Plus, you live in a haunted house!

Frank called. A full seven months after we last spoke. I must have a lasting impression, because this isn't the first man who's kept my number far longer than I would dream of keeping theirs.

I was meandering through the aisles of A Market in Manchester. A cozy natural food store with great produce, I was on a bit of a mission. My good friend, C, eats mostly organic, likes organic cosmetics, vegetarian... and I was looking for a sweet gift basket or at least some inspiration for her Christmas gift. I received neither, but I picked up a bitchin organic avocado and poured myself a steaming cup of yerba mate.

Heading over to the vitamins, I heard my cell ring, although muffled, inside my tiny purse. I never miss it, though. Dr. Dre has a pretty distinguishable beat.

I looked at the caller ID. A 617 area code. Mostly relieved that it wasn't work calling me in for some dire emergency, I answered almost sheerly out of curiosity.

"Hello?"
"hey, how ya doin?"
"Who is this?"
"haha hey what's up?"
"Who is this?"
"It's Frankie!"

A week prior, I was in downtown Boston and telling my mom, "I don't think I've heard the last of Frank".

A week later, my intuitive powers were once again validated.

"So I've been thinkin' about ya"
"oh yeah? Are you addicted to drama? Because all we did was fight"
"I know, huh"

We went on to discuss careers and how I may work in Boston but will never move there because I'm not a Masshole. Frank didn't like that.

Frank and I fought about everything. We fought from our first date on. I kept telling him I wasn't a fighter, but he didn't know better. Being with Frank brought out the worst in me. I couldn't figure out why. Was it the constant tension in his voice? Was it the awful directions he gave and sent me an hour out of my way? Maybe it was when he told me it was in his cultural heritage to have a mistress once married. Before we got to the third date, we argued over how our Frankie Jr. would be raised.

A side note - Frank bought a new car fairly soon after meeting me. A few other of my beaus have also done that.

Frank earned a few nicknames with my friends. Pasta Perv, Fettuccine Frank, and I would come to call him "Fucking Frank" - and not in the good way.


Frank sells fresh pasta. He also opened a cafe in Roslindale with a business partner. I never got to see the cafe. A week before opening, I injured my back. I'm 100% better now, but at the time, I was at home on Flexeril and Vicodin, waiting for a chiropractic appointment. I couldn't stand up straight and it hurt to sit. My options were skulking around or laying flat.

He was busy with the cafe. He asked if I'd like to go out over the weekend. I told him I was still hurt, and very high, by the way. That drug combination is a winner. He could come see me, but I couldn't drive. He told me he'd visit and make me feel all better. I popped pills and waited, but no Frank. When he finally called, I confronted him. I told him if all he was looking for was a fun, hot date, he wasn't going to get one that weekend... and is that why he didn't show? Silence from Fucking Frank. I hung up and deleted that bitch from my phone.

Seven months later from the skincare aisle at A Market, we discussed why it would never work. I told Frank I had enough stress at work - I don't need to come home and fight with someone every night. I'm looking for a healthy, stable relationship. I'd be crazy to marry someone who admits he'll cheat on me because it's in his "heritage". I told him his parents may be from the old country, but he's not. How does someone blame a country for his own moral inadequacies, anyway?

"And if that's not enough, you live in a haunted house!"

I giggled inwardly as I imagined other A Market customers eavesdropping on what must have sounded like a very strange conversation.

I arrived at Frank's house an hour later than expected. He left out a minor detail when giving me directions - such as changing routes. Completely frustrated, I stopped twice and got directions from a cop and a liquor store attendant. When I was calm enough to speak to him, he talked me in on the phone, and said how amazing it would be if we got past this and stayed together. His boss offered to drive out to find me and escort me to Frank's house. I eventually arrived and attempted to calm myself down before stepping onto the driveway.

He was waiting on the porch for me. He said he felt like a little kid with his baseball mitt, waiting for dad to come home. I found that and some other things endearing about him. When I saw him, all my frustration disappeared. He hugged me and ushered me inside. He told me he'd make it up to me. I told him he'd better.

The agenda for that particular evening was cooking! Frank was a professional chef for many years. He told me to bring whatever I like to eat, and he'd create a meal for us. We cooked together and laughed and drank the awful wine from the vineyard we visited on our first date. I enjoyed myself, and before long, it was very late. I had to work the next day. He invited me to stay over, but I felt it was too early in our relationship to do that. He told me not to be silly - I had already been on the road two hours that day. I asserted that there would be no hanky panky (well, maybe a little - he still had to make the driving frustration up to me), and he agreed.

Frank told me to go upstairs and hop in bed while he cleaned up the kitchen. There was no light switch at the bottom of the stairs. I carefully climbed the stairs in the dark, but when I approached the top, I felt that awful familiar feeling of thickened air and heavy atmosphere. The feeling of a haunting. I hesitantly approached the top of the staircase and ran my hands across the walls, searching for a light switch. Nothing.

"Frank?" I called out.
He came to the bottom of the stairs.
I asked him where the light was, and he came up and turned one on in his bedroom. I followed him in, then asked where the upstairs bathroom was. When I stepped out of his bedroom, I felt it again. It was hanging around the top of the stairs. It was so noticeable I was very surprised Frank didn't seem to notice it himself.

He eventually joined me in bed and I tried to sleep. I was awoken several times throughout the night with BIZARRE dreams. The type of dreams one has when they're in a highly charged psychic environment. I was in the room we were sleeping in, with Frank's family (whom I hadn't yet met), discussing the "thing" in the hallway. In another dream, I was in his basement being attacked. I knew that Frank would not protect me and that I would have to defend myself. All night these dreams and others went on and on.

Around 3 am, Frank stirred and asked if I was up. When he looked at me, he knew for certain I was very awake. I asked him if his place was haunted. He said no one had ever come out and asked him that, but anyone who sleeps over never gets any sleep. In fact, he said he sleeps BETTER when he's away from home. I told him that it's usually the opposite for most people. We talked more about what was in the hallway, and then tried to sleep some more.

I left early in the morning and hit the most welcoming, heart warming rush hour traffic on the southeast expressway in Boston. After just a very short few hours of sleep and a stressful drive the day before, I decided I was done with Frank.

But what about Frankie Jr? We gave it one last try for our son we would never have and took a day trip together. Frank is of course Catholic, but doesn't practice. I'm a non-denominational bible based Christian who does practice. Frank wanted Frankie Jr. to be baptized at birth, first communion, etc. I want my son to know God through Jesus and choose to have that personal relationship with Him. We couldn't agree.

A week later, I was flat on my back waiting for fair weathered Frank to darken my doorstep. It speaks volumes about people who are around for good times, but are nonexistent when you just need a DVD, some take out and a back rub.

We wished each other well over the phone, he driving in Danvers, me in the A Market.

I hung up, paid for my avocado and now almost empty cup of yerba mate, and laughed to myself about the strange, odd and never boring people who come into my life.

Some have said I attract them! So what does that say about me? :)