The Name's Frye!

Some consistent readers might be familiar with the concept I apply to keeping friends' names secret: I used pseudonyms. One of my friends went, for a long time, by the name Ferris Bueller. You know, because he was very much like him in my eyes.

What I didn't expect was that I would start considering myself Cameron Frye.

For those of you who haven't seen the film, Cameron is Ferris's best friend (I'll get to that in my life, later.) On the one fateful day - the day-off - Cameron undergoes a change in his life and expresses his frustration with his parents, specifically his father. While his life isn't exactly a bad one, it's not suitable for Cameron.

In much the same way, I disagree with my parents' views on life. To paraphrase Mister Frye, they're always pushing me around. I'm expected to do all the boring things in life when it suits them. It's the second part of that sentence that really gets me, because I totally understand that there are certain boring things in life that must be done. I get that chores need to be done. I just don't agree that my parents should decided, at this point in my life, when I do said chores.

I say "chores". It feels like an American word, to me. I've only ever heard it in American shows and my own head. Anyway, I digress. It's things like hoovering the house, or emptying the dishwasher, or sorting out the boxes of things that had been dumped on my bedroom floor while I was at college. These are things that don't have to be done immediately. Yes, the dishwasher needs to be emptied before the remaining plates and glasses pile up. Yes, the hoovering has to be done to stop the house looking filthy.

But the boxes on my floor? I didn't put them there. I had been getting ready to bring everything up to my room to sort out at my own pace, organising them as I went along. Now they're not only on my bedroom floor, they're in an incomprehensible order. I need to literally unpack these boxes of odds and sorts to put them away again. It would take a whole day, as opposed to the few hours it would have taken before.

These are small things. It's the rest of my life that's the problem. My parents have ideas about my life that don't concern my own free will or interests. I think every parent does it.

I don't think it's a secret that I want to write for a living. I know it would be hard to get to a point where that's possible. I accept that. But it's what I want to do.

The problem, of course, is that to my parents the writing comes second. To everything. Remember those chores? Yeah, they're more important than the chapter I happen to be writing, or the poem I'm trying to reconstruct. If it's not college writing, it doesn't count.

The director of The Rest is Silence had to ambush my parents to force them to promise to go to the show. They speak out it begrudgingly, like it's such a difficult thing for them to get in the car, drive to the college and watch an hour long play their youngest son wrote. An hour. That's it. It's purposely short because of the content. The lead cried during rehearsals. Heck, we all cried. Can't have two hours of that.

So, it would take two hours out of their night, including travel time. That's assuming they show up right on time and leave immediately.

And how does this relate to Cameron Frye? Well, that's where Ferris Bueller comes in. When we speak of my parents - heck, when we speak of either of our respective parents - we come to the conclusion that they're kind of insufferable and detrimental to my health. I think they drive me insane. A lot of the time he then takes it upon himself to talk me to the point of doing my own thing.

Now, this isn't a case of rebellion. I'm not about to kick my dad's car to crap. I'm not about to run off for the day for no reason other than the fact that my friend is bored. Heck, he works too much for that to even be possible. But it's a case of standing up for myself. It's about doing what I need to do with my life, and not letting them decide for me.

And as for the "best friend" thing. Well, I wouldn't claim to be his best friend. I know who is best friends are, for a start. I've spoken to one and I know where another lives (because he's my friend's next door neighbour...). I'm neither of those people. I don't expect to ever be called his "best friend". But we have a particular type of friendship that allows for a lot of honesty, a lot of philosophy, and phone calls at two in the morning. They're my "day-off".

I just gotta take a stand, right? Just face up to the people who think they're in charge of me. As my
pseudonymous name-sake says, "I am not gonna sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. I'm gonna take a stand. I'm gonna defend it. Right or wrong, I'm gonna defend it."

Just call me Frye. Cameron Frye.

Early Morning Conversations

It's no great secret anymore that I get phone calls from Liam from time to time... but last night took the biscuit. Firstly, there was no real reason for the first, or second, call. He literally just called to chat. Secondly, I didn't have to say something to invite a phone call at his nearest convenience (which relates to the "Firstly"). Thirdly, there were three phone calls within a couple of hours. Yes, three. Just don't tell my parents. As far as they know, only the third one actually happened.

I was alseep. That much should be made clear; I was perfectly, contentedly, asleep. Then the phone rang. At half one in the morning. A groggy but coherent, "Hello." I can't remember exactly what he said. Maybe he was filling me in on details I already had, like his location - he'd announced it on Facebook earlier. I could hear the noise of the bar in the background. I maintained a conversation, not entirely knowing what was going on when, out of the blue, "We're going on a road trip soon. Three or four weeks time, down to the south west. We'll get Miley on the way." Road trip. Yes, a road trip. I still don't know how that happened. Am I complaining? Not at all! I've been looking for things to do this summer, and a road trip to Munster sounds like a great plan! The conversation ended shortly after that.

I thought, okay, back to bed. But I can't help but think about the last conversation I had with Liam over the phone, relating to something I need to sort out. I start to think about it when, out of the blue, my phone starts to ring again. Thankfully it's on vibrate or my parents would have been woken up. That would have been more than a bit bad...

"Hello?" A little more curious this time. Can't remember how he started this conversation either. Somewhere along the line, "I can't hear you. It sounds like you're talking into a pillow." Naturally I reply, in a still groggy voice, "I am talking into a pillow." About a minute later, not of silence or just bar noise, but of conversation that's a bit hazy in my head. "You're in fucking bed!" Of course I was in bed. It was two in the morning. The conversation ended shortly after that.

I went downstairs to get a glass of milk. I was thirsty, I was hot, and I certainly wasn't getting back to sleep. I wrote him an email, detailing the thought process I'd been having before he called again. Fine, I thought, I can get back to sleep now that that's out of my head. I go upstairs. I get under the covers. Ten to three - I can still get some sleep.

The phone rings again. "Hi Liam." Bar noise. Lots of it. "Paul, I need to talk to the girlfriend." I know, I was equally confused. I tell him I need to get to a different room. I open my door. It doesn't open quietly. It never does. I go to the kitchen again as he hands the phone over to Emma. "Hi, is this Paul?" I tell her it is. She starts talking. Bar noise gets in the way. I tell her I can't hear something she says. "Oh hold on," she says to me, "I need to find somewhere quieter. I can't hear you." Some moving around. An apology as she nearly knocks over a table of pints reaching for her drinks. Another apology to a member of staff in the bar as she tells him she'll only be in a minute in the Staff Only section.

"Hi, are you still there?" I tell her I am. Can she hear me? Yes, she can. "I don't know why he wanted me to talk to you." Neither do I, but I'm not complaining. I've been supressing laughter since I heard the first apology. She brings up Miley. "Oh it's always Miley Cyrus this, and Miley Cyrus that, yadda yadda yadda." Before I can say anything, "She called five times tonight!" Five times? Seriously, Miley? Five?

"Miley has a few problems that Liam helps her out with," I tell Emma. "There's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, but surely you can understand where I'm coming from. Liam's gone back to college and he's like an eighteen year old again." This is true. Liam can be a bit immature sometimes. But in the good way, not in the I'm going to light this on fire kind of way. He's a child at heart, and it does him some good in getting along with everyone.

Emma has her worries. I tell her about a guy Miley likes. The gossip is better than the argument she and Liam had - it was one of those arguments that arises from alcohol consumption (there was a lot of it - beer, then wine, then Guiness, now Morgan and Coke) and a slight case of paranoia, because Liam's not a bad looking guy. If he was an ugly fuck, she'd have nothing to worry about. But five phone calls to Miley Cyrus later...

We make a promise; we're going to actually meet, Emma and I. There were lots of laughs, lots of chatter (mainly from her - I'm a good listener, and it helped that I could stay as quiet as possible downstairs). My side of the deal, for when she comes out with us in college, is that I try make her feel like she's not an old woman. That shouldn't be hard - I don't drink, so I sometimes come across as being far too serious. Then a song will come on that I like and I rave about like a nutter.

Emma says her goodbyes. For the next thirty seconds, all I hear is bar noise. I hear her voice. I don't hear Liam. I think, maybe she's bringing the phone back to him. But the noise... it's actually at the bar. She's not gone looking for Liam just yet. She's just left the phone in her hand. I hang up, to save Liam some credit. The conversation ended shortly before that.