My dear and patient reader,
As you may remember from chapter one of Frank Cumby’s story, the now 52-year old Frank was 23 when he found out that the love of his life was pregnant with his son, whom they would name Matthew. Okay, I can almost see you rolling your eyes from here, so let’s just get one thing out of the way right now. If you’ve followed this story so far you already know that Frank is a terribly bitter, ugly shell of man now, working a job he hates and leading a soulless existence. And here we are, talking about the love of his life, his soon to be son, and how great of a guy Frank was back then. I know what you are thinking. We’re about to (predictably) find out that Frank’s son was born with a terminal illness or that his wife died during pregnancy. And, of course, that caused Frank to turn bitter. No, my intelligent but misinformed reader, none of that is the case at all. You see, Frank’s wife and child were not taken from him. He was taken from them.
The defining moment, the transformation of Frank, happened while Frank’s beautiful wife was very healthy and still very pregnant. Frank was working as a young editor for Life and Music Today magazine, and he had taken off work a few hours early on this particular Tuesday to be with his wife. It was only a ten minute drive home, but Frank would never make it there, and the following events would change his life forever. Before I get to those events, maybe I should mention that it could be more appropriate to say that Frank’s choice to ignore the following events is what would change his life forever. But that seems awfully hard on poor old Frank.
It all started when Frank was walking through the parking deck behind his office. He reached into his pocket to grab his car keys but came up empty. Frank was a very careful young man, and he was absolutely certain that he had his keys in his pocket all day. It was enough to send chills down Frank’s spine when he saw his keys, with their distinctive Matthew 22:37-39 engraved cross key chain still attached, lying directly in the middle of his car seat.
Frank eventually got tired of beating on all four of his locked doors, swallowed his pride, and called security for help. After what felt like an hour long ordeal in carefully constructed humiliation, Frank was in his car and on the way home to his wife. He was no more than a mile into his trip when he thought he heard a faint voice say: “No, Frank.” It was enough to make him swing his head around to the back seat to see who was there. No one was. “I must be losing my mind,” he nervously chuckled aloud. Further down the road, Frank heard the voice again, this time much clearer and louder: “NO, Frank.” He could no longer ignore it. “God? I don’t know what is going on, but I need to get home to my wife. I know you wouldn’t say no to that. Please don’t.” Frank was a very spiritual man, but the only thing he could focus on at this moment was his wife and his soon to be family. They were everything to him.
When Frank got on Highway 63, the sign was flashing “Exit 139 closed.” 139 was Frank’s exit. When Frank got to the exit, however, he realized that it was not closed at all. Perhaps a glitch with the sign? (Hey reader, are you picking up on the not-so-subtle clues yet? Turn back Frank! Idiot! What are you doing?!) Turning off his exit, stopped at the traffic light, Frank was startled by a tall slender man in a sharp black suit.
The man started knocking on Frank’s window. He was standing in the middle of the street, wearing dark sunglasses and a sheepish grin. The man looked something like an anorexic FBI agent. He flashed some sort of badge on the window and motioned for Frank to roll down his window. As Frank lowered his window, he realized just how sickly this man looked. The man did not say a word, but Frank nervously fumbled through his wallet for his license. As Frank was looking down into his wallet, the man reached through the window and grabbed both of Frank’s shoulders and began to shake him violently. Frank could see that the man in the black suit was smiling, his teeth rotten and brown. His breath smelled of decay and dirt. Frank tried fighting back, knocking the man’s sunglasses off. He had yellow, glassed over eyes. Clearly the man was blind, yet each of his eyes stared directly at Frank. In the midst of the struggle, the man knocked Frank’s head against the side of the car door. Everything went black.
Frank woke up in the same clothes he was in before his struggle with the man in the black suit, without a scratch anywhere on him. The man was gone, and nothing seemed to be missing. Even the keys were left in the car, sans key chain. The cross key chain...it was the only item missing. Frank was still in the center of Carmichael street off of exit 139, but everything seemed a little different. There was an odd yellowish haze to the sky, the ground, the buildings... to everything. Frank pulled out his cell phone. First he called his wife. The operator said the number did not exist. Next, he tried his best friend Jack Scone. The call went through to the Moralez family, a name Frank did not recognize. Going through the list, none of Frank’s contact numbers went through to the people he knew. “What is happening? Am I dead? Is this Hell?”
Frank went through his clothes, seeing if he could find anything. There was one crumpled sheet of paper in his pants pocket. Frank unraveled the paper. "It's my McDonald’s receipt from lunch." Frank threw the scrap to the ground, but quickly noticed some writing on the back. These words were scribbled: Remember your real name. “What? My name is Frank Cumby….Frank…Cumby…that doesn’t seem right…my parents wouldn’t have named me Frank…who names their kid “Frank” these days? My parents…would they have named me Frank? I just need to get home. Where…is home?” Young Frank Cumby collapsed to the ground. He could not decide whether to weep or scream, so he lay there silently.
So, dear reader, the Frank you had been previously introduced to is a man who does not remember his past, not even his wife or his unborn son. He is a man who has no chance of living the life he was meant for. He does not even remember the Voice in his ear saying, “No, Frank.” Frank is a man who was pulled to Hell without even knowing it. Frank is a man who has become so complacent with his miserable life that he does not even remember the foul creature in a black suit who took everything from him and sent him here. These events, hastily explained to you, and the 29 following years spent here, created the Frank Cumby of this story so far. But let us not dwell on the past, when it is the current Frank Cumby you want to know about.
Surely, kind reader, there is not a chance in Hell for such a miserable, unfortunate soul to find even a scrap of hope to hold onto.
By the way, my inquisitive (and did I mention rather handsome) reader, those verses on Frank’s long lost cross key chain: Matthew 22:37-39
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Frank’s alarm goes off. Time for another miserable day at work. “Blagh! Stupid neighborhood kids kept me up all night with their dang Nintendo games. I could hear that mental clown Mario jumping all the way from my house!” On the way out, Frank notices something shiny in the grass. It looks...familiar.
