For a full list of chapters, click here: Table of Contents
Fall, 1996
Imagine Franky Benítez hiding on a subway platform in Boston and humming the song his father improvised twenty years ago outside a cinema in Santurce.
We love you, Franky.
Oh yes we do.
We love you, Franky.
We love you true.
When you’re not with me,
We’re blue.
Oh, Franky, we love you.
And as he hums, Franky Benítez enters a green trolley that cradles him back to his days of final comfort: August, 1976, the rear of a station wagon, sucking on a bottle of chocolate milk.
His abuelo drives. His mother smokes. A week had passed since the judge formally decreed his parents’ divorce, and now here was Franky Benítez, his mother and his baby sister, three passengers checking into Eastern Airlines Flight 17 nonstop to El Bronx, Nueva York.
On the road to the airport, men shout, hawking fruits and fried meats. The traffic crawls. His mother lights up, smoke creaks out the window of the station wagon, flowing past the condominiums, past the beach and into the Caribbean. Once, she thinks, this island of Puerto Ricans and Americans, blacks, blondes and those in between, Cuban exiles and Dominicans, enchanted her with a home where kids played in pools and parents danced all night. But now? Seven years had passed, and her seven-year-old son, her prince, her Franky, still drank chocolate milk from a baby’s bottle.
Right then Franky Benítez climbs over the back seat of the station wagon, careful not to kick his baby sister, who sleeps on a blanket and seat belts. As he sees his mother smoke away tears, he leans over and kisses her on the cheek.
“Mamita, when I get back to Puerto Rico, I want to help you paint the house, ok?”
****
Think of how the green trolley stops at Boylston Street, and how others jolt silent curses. Behind a line of B trains, and C trains and D trains, the trolley halts. Franky turns to see the dim Boylston station. It had changed very little since college—the still gray, the rusty green, the old Chinese woman sitting on the middle bench, clutching to shopping bags full of soda cans, teenagers smoking in back corners, vagrants lingering near the token booth. Maybe one hundred years ago, when this city was smaller and people were amazed that you could go from one end of Boston Common to the other in an electric car, maybe then the Boylston stop made sense. But now, who gets off at Boylston Street?
Franky Benítez had figured it all out, and when he calculated the numbers, he felt like a Rain Man: people who like routine, read the Globe for 50 years and buy the same cup of coffee from the same corner store in some part of Fields Corner or Jamaica Plain or Somerville. The same people take the same train every day for 520 days a year, give a holiday or two, 5,200 days a decade, 26,000 a half-century, 52,000 days a century. And as he waits, Franky figures, if 100 people took the same train for 46 years, they would be in that train 2,392,000 times.
The trolley moves. Relief? Escape? Security? It’s only work, a place to drain his time. Now imagine this scene: the trolley moves, the people cheer. The trolley accelerates, Franky begins to holler. He jumps to the front and begs the conductor to barrel-ass all the stops: Arlington, Copley Square, Hynes Convention Center, Kenmore Square, all the way to Cleveland Circle, where the trolley combusts and all the grief, the tedium, the anxiety vanishes and Franky Benítez is at peace again.
Exito con el libro Julio!
Gracias mil. Espero que te guste.
Great! Sounds like Franky is euphoric about this world for what it was but, resents it for what it is now.
Mmmh…. We will see, no? Hope you like it.
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[…] weeks ago I brought it back, changed its name one night and started writing The Two Worlds of Franky Benítez, an online work that will keep appearing in installments once or twice a […]
[…] previous installments, click on these links: Prologue Summer, 1986 Today, 4:30 a.m. November, […]
I loved this story. Frankie is one mysterious guy.:)
Ha, he’s got issues. Thanks again for your comment and support. Much appreciated! I read your story too and commented. Just tell the story. Always wins. All the best.
I’m just meeting Franky for the first time, but he’s a very interesting character. And your writing is just lovely. Lush descriptions engage all the senses and draw us in. Well done.
And welcome to #fridayflash!
This is why I love Twitter. I have been looking for a supportive online community and within a few days, I found it. Thanks for your kind comment here and also thanks for the RT!
Fellow needs a new line of work! Maybe a Monster.com profile. Get the heck off the trolley circuit and wherever it takes you. From his final fantasy, I’m thinking pyrotechnics might be up his alley…
Ha! love it.. Thanks for the comment!
You painted such a vivid picture in the first half. I could see and feel everything. The second half, however was so visceral. I “knew” it more than I could see what was going on or make a clear picture in my head. I loved the contrast between the two. Memories seem so sharp, so clear sometimes, compared to the present where everything is stream-of-consciousness. Welcome aboard, dude. : )
Thanks so much for the comment. I really appreciate it!
Very, very cool story! Poor Franky! He seems like a lost character. Looking forward to finding out more about him. Welcome to Friday Flash!
Hey, Maria! Thanks so much for taking the time to visit and for posting. Much appreciated. The Friday Flash group is exactly what Twitter is all about and it is so refreshing to know that. Here’s hoping Franky finds his way.
You have a gift for description, which dropped me right in the station wagon with the young Franky and, later, on the trolly when he was older.
The contrast between the two environments came through very clearly also.
Well done.
Thanks so much, Kevin, and thank you for stopping by to read the piece.
What a great story. You sucked me into his world from the beginning and I’m intrigued by your character. Can’t wait to read more from you in the future. Welcome to #fridayflash! 🙂
So cool of you to swing by! Thanks for the comment.
This has such a great feel to it, such a cool vibe. Frankie is a tortured character, but the reader connects in ways. Very approachable story. Thanks for this.
Thanks for your comment, and for your kind words. I loved your piece as well.
Very cool worlds your Franky inhabits. I don’t get the math [yet], but your descriptions are lush.
Yeah, me and math got problems sometimes, but thanks for your kid words.
Wow Julio, this is powerful stuff! I love the way you “tell us” to imagine; a lot of people don’t like that sort of style, but for me it almost forces me to put all other thoughts aside and just Feel the story. And you made that so easy to do here.
Welcome to #fridayflash!
Thanks, Deanna!
Vivid, dreamy descriptions. A wonderful addition to the #fridayflash community. Welcome.
Vey kind of you to swing by and read this. #FridayFlash community rocks!
Vivid, and visual. It is really your debut piece? Care to read mine?
http://magicnmiranda.blogspot.com/2010/12/waiting-one-night.html
It is my debut piece here. Yesterday was my first #fridayflash
I’ts my first encounter with Frankie, excellent character, lot’s of depth. Brilliant writing.
Trevor, thanks for making the connection via Twitter and for the visit. The #fridayflash community is the perfect example of how a Twitter community should operate. Still chuckling at your piece.
This is great. Amazing levels of description make the scenes come to life.
Franky is a great character. I will have to read some more of your writing about him.
So glad you joined in with #fridayflash!
I am so glad to have found #fridayflash as well. I have connected with so many cool peeps. Thanks again!
This is great work, Julio, vivid, personal, trans-national, imaginative. I look forward to more.
(btw: “clutching to shopping bags” do you mean “two”?)
Mike, really cool to have connected with you on Twitter. And thanks for the observation. Will file that one away when I get to editing mode. Right now, I am in write, write, write mode.
One of my biggest regrets in life is not taking advantage of the fact that New York City was so close to where I lived for 18 years. How I would love to experience first hand the neighborhood where Frankie lived, the street vendors, the chaos and the sounds of traffic. As a single Mother I can relate to Frankie’s mother and the worry she had for her son and her wordless grief as she “smoked away her tears.” Very insightful, excellent writing, I truly felt a part of this city today through your eloquent words. I’ll definitely be back to read more. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Thanks so much for that kind comment. I really appreciate the comment about Franky’s mom, since as a guy, sometimes writing about the other gender can be a bit intimidating. Stay in touch, we definitely have similar styles and also have that bicultural background in how we write.
The atmosphere was vivid, and the emotion somewhere between desperation and a forlorn sense of hope, that there might be salvation in craziness.
I have to say, thought, the opening from “Bye Bye Birdie” threw me, and set up an image in my mind of poodle skirts and bobbie socks that was a surreal counterpoint to the scene.
Thanks, Tony, that is a good observation and will note it. Much appreciated.
Interesting character this Frankie. With those last few lines, we’re allowed to imagine a dark side to our character. A very dark and troubled side. Thank you for sharing.
Glad you saw that. Franky is dark and troubled.
Frankie is an interesting character. His past is still very close to him and drives him to live in and outside the world. In the last paragraph it seemed to me he wanted something to drive the tedium of his work day away. To remember excitment, to push forth change. Congrats on your debut!
Lara, you are one smart reader. Thrilled that you were able to communicate that here. Thanks!
Lara, you are one smart reader. Thrilled that you were able to communicate that here. Thanks!
Nice piece. Really well paced and the longing to break the tedium is palpable…Also lots of interesting questions. Why was he still drinking chocolate milk from a bottle? What is he doing with his life? How did he get there?
Welcome to #fridayflash!
Thanks, Virginia. Why was he still drinking chocolate milk from a bottle? Mmh.. Thanks again!
Enjoyed the little details that are so different about these worlds. Like how you work this into the piece as a whole.
Thanks, Aidan!
[…] devloping more chapters of Franky Benítez, I had the pleasure to read numerous pieces of fiction through Twitter and its incredible vibrant […]
[…] The Two Worlds of Franky Benítez – Prologue – by Julio Ricardo Varela DEBUT […]
Vivid, somewhat melancholy, and very well written. Love just the hint of a futuristic setting. Nicely done.
Welcome to #FridayFlash.
~jon
Thanks, Jon, for the comment. Much appreciated.
Julio, what a great picture you painted of the simple but genuine love a boy has for his mother. I felt Linda’s pain and I also felt Franky’s desire to make it all better again for her. Clearly he didn’t fully comprehend what was hurting his mom but his desire to ease her pain is a trait that I think most boys grow up with when it comes to their mother. Great job.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and for the comment.
I like the feel of the story. An interesting mix of present and past tense. “520 days a year” through me off after all the familiar Earth references–perhaps 520 times a year for twice a day. The assumed you in 2nd person works fairly well and adds to the feel.
David, thanks for reading this. Yeah, I gotta fix my math in that section! LOL