hope you like it," he continued in an embarrassed voice. "I saw some similar to him, but they were all sterling and a little out of my price range."
"No! I love it!" I exclaimed. "I'll always wear it. I'll keep this forever. Thank you."
I leaned towards him and gave him a kiss, "Will you put it on for me?"
Frank took my Geisha in his hands and opened the clasp. He placed it on the lapel of my overcoat, closed the clasp, and gave me a kiss. The evening was cold and I shivered, despite the warm feelings growing inside me. He placed his arm around me and we walked back to the theatre.
* * * * * * *
Those nights were amazing she thought. Remembering those times outside the Icehouse theatre, waiting to see his mother's plays. All those long cold nights, waiting in the dark. Her heart caught in her chest. She thinks nostalgia is a heady experience and one that shouldn't be followed to much in one's adult life. But those were amazing nights.
Unfortunately she also remembered the end of that first year of high school and the last week of school when they broke up. They hadn't been getting along that well. She never saw him, and he had stopped calling. All she wanted to do was to talk to him and see if they were all right. She just wanted to hear that he still had feelings for her, yet her thoughts were conflicted. Even if they didn't break up, would they really last over the summer? Would they be able to see each other? Would their parent's go crazy driving them around until he gets his driver's license at the end of July?
It was one of those sit-com moments where both people begin speaking at the same time, and unfortunately he told her to go first. So since they had been having problems she decided that the best thing was for the two of them to break up so she did. Had he gone first, he would have apologized and they would have made up. The worst thing about that situation was that she didn't find out until later, on the very last day of school when people had gathered at the city park to sign year books and after she had gone over to her friend Linda's to wait until her parent's picked her up that she saw it as she was reading what everyone had written to her.
Hidden in the back, tucked deep within that year's index of students, and next to a picture of him from the one act play competition she found it.
"Becky, you mean a lot to me, and I'll never forget you," love Frank.
She hadn't even known that he had signed her yearbook until that very moment. But then she didn't know what to do, or how to act. Her heart caught in her throat, she made a little sad sound. She wanted to call him desperately and tell him she was sorry, that she was wrong and that she should have never said what she said. But she didn't, her fear was too great.
* * * * * *
So ended my freshman year, and into the summer I went trying to forget that Frank was suffering and probably hating me strongly. And then began my sophomore year, and I developed a crush on one of his best friends Tyler (give me a break here, I want to a very small high school and cross dating was going to happen no matter how you looked at it). And Tyler and I started dating.
I remember the day when I was holding hands with Tyler and we were walking down the hall at the end of the school day and bumped into Frank and the rest of his friends. The look on Frank's face. He pretended to ignore me – but his shadowed eyes burned into my heart. I thought the Earth was going to open up and swallow me whole at that very moment.
I wished the earth had swallowed me up that very minute.
Tyler and I didn't last more than a month, but give me a break, I was only 15. As sophomore year continued, I broke more hearts, but I never loved any of them, my heart still belonged to Frank. They just helped me pass the time, and summer came and went and soon I was a junior.
* * * * * * *
So her junior year of high school began. There had been a new boy at school last year, a freshman named Jasin, that looked exactly like Frank, as if they were brothers. She and Jasin became friends, and what did she find but that Frank was back in the picture again…still…always. Because she had become friends with Jasin, even when she had sworn to herself that she wouldn't because he reminded her of Frank, and then she learned that Jasin was friends with Frank as well. So she and Frank started seeing each other again. Yet this time it was different, they were friends not lovers, and she missed the old Frank, the one that was sweet and caring, not cynical and hard hearted like he was now.
But still even as he told her he could never love her again, he took her for drives in the country, and taught her to drive a stick shift car. They would hike up into the hills after school. They would find a huge boulder and sit upon it using each other's backs as backrests. They would talk to for hours on end, about this and that, philosophy, life and love.
She desperately wanted him back, but he kept telling her that she had hurt him too deeply, that he wouldn't ever be able to forget or forgive what she had done. But even with those hardened words, he kept spending more and more time with her, until eventually everyone thought they had gotten back together again.
* * * * * *
I kept trying to tell him how I felt but he wouldn't listen. So finally in an act of desperation I wrote him a long and lengthy letter, spilling my guts – telling him everything – saying all those words on paper that I was too chicken to vocalize in person. Those three big words that I couldn't say to his face. I love you.
So I gave him the note and waited for a reply, and there was none. That night I went back to school to see the play, and got there early so we could talk.
"Don't you get it?" I asked. "I told it all to you in the note. It's all there, written for you only."
"But you wrote it, you didn't say it," he countered.
"So I'll say it now," stopping where we were walking and looking into his eyes that were gleaming in the glow of his cigarette. "I love you."
"How can I believe you? You probably said that to all the guys you dated last year," he told me. "You probably told that to everyone."
"No," I said. "Never. You're the only one. I love you."
"Can't you try not to?"
* * * * * * *
She remembered that one nigh when the two of them had gone out with a bunch of other couples, and it had been a real date where he had picked her up at her house and everything. His banana yellow station wagon drove up the driveway and they were off to met the others. They all ended up at the high school's theatre. A long time ago he had stolen his mother's keys and had made his own set, so he let everyone in, they closed the main curtains so no light would show from the building, and turned on the stage lights. They all played on the stage, up in the cat-walks and in the front of the house, Tyler and his new girlfriend Hillary, Linda and Jasin, Brendan and Sony, and the two of them. That night he drank a whole flask of Bourbon, all by himself, and ended up puking before the night was through.
That was the night, when after everyone left the theater, they all drove out to the country and made a bonfire on the riverbed. She sat by his side, as he lay in a passed out state in front of the roaring bonfire, running her fingers through his hair, wanting to comfort him any way she could, but unable to because she was only sixteen and he was just such a sad young man.
* * * * * * *
"Becky, don't go," he begged as I stood up to walk around.
He grabbed onto my hand, and begged me again not to go. Begged me to say by his side and to never leave him.
"Please don't ever leave me," he cried out. I'll remember that. I'll remember what he said, I told myself.
The next week when I asked him about it, all he could say was…
"I didn't say that, and even if I did it wasn't what you think. I just didn't want to be lying on the ground by myself. That's all – nothing more. Don't read so much into it."
But the romantic in me knew he meant more than that. The romantic in me believed that he was just as sorry about how things ended up two years ago. The romantic in me believed that he was meaning to say that he wanted to get back together officially. But the romantic in me was also a dreamer. One could have only hoped. I ended up being late – past my curfew. We had to split up the drivers because Frank couldn't drive himself home. We all snuck him into his house, so quiet we didn't wake up Barbara. I called my parents from his room, and said I'd be late and didn't bother explaining why. I couldn't. Brendan ended up driving me home, and I went straight to bed. I didn't explain to my family that night – I just went to sleep.
* * * * * * *
So they went back to school on Monday and things were event harder on the two of them.
Two weeks later I found myself at his house, being freaked out because he was showing me his bedroom for the first time ever and no one else was home. I had a feeling that he wanted to have sex with me today to convince himself that I really loved him, but I couldn't. I was too chicken. He was a senior, nearly eighteen, and I as only a junior, barely sixteen.
Oh how I wanted to, even though I was chicken. Even though I was way too young. I loved him dearly, and would have done anything for him. I wanted him to be my first. I didn't want anyone else, but I just couldn't, not yet. But he kissed me anyway, and I would always remember his kisses for that one. I would always remember his kisses and the taste of stale cigarettes and coffee.
Tyler and Hillary broke up and tension grew between Frank & Tyler, but why Becky didn't know. She & Hillary had gotten closer and were now fast friends, but unfortunately as their friendship grew so did the one between Hillary and Frank. Before she knew it, she and Frank were arguing and close to dissolving for the second time. So finally, she pulled him out of homeroom one day so they could talk.
"You have to make a choice," she said, glancing around the empty hall nervously.
"But I don't want to," he said.
"You can't have it both ways, you have to make a choice – either Hillary or me. You can't have both."
He stood there and looked at her unable to say anything.
"You've made your choice then," she said, thinking to herself that he must be having sex with Hillary. "Good-bye."
She turned finally and began to walk away. He called out her name once, but she kept on walking, all the way down the main hall. Tears were streaming down her face, and she could hardly see. But she refused to wipe them away on the chance that he was watching her go. She walked into the girl's room to wipe her face and get on with her day, when she bumped into Melinda.
"Never let him see you cry," Melinda told her, as she wiped her tear-streaked face.
* * * * * * *
So I was 30 and longing for some sense of familiarity as my and husband and I have been moving constantly since the day we got married, and we'd finally found a location that we really loved and could raise our future kids.
In my month or so of being jobless, I'd managed to track down quite a few people that were near and dear to my heart when I was younger, Frank being among them.
As my luck would have it, the day I got his number and decided to call Frank, he was in the middle of packing for a vacation to see his father. He now lived in the Pacific North West and rarely came down to see his family.
"Whoa!" I said on the phone. "Don't I have good timing?"
"How funny," he replied. "I was planning on sending you an email when I got to my dad's but I guess you beat me too it, and now I don't have to."
* * * * * * *
Two days later, she jumped into her car and drove two and a half hours east into the farming center of the state, to the quaint farming community (if one takes it in small doses it's quaint, but not if one has to live there) where they both grew up. The plan was for her to meet him at his father's and then they would go to lunch.
She had no idea what to expect. Part of her was wondering if she would still feel the same pang in her gut that plagued her those four years. The pang that built itself up into a frenzy anytime she was any where near him in school, and there was a part of her that was wondering if he would be appalled at the amount of weight she had put on since he last saw her a decade ago.
After all those years, she wondered if by feeling his touch if they shook hands, she would feel like a giddy school girl again. But she could remember exactly what his touch felt like, the feel of his hands in hers, the touch of his lips against her skin, the tenderness he always showed her when they were first dating. That was burned into her memory for the rest of her life. He was her first true love. The first man to ever touch her soul, and she would never forget him. She would always hold him dear to her heart, and have a special spot for him in her memories. She still had the geisha pin he had given her those many years ago as well as every other little trinket from him from all the years they dated.
She was quite sure that he would think her insane, or be afraid that she would turn into a stalker or something like that. One couldn't help but follow all those love stories gone bad that cover the daily news. But all she really wanted was to tell him that she was sorry. Those words were never able to cross her lips when they were dating or even when they were still in school together, and she desperately wanted to tell him now that she was sorry for how things ended her freshman year in high school.
But she met him at his father's house. They had lunch, did the nostalgic drive past all their old yet still familiar haunts, and she returned him to his father's house and said goodbye. All without saying those words that had been haunting her for years.
"Frank," she whispered to herself as she walked back to her car. "I'm Sorry."
- THE END -
© 2002, No part may be copied, printed or duplicated without express permission of the author.
So I gave him the note and waited for a reply, and there was none. That night I went back to school to see the play, and got there early so we could talk.
"Don't you get it?" I asked. "I told it all to you in the note. It's all there, written for you only."
"But you wrote it, you didn't say it," he countered.
"So I'll say it now," stopping where we were walking and looking into his eyes that were gleaming in the glow of his cigarette. "I love you."
"How can I believe you? You probably said that to all the guys you dated last year," he told me. "You probably told that to everyone."
"No," I said. "Never. You're the only one. I love you."
"Can't you try not to?"
* * * * * * *
She remembered that one nigh when the two of them had gone out with a bunch of other couples, and it had been a real date where he had picked her up at her house and everything. His banana yellow station wagon drove up the driveway and they were off to met the others. They all ended up at the high school's theatre. A long time ago he had stolen his mother's keys and had made his own set, so he let everyone in, they closed the main curtains so no light would show from the building, and turned on the stage lights. They all played on the stage, up in the cat-walks and in the front of the house, Tyler and his new girlfriend Hillary, Linda and Jasin, Brendan and Sony, and the two of them. That night he drank a whole flask of Bourbon, all by himself, and ended up puking before the night was through.
That was the night, when after everyone left the theater, they all drove out to the country and made a bonfire on the riverbed. She sat by his side, as he lay in a passed out state in front of the roaring bonfire, running her fingers through his hair, wanting to comfort him any way she could, but unable to because she was only sixteen and he was just such a sad young man.
* * * * * * *
"Becky, don't go," he begged as I stood up to walk around.
He grabbed onto my hand, and begged me again not to go. Begged me to say by his side and to never leave him.
"Please don't ever leave me," he cried out. I'll remember that. I'll remember what he said, I told myself.
The next week when I asked him about it, all he could say was…
"I didn't say that, and even if I did it wasn't what you think. I just didn't want to be lying on the ground by myself. That's all – nothing more. Don't read so much into it."
But the romantic in me knew he meant more than that. The romantic in me believed that he was just as sorry about how things ended up two years ago. The romantic in me believed that he was meaning to say that he wanted to get back together officially. But the romantic in me was also a dreamer. One could have only hoped. I ended up being late – past my curfew. We had to split up the drivers because Frank couldn't drive himself home. We all snuck him into his house, so quiet we didn't wake up Barbara. I called my parents from his room, and said I'd be late and didn't bother explaining why. I couldn't. Brendan ended up driving me home, and I went straight to bed. I didn't explain to my family that night – I just went to sleep.
* * * * * * *
So they went back to school on Monday and things were event harder on the two of them.
Two weeks later I found myself at his house, being freaked out because he was showing me his bedroom for the first time ever and no one else was home. I had a feeling that he wanted to have sex with me today to convince himself that I really loved him, but I couldn't. I was too chicken. He was a senior, nearly eighteen, and I as only a junior, barely sixteen.
Oh how I wanted to, even though I was chicken. Even though I was way too young. I loved him dearly, and would have done anything for him. I wanted him to be my first. I didn't want anyone else, but I just couldn't, not yet. But he kissed me anyway, and I would always remember his kisses for that one. I would always remember his kisses and the taste of stale cigarettes and coffee.
Tyler and Hillary broke up and tension grew between Frank & Tyler, but why Becky didn't know. She & Hillary had gotten closer and were now fast friends, but unfortunately as their friendship grew so did the one between Hillary and Frank. Before she knew it, she and Frank were arguing and close to dissolving for the second time. So finally, she pulled him out of homeroom one day so they could talk.
"You have to make a choice," she said, glancing around the empty hall nervously.
"But I don't want to," he said.
"You can't have it both ways, you have to make a choice – either Hillary or me. You can't have both."
He stood there and looked at her unable to say anything.
"You've made your choice then," she said, thinking to herself that he must be having sex with Hillary. "Good-bye."
She turned finally and began to walk away. He called out her name once, but she kept on walking, all the way down the main hall. Tears were streaming down her face, and she could hardly see. But she refused to wipe them away on the chance that he was watching her go. She walked into the girl's room to wipe her face and get on with her day, when she bumped into Melinda.
"Never let him see you cry," Melinda told her, as she wiped her tear-streaked face.
* * * * * * *
So I was 30 and longing for some sense of familiarity as my and husband and I have been moving constantly since the day we got married, and we'd finally found a location that we really loved and could raise our future kids.
In my month or so of being jobless, I'd managed to track down quite a few people that were near and dear to my heart when I was younger, Frank being among them.
As my luck would have it, the day I got his number and decided to call Frank, he was in the middle of packing for a vacation to see his father. He now lived in the Pacific North West and rarely came down to see his family.
"Whoa!" I said on the phone. "Don't I have good timing?"
"How funny," he replied. "I was planning on sending you an email when I got to my dad's but I guess you beat me too it, and now I don't have to."
* * * * * * *
Two days later, she jumped into her car and drove two and a half hours east into the farming center of the state, to the quaint farming community (if one takes it in small doses it's quaint, but not if one has to live there) where they both grew up. The plan was for her to meet him at his father's and then they would go to lunch.
She had no idea what to expect. Part of her was wondering if she would still feel the same pang in her gut that plagued her those four years. The pang that built itself up into a frenzy anytime she was any where near him in school, and there was a part of her that was wondering if he would be appalled at the amount of weight she had put on since he last saw her a decade ago.
After all those years, she wondered if by feeling his touch if they shook hands, she would feel like a giddy school girl again. But she could remember exactly what his touch felt like, the feel of his hands in hers, the touch of his lips against her skin, the tenderness he always showed her when they were first dating. That was burned into her memory for the rest of her life. He was her first true love. The first man to ever touch her soul, and she would never forget him. She would always hold him dear to her heart, and have a special spot for him in her memories. She still had the geisha pin he had given her those many years ago as well as every other little trinket from him from all the years they dated.
She was quite sure that he would think her insane, or be afraid that she would turn into a stalker or something like that. One couldn't help but follow all those love stories gone bad that cover the daily news. But all she really wanted was to tell him that she was sorry. Those words were never able to cross her lips when they were dating or even when they were still in school together, and she desperately wanted to tell him now that she was sorry for how things ended her freshman year in high school.
But she met him at his father's house. They had lunch, did the nostalgic drive past all their old yet still familiar haunts, and she returned him to his father's house and said goodbye. All without saying those words that had been haunting her for years.
"Frank," she whispered to herself as she walked back to her car. "I'm Sorry."
- THE END -
© 2002, No part may be copied, printed or duplicated without express permission of the author.
