A new friend enters the scene
Now there was this one dude I used to hang out with in my early days of high school. Even to this day I’m not sure if there was something inherently wrong with him, or he simply just didn’t give a fuck about anything. It just seemed that this guy was full on GTA every single day of his life. He would just do insane stuff all the time. And I was there with him pretty often. He kinda had something that made me wanna hang out with him. Sometimes it was just mere curiosity. Simply to see what kind of insanity he would pull out next. That was just because I didn’t have the guts to do whatever he was doing and also because it was pretty damn entertaining to see him doing it.
Except for a few of his contemporaries, he would make a scene with pretty much everyone he would come in contact with. From family members to complete strangers he would stumble upon on the bare street. Like this one lady who was walking a little dog, minding her own business. And this fucker just didn’t like the damn dog. So he said out loud: “fuck this stupid dog.” And of course the bewildered old woman would react and give him some smack, just to see him laughing and cursing that dog once again, fully expressing how he felt about the poor creature.
It all began right on the first day of high school. I was coming back from the first ever contact with the people whom I would see almost constantly for the next 4 years. Back in my neighborhood I was, in this small open space where a bunch of kids were skating. Nobody knows who came up with the idea and when, but at the time that particular spot was the skating sanctuary on that radius of a few blocks. It felt good. It was refreshing. So I kinda started hanging out and recognized some of my peers from middle school. The nostalgia of those forsaken days still hit me. Soda cans, cigarettes, sun flower seeds and potato chips were rulling the scene, in the rhythm of skateboards and a few roller blades.
And then he showed up. The hero of the story. He had a skate too, with a bit of graffiti on it. His face looked familiar. That’s because I’d seen him before. He even attended primary school with me. We meet and we kinda vibe. He had a kinda innocent naïve look, but a wicked sense of humor and an appetite for adventures. Neighborhood wanderings, hanging out in parks and outdoor things in general. As a very outdoorsy person myself, this dude seemed like the right companion. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that he lived like 3 blocks away from me. So there we were. The world was waiting for these 2 retards and their adventures to unfold. That, ladies and gentleman, is how I met Franky.
No sooner had we started hanging out then the fun began already. Days would go by oscillating between bus rides in various corners of the city, park hangouts, skating around the neighborhood or simply killing time on the local pavements. One bus ride was not like the other. The element of surprise would almost always strike on the behalf of my special friend. This one time it happened with an old woman. The babushka archetype that you would see wandering in a god forsaken soviet ghetto, still wearing the reminiscence of a dark hallowed past. We’re all sitting at the bus station. My dude is eating a bag of chips. He decided to share some of the chips with the babushka sitting right next to him, minding her own curious and peculiar existence. But he didn’t share the chips by asking her if she wanted any. He did it by simply throwing the things at her. One by one. Just like that, as if the wretched woman was a bewildered weird creature from the new circus in town. Chips kept on flying. I kept on laughing, doing my best to not make it too obvious. He did it in a distinctive manner. He looked at me while the old woman was looking elsewhere. But the avalanche of flying chips could not go unnoticed for too long. The old lady woke up from her inertia and came next to him. She started talking in some proverbial language that we both struggled to understand. The bus eventually comes and this dude shows her the finger and curses her a few times before we eventually hop in the bus. He was still laughing and bragged about how retarded that old lady was, who couldn’t take a damn joke or didn’t have any irony in general. He was still eating the chips. Until the chips were no more. So he just throws the bag away at a random station right before the bus doors close. What a chap. And he looks at me with pride and amusement, to convey something like: “see, I don’t give a fuck. These guys would have to sweep the city anyway. I give them work to do so they stay employed lmao.”
Momma tried but Franky was to blame
I even got to meet this dude’s parents. Both pretty old. He was conceived when his mom and pop were in their mid-forties. The legend says that kids conceived later on like that either are proven to be geniuses or simply dumb enough to be labelled “retarded” in some circles. To this day, I still don’t know which one it was. His father was an engineer at some university while his mother was the principal of some sort of professional school. These people could handle entire schools but they had trouble handling their special son. I remember one time when we took the elevator in his block and he went like:
“Man, I wanna pee so badly.”
“Why don’t you pee here in the elevator? Why wait?”, I said ironically.
However, he didn’t get the irony part.
“Actually yeah, why not?”
And in that instant he stops the elevator and starts unzipping his trousers. There it went. New levels of juvenile insanity were unlocked once again. I was shocked, yet amused. Bewildered, yet proud of this interesting human who proved once again that limits are for suckers and the dogma of conformity was nothing but a societal illusion meant to limit who we really were.
I kinda befriended his parents too. They saw in me some sort of hope for their slightly delinquent son. They asked me about my grades and how much time I spent studying. They quickly found out that I actually put effort into my academics, whereas their son did none of that stuff. They also told me stories about some of the fucked up shit this boy was doing throughout middle school. Like this one time Franky had some friends over and they all threw eggs from the balcony into cars and people on the street.
“A yeah, I remember that. It was so much fun that day.” Franky said with pride and joy.
And I gotta admit. I found that fun too. Only I wouldn’t do it. At least not from the damn balcony of my parents’ flat.
So the stories kept on going, like this one time he cracked someone’s head and almost got expelled for that. Or the other times he nearly got expelled, but his mother’s high status in education got his ass saved on each occasion. Yet none of those things had ever changed his appetite for immorality and the unrealities of his peculiar juvenile mind. What’s funny is that we were all sitting together while his mother was narrating all this crazy shit about her son and the Franky didn’t feel a bit of shame. On the contrary, the sick fuck was laughing and at times was even adding details that his mother missed along the way of remembering the foibles of her only offspring. And I found it funny that he found it funny. I just couldn’t resist. It was better than those juicy messed up American comedies.
Nonetheless, my introduction to his parents was like a prophecy which was deemed to be fulfilled, the prophecy of their son becoming a righteous and responsible human being that would eventually get on a straight path filled with education and academic ambitions. I was indirectly entrusted to serve as a long and distant brother with the messianic errand of converting a lost and confused boy.
Spoiler alert: It never really happened.
I even introduced Franky to my closest peers in high school. And apparently they liked him too, for the same reasons I liked him pretty much. For his unpredictability, outdoorsy personality, and careless GTA like attitude towards everyone and everything. We would go to the cinema or hang out at some beer place every now and then. The weather was getting colder. The days were getting shorter. The darkness was coming sooner. The remnants of the summer were gone into oblivion, buried until the first flowers would pop up again.
The Bully
Franky began a new funny phase. That was the bullying of the homeless people. It wasn’t enough that these poor bastards slept on the streets and humiliated themselves daily hoping for some change while facing the cold. There also needed to be a retarded teenager to come around to help them be even more miserable than they actually had been previously.
The first episode of this saga began when me, him and one of my best buddies from high school took the subway to get to the cinema. The victim was sitting at the subway entrance. He had the exact look you would imagine a homeless to have. An old man with long shaggy beard, scruffy hair, dirty rags and a bunch of patched bags meant to represent all his wretched fortunes. He sat there motionless, wordless, carrying a small cup with a few coins in it. But io and behold, for this meditative state is broken by our special friend who proceeds to go right in front of him and film him with his phone. The confrontation begins. The poor hobo has a good old-fashioned tantrum where he tries to hit and chase our main hero, hoping to make him go away. Franky hesitates, of course, runs away for a bit, just enough to not be seen by the hobo no more. But what the hobo didn’t know was that Franky was a man of focus, sheer will and commitment. Our friend returned in greater spirits than before to resume his sacred task of documenting the existence of this unfortunate old man. The tantrum is spawned once again and Franky runs once again, just to come back and repeat the cycle a few times, driving the poor man in rags to complete desperation.
The man without a home got lucky because Franky remembered that we had a movie to catch so we went on about our business. But all this time he thought dearly of his new acquaintance from the subway entrance. We walk into the cinema. We watch the movie. I even forgot what movie it was. But I sure know what happened after that movie. We went back to the subway station. And there he was. The same human with the same wretched fate. And Franky did the same wicked thing. I don’t thing I’ve ever seen a hobo get so infuriated. Even to this day, nothing beats the level of madness that this dude was pushed by Franky. Franky was fucked up. He kept laughing all this time. And I was fucked up too for not stopping him. I gotta admit, it was funny to me. Only I wasn’t accompanying him. I sat at some distance uninvolved. A silent observer to an act of juvenile disturbance.
Earlier we were watching a movie for which we paid money. But this was the real show. This was the real deal. Free of charge too. Life beats the movie. It’s what they always said. But every show had its ending. After maybe half an hour of bullying the poor human, a responsible adult came along to question Franky. The seriousness of that guy indicated Franky that there might be consequences, should he continue his act that he was so passionate about. So we packed our shit and went on about our business. It was getting pretty late and Franky’s mom was calling already.
We took the subway. We were both tired.
“That was some fun shit, bro.”
“I know, Franky. I know.”
“Too bad that idiot stopped our fun.”
“Too bad indeed, Franky.”
“You know you’re my best friend ever, right?”
“I know, dude.”
“Like I really like you, man.”
“I like you too. But you’re kinda messed up, dude.”
“Maybe. We’re just having fun, bro. I don’t like being bored.”
“Me neither, Franky. Me neither.”
“Wanna hit the skate park tomorrow?”
“Sounds alright.”
“Cool bro, I’ll call the others too. Get the skate gang going.”
“Sounds fun, Franky.”
The train arrived at our station. We both went home. What a day that was. What a day.
One or two weeks later we were coming back from some other place and we saw another hobo near the local market. Franky knew exactly what he had to do. This time the show would be different. He took his phone out and went straight to the hobo’s face.
“Yo man, how does it feel to be poor??”
“God bless you son, got some change?”
“No change, dude. This is an interview. Now tell the audience: how does it feel to be poor??”
“Please, young boy. Leave me alone.”
“Come on dude, how’s life on the streets? How much you make in a month?”
The poor man started walking away. But Franky can’t really stop himself, can he?
“Smile to the camera, bro!”
But this time Franky didn’t insist as much. He let the man go. He came back to me.
“That was a boring ass hobo. People are not fun anymore.”
“It happens, I guess.”
“Fuck this world, bro.”
“You said it, dude.”
The days kept on rolling. Skating, watching movies, hanging out at each other’s houses. I helped the guy with math from time to time, at his mother’s repeated requests. He still never learned shit. He still sucked. He would always want a break to show me some stuff on the internet. It was mostly skaters’ fail compilations on Youtube, gypsy music videos or weird porn shit. One time he even showed me that thing with 2 girls, one cup. It had just come out.
My parents met Franky too but didn’t really know what to think about the guy.
“This friend of yours is pretty interesting.” My mom said.
“He’s just special.” I said.
“A little bit eccentric I’d say.”
“That too, I guess. But he’s a good boy.”
That one really scary evening
There was this novelty in the city. They built a new suspended bridge which had a very modern and Western outlook. Remember, we’re in Eastern Europe. Something that is totally normal and ordinary in the West is praised to the point of making selfies with it for the sake of personal gratification and social acceptance on the vast realm of internet. And at the time me and Franky were backwards enough to fall into that category ourselves. We wanted to see that thing. We wanted to come close to it, explore it, admire it, marvel at it.
We went once again at cinema and on our way back we stopped at the location of that thing. I didn’t really want to do it but Franky was really keen. The bridge was on the west side of the city and we lived on the east side. It was like 8 subway stations.
“Dude, we don’t have time for this.”
“Come on bro, it will be just a few minutes.”
“Bullshit. I know you well. It’ll be a lot more than that.”
“Come on bro, you said you wanted to see this too.”
“I did, but now it’s not a good time.”
“It’s right here, bro.”
The subway stopped right at that station with the bridge. He suddenly went out. I followed him.
“Your mom called before and you said you were on your way home.”
“I’m still on my way home. It’s just a small stop.”
“She’ll get angry, dude.”
“Nah, she’ll get it.”
We got out of the underground and continued our quest. We saw the thing. It was beautiful. One of the few monuments that made that city look less like a decrepit post-soviet ghetto shithole. The bridge was not in use for the cars yet. Only the tram could go on it. But we didn’t care. We climbed it anyway. We wanted to feel like we fully explored the thing. Like we fully conquered it. It felt good. We stood there. It was indeed beautiful and it felt magical and rad. We deemed ourselves as rulers of the city. From the top of the bridge we could see a charming panorama of the central train station. Under its lights and from that distance the station actually looked decent. We forgot about how filthy it actually was and all the low lives, junkies, pimps and crooks that were hanging around there. It looked right.
It was a timeless moment. We didn’t know how many minutes went on like that. Franky checked his phone and it was that moment Franky realized he fucked up. There were around 20 unanswered calls from his mom. That got Franky back to reality. The timelessness and the grandeur weren’t there to last.
“FUCK!” He said.
“What the hell?” I said.
“My mom kept calling me and I didn’t answer shit. We gotta get moving.”
“Hell. Let’s go.”
We went down from that thing. We were running. A tram was passing by and the conductor looked at us like we were retarded. None of that mattered. Time was against us. We grabbed the subway. His mom called once again. He picked up.
“What on earth are you doing? Where are you??” His mom got impatient.
“Sorry mom. We’re almost there. We just got out of the subway. I’ll be back in like 10 minutes. Love you, mom!”
“What were you…”
SNAP.
My dude ended that phone call. We were far from being out of the subway and we were far from being only 10 minutes away. Things weren’t looking good for Franky.
We eventually got out of the subway. His mom called again. He told the same story that he would be almost home. We were close to his place. He insisted that I joined him. He sensed the danger. The kraken was about to be unleashed. There was no escape for Franky. He had to do it. No way back.
We took the elevator. Both our hearts were pumping rapidly. I didn’t know why I felt nervous. It was he who fucked up, not me. But the bastard forced me into this shit. Like it was my whole idea to kill time like that and not answer phone calls and drive his mom to borderline insanity. The elevator stopped at his floor. We went to his flat. The door was already open. Just partly open. He pushed the door to get in. There she was. The calm before the storm. She had the gravest expression I could’ve possibly imagine. I froze. It seemed that I was the one terrified, not Franky.
“Hey mom! Good to see you!”
“Tell me now, what really happened?” His mom said without any motion.
It was just getting worse. The more I looked at that lady, the greater and more horrific aftermath I had in mind. It was coming to him. Franky really did it this time.
“I already told you mom. We were hanging out near the market. I just forgot to answer you and lost track of time. That it, I swear.”
“No. You weren’t there. Something else happened. Tell me right now.”
“I’m not lying, mom!”
“Andy, what happened there?”
The eyes of the beast were cast upon me. The storm was getting nearer. I almost pissed myself. I couldn’t come up with anything. Anything but what actually happened. To Franky’s despair, I spilled everything. There it went. I told the lady about the cinema, about how we stopped at the new suspended bridge and how we climbed it and all that stuff. She just stood there motionless and received every word. Nothing changed. Same grave outlook. I still saw the aftermath coming. It was ready to kick out of the womb of madness. She turned to Franky after a dramatic pause.
“Is that so, Franky?”
“We really wanted to see that bridge, mom. Everybody was talking about it!”
“WELL DAMN YOU SON OF A BITCH.”
“MOM??”
“LET ME GET MY HANDS ON YOU. FUCKED UP KID MAKING ME WORRIED ALL THE WAY AND STRESSING ME OUT! COME HERE!”
So it began. She grabbed a broom stick and came forward.
“RUN, BRO!”
And that’s what happened. His mom chased us in her pajamas on the hallway with her mighty broom stick. We took the stairs and went all the way down those six floors. We got on the street. His mom kept shrieking and we kept freaking out. We ran all the way to my block. Luckily, nobody knew where I lived. Except Franky, of course.
We were sitting inside by the entrance of that commie block from 1970 to discuss what would be next.
“Bro, can I stay at your place for a while? Like maybe a week or two?
“Dude… I don’t know. It’s already as crowded as it is now (I lived with my parents and 2 grandparents in a 3 room flat).
“Come on, man. Just talk with your parents. I can even do stuff around your place. I can cook.”
“You never cooked in your life, dude.”
“I can try.”
“It’s gonna be shit.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Dude. It’s not happening. Call your mom and try to talk to her.”
Speak of the devil and the phone rings. The lady once again looked after her special son. Franky picked up with a bewildered face. The hall was so silent that I could hear that woman.
“Where are you now?” She said, this time calmly.
“I’m at Andy’s place.”
“Please come home.”
“I don’t know, mom. Are you still mad at me?”
“I’m still mad but I calmed down. I won’t hit you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. We’ll just have a talk. Please come home.”
“Ok.”
He eventually went home. I’m glad things went the easy way and didn’t have to explain any more to the bastard why it was obvious that he couldn’t stick around.
School visit
I kept thinking all this time what the hell was wrong with this dude? I just couldn’t see it. His parents actually gave a shit about him and bought a lot of stuff for him. He was able to play guitar in a more than decent manner and he even learned some karate. Nevertheless, he still fucked up most of his grades at school. He ended up going at one of the lowest ranking high schools in the city. He even took me there one day. The guards knew him well. There was this guy who had his eyes red. Probably he was high on some shit or had some sleeping disorder.
“That right there (points to the high school building) is the most fucked up high school in this whole damn city.” The guard said.
“I think there are worse out there.” I said.
“Yeah, like maybe 2 or 3. This school is all bullshit, man.”
Franky was laughing all along.
“Yeah dude, but I know you like it. You like staring at some of those asses. I heard you have a crush on the cleaning lady haha.” Franky said.
“Man, shut the fuck up.” The guard stood his ground.
Franky made me a tour of that whole place. We went into his classroom. He showed me a wrecked bench.
“I did this when I got bored during one of the breaks.”
“You sure showed that bench, Franky.”
The secret outlaw
Things started to get whacky with this dude after a while. I noticed at some point that Franky was always loaded. He had like at least 100 bucks with him. I’m talking about dollars here. I mean the translation of dollars into our currency, not actual USD bills. You get the point. Anyway, back to the story. It was just a little weird. I was lucky when I had days with 20 dollars in my pocket. On average I had around 7-8 bucks with me.
“Your parents sure give you a bunch of money, dude.” I told him.
“Yeah, except they don’t really give it to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just take it.”
“The fuck? How?”
“My mom keeps her stash of money under her bed’s mattress. I just take a little bit when she’s not looking. There’s so much money there she can’t find out if 2 or 3 bills are missing.”
“That’s insane, dude.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s fucked up, man. Who does shit like this?”
“She won’t find out, dude. Calm down.”
“She will if you keep doing it.”
“I don’t think so. It’s really a big chunk under that mattress.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Like 2 months or something.”
“Dude, you gotta stop this. It’s insane.”
“She won’t find out, bro.”
“Whatever, dude.”
Random winter foibles
It snowed a lot suddenly sometimes in January that year (2012) and the schools got closed for 2 days and everyone loved that. Me and Franky and this buddy from high school went to the cinema once again. On our way back we thought it would be really fun to throw snowballs at cars and buses (I still find it fun today lol). It was all fun and games until a snowball hit this shady van with these ugly fat middle aged dudes who looked like some low budget mob. The van stopped and some of them were after our asses. We freaked out and we ran down the subway as fast as we could. Me and my high school buddy had subway tickets already but Franky didn’t. He jumped over the small gate and the guard caught him. He told him to buy a ticket like everyone else or fuck off. Time was running out and we didn’t know if those bastards from the van were still on their way to whoop our asses. Franky bought a ticket and proceeded as soon as he could. We barely made it into the subway. That adrenaline rush was still with us.
“Let’s throw snowballs again at our station.” Said Franky.
“No, dude. We might not get lucky next time.”
“Come on, bro…”
“I said forget about it.”
We were silent for a while. Back in the neighborhood we met this famous junky lady. Her name was Nancy. She got her money from cleaning various small shops and begging. You see, Nancy never begged for a few cents, like normal people. When she would see you she would ask for 10 bucks straight. Nobody was crazy enough to grant her requests but somehow she was getting by. She even had a smartphone. Peculiar stuff indeed.
So me and Franky were walking around and we see Nancy in a bus station. Franky walks to her.
“Yo Nancy, how you doin’?
“I’m well, boy. Do you have 10 bucks?”
“I’ll give you 10 bucks if you show your cunt to these people” (points to the people sitting at the station).
“Fuck off, I ain’t doing that.”
“Come on Nancy, real quick. I’ll give you 10 bucks.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok.”
So Nancy proceeds to do her act. What’s funny is that those people sitting there in the station didn’t do anything about it. They just stood there like a bunch of NPCs. Subnormal humans. They all sat there and saw Nancy do her thing. I looked the other way while Franky was laughing.
Nancy put back her pants and Franky was still laughing.
“Now give me my 10 bucks.” She didn’t forget.
“What?”
“10 bucks. I showed my cunt, now give me 10 bucks.”
“I was just kidding. I ain’t giving you 10 bucks. But thanks for the show anyway!”
“You fucking bastard. I hope you die.”
Franky walked away and we went home after that. Nancy wasn’t really happy about this whole ordeal but she was too drugged and cold to care anyway. After a few minutes she had probably forgotten the whole thing. Nothing was real anyway.
Some things must pass
Spring came and it got warmer. Towards the end of spring Franky started dating this girl from the senior year in his high school. He introduced me to her and I disliked her right away. She was dumb, superficial and had a smirk that really pissed me off. She talked like one of those country hoes. And he also brought along her older brother who seemed to be a little bit retarded. He looked like a poor mobster with no taste.
“Isn’t she pretty?” Franky asked.
“I guess so.”
Summer came along and the school year ended. After every school year end one gets some new perspective and reevaluates some stuff. At least one tries to. Franky wasn’t really what I actually needed. We had our times, we had our moments, all that fun and laughter, but it wasn’t meant to last. All things must pass. Even my mates from high school that got to know this punk agreed that the guy was fucked and there was nothing we could do about him. He was too special. Too complex. We did the best we could.
The truth is, he was pissing me off pretty often lately. Every time we would hang out he would do some shit that would get him the attention nobody wanted. He would either say the wrong stuff or touch the wrong thing and there would be someone to bitch about it and there was a whole lotta staring and stuff like that. On top of that, he was bringing his girlfriend along almost everywhere and that hoe was pissing me off too. Shit. I didn’t need any of that. It was time to stop.
It was about time I took my academics more seriously and this dude wasn’t really helping. It wasn’t only the fact that he was a problem child who would do dumb shit all the time, but he also never showed any interest in anything ever. No consistency. No goals. No directions. All this guy cared about was fucking, drinking, smoking and watching retarded videos on the internet.
What’s funny is that deep down he was aware of this shift himself. We didn’t argue. We didn’t fight. We just stopped hanging out. Starting from the 2nd year of high school I didn’t really hear much about him, except that one time when I met one of the guys in the neighborhood who told me some funny thing. The dude stole again some money from his mom (remember the stash lying under the mattress?) and went gambling to some casino with one of his peers from high school. They both got fucked up on booze that night and decided to take the train to this city around 150 miles West. Nobody knew about this and Franky’s parents were no exception. It turned out Franky forgot his phone charger because he couldn’t receive calls. Anyway, he decided to stick around in that city. For like 3 or more days. It’s fair to imagine that their parents lost their shit and alerted the police. After a thorough investigation they found him. A lot of people in the neighborhood heard about this little adventure. He became the new sensation for a few days. Funny stuff.
Nevertheless, we went our own ways. Our own destinies were in the making. We simply had different things lined up.
Time went by. I found the guy a couple of years later randomly on Facebook. He had a dog and a motorbike and posted stuff from parties with champagne and gypsy music. Lavish stuff. I guess he’s doing well.