Graffiti and Guitars

The first time I saw him I stood up.

The other passengers ignored the quick act of notorious anonymity that passed by their windows. The sunlight shone around them and as we drew closer I placed my book beside me and rose. There were two of them wrapped in black like shadows. One artist, spraying pictures over gray concrete, and one watchman. I felt the cool clear glass under my palms as I steadied myself. The watchman turned to fix us with a glare and his eyes met mine, face emerging from the hood. Just a little colour peering out of the drab, like the fresh graffiti on the wall behind him. A pair of jade and jaded eyes. Then he was gone speeding away in a blur of distance. The day continued but I kept a piece of the moment he stole.

               *                                                    *                                                   *
     
Fingers.

At the end of the day that's what it came down to.

I drove over to Ray's one summer afternoon for band practice. Dark glasses, a cigarette and leather jacket reflected me in the review mirror. When I arrived, Mikey was already waiting for me and Bob was setting up. It was mostly like the hot languid days that preceded it except for the fact that Ray had invited the kid along. The garage was humid and I left the door open when I entered in the hopes that some cool air would join us.

"Hey Mikey, Bob" I said tossing my jacket off in an attempt to adjust to the heat "Where's Toro?"

"He's getting something to eat but he'll be back in a sec" Mikey replied.

"Ok" I said dropping my backpack of notebooks to the side "When's the new kid getting here?"

"Anytime now, Ray said Iero was supposed to be here bout half an hour ago" Bob answered glancing at a clock on the wall. Ray entered with a few bags of chips noting my presence.  

"Iero?" Ray asked Bob.

"Yeah" Bob replied.

"He's always fucking late" I murmured.

"Maybe its cause you've been calling him new kid all this time" Ray commented "punks take offence to names like that"

"Yeah well he wouldn't be new if he'd spent more then an hour with us in the last 2 weeks" I replied plugging in the mike "Lets get to it, no point in waiting. Skylines and Turnstiles?"  

Hours flew by under the heat of the sun and heavy practice. Bottles of water then beer collected around the feet of my band mates and me till the sunset ended our practice. A slight haze of alcohol had set in and I stayed to practice more with Ray while Bob took Mikey home and then went to work. Ray had gone inside to get some water when the kid finally showed. I looked up expecting to see Ray with water and instead I saw a disheveled kid with a beat up guitar. He looked indignant.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Came for practice. Got busted by cops. That's why I'm late" he replied.

"I don't care" I told him honestly "I don't want you as part of this band anymore"

"What?! So I've been late a few times, so what. This is bullshit" he spat back. I crossed the room grabbing onto the front of his t-shirt.

"No, you're late every time. So late that when you get here it's not actually practice anymore" I spat back, losing a battle with what little of my patience I had left.

"You're so fucking uptight!" he snarled back.

"Listen kid, you may already be in a band and they might not care what time you get in or if you get in at all but this is different" I growled.

"Oh yeah how? Shitty garage, shitty equipment, shitty instruments" he snarled, shoving me from him "It's all the same to me!"

"This is more than a band we're trying to build!" I shouted back "Something more than the sum of its shitty parts! Something like hope" his stance relaxed a little glare intense "Hope that this place won't get you and tear you apart. Hope enough to go on. Maybe save some fucking lives instead of causing bitch fights between punks"

He fell silent, mouth closing and eyes hiding in a gaze trained to the floor. I shoved passed him, and stormed into the house. Ray was sitting at the kitchen table. He had been waiting and handed me a drink. I sat opposite him, sculling half of the bottle before settling down to watch him. I could tell he wanted to say something about the kid but was holding back. I didn't feel like asking or talking so I just ignored him and listened to the noises of the summer night. It seemed like an age had passed when the phone rang. Ray left to kill the shrill ringing that was cutting the quiet. However, when the ringing did stop and Ray's muffled voice replaced it I heard something else as well.

Then there was a noise. A quiet echoing pitch. The warm sound of silver stings on a wooden body. I listened to it, feeling the smooth bottle and condensation under my fingers and my entire mind went blank but for the sound. The tune lifted and fell in a sober slow dance with the night air. I moved to my feet and followed it back to the shed, legs heavy, and watched him silently from the door. He sat on an old amp playing Ray's acoustic softly. In the wake of his music I took him in properly for the first time since he'd asked to join.

From under his black t shirt drawings crawled across his skin. A Japanese sunrise burst from his elbow and a scorpion climbed up his jugular. His hair was messy and from under it I could see faraway green eyes that were hiding when I left him before. Even they seemed to be hearing the tune and feeling it out. His fingers moved gently over the fret board. On his knuckles I could see a needled tattoo of the letters 'Halloween'. However blotting over them and creating a canvas down to his fingertips was paint. Red, yellow, blue, green, pink and purple dipped back and forth with his fingers.

I moved closer without feeling the footsteps I walked. He looked up, surprised, and lowered the guitar. A few moments passed between us before I slid onto the leather couch next to him. I rested my forearms on my knees.

"Go on" I prompted him and with the gentle nudge he continued. It was so beautiful, it seemed to be everything he wasn't but it was in that choir of colors and sound that I realized this was him.

"Graffiti" I realized aloud and he stared back with those eyes I'd met on a train ride.

"What?" he asked.

"You're like graffiti" I replied smiling. A grin dawned over his neutral expression.

"Annoying thing to get busted for" I continued and he agreed with a snickering nod.

"If you're with us you're with us" I offered holding my hand out. He took it in a firm shake.

"Thanks" Frank beamed.  

"Frank Iero?" I asked.

"Yeah?" he said.

"I never said that before" I admitted "Do you prefer Frank or Frankie?"

"Anything's better then new kid or hey you" Frank laughed.

"Welcome to the band then Frankie"