AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know you guys can alr tell by the 33 chapter count but this is gonna be a slooowwwww burn, and i hope you all dont mind that. I'll be honest with you guys i dont really know how to manage such a long storyline like this but im trying my very best to keep this as entertaining as possible! So please forgive me if any story points feel repetitive or like theyre dragging on T_T im not a professional author just a girl who loves friends and formula 1 and writing. Peace and love
PS: scalfaro was the president of italy in 1995. Just so the joke makes sense (spoilers!)
September 2nd, 1995
This week, Chandler found himself in Monza, Italy. City of Red, home of Tifosi— whatever you wanted to call it, it was the place to be at this time of year. With the Italian Grand Prix in just a week, taking place in the Temple of Speed that was the Monza circuit, fans of Ferrari lined the streets in their red and gold merchandise with flags in one hand and their heavy hearts in the other.
Later today, Chandler was to meet Joey so that the Italian boy could show him around his second country and make a day of it. Apparently, he had a surprise waiting for Chandler. He could barely conceal his glee over the phone.
"You're going to love it, I'm tellin' ya!" He remembered Joey giggling on the other end, and through the phone line he could feel his cheeks turn pink from laughing so much.
"Can't you give me a hint or something?" Chandler laid on his hotel bed, kicking his feet like a teenage girl.
"Nuh-uh!"
"Oh god, are you taking me to a strip club?"
"You wish." Joey said. "Just be ready tomorrow. Can we meet up in the morning?"
"Can't. Busy." It didn't occur to Chandler to tell him why. "Find me in the afternoon, 'kay?"
"Oh, God! I don't know if I can wait that long!" Joey really sounded like he was going to burst.
"Goodbye, Joe."
"See ya, Chan'!"
As time passed, the two boys only grew closer and closer. Always finding time in between races to go out for lunch, visit local scenery, or share solitude in each other's hotel room. If not physically together, they would talk for hours on the phone about anything and everything that came to mind. Chandler was never much of a talker, but with Joey, he never ran out of things to discuss. There was not enough time in the world for him to say everything he wanted to say to him. This spark was absent from his other friendships— Kip, Ross, maybe even Monica. Was this wrong of him? To equate this months-old friendship to people he's known for years? Perhaps, but Chandler didn't care about being wrong anymore. He just liked being within Joey's presence.
This liberty from the idea of right or wrong was part of what Chandler treasured about Joey. He always managed to keep the guilt-ridden boy's mind on something else, and for fleeting moments in the day, Chandler was not afraid of God. By now, God was tired of hearing Chandler's constant complaints and whining about the privileged life he lived, and it was Chandler's turn to do something for the Lord. He relieved the heavenly father of confessional duties, convincing himself that he did not need God if he had Joey to keep watch over him. Sure, it was sin to hold another high as your personal Lord, but Chandler was allowed to be bad sometimes, right? Who out there was entirely clean from sin? Chandler liked how this sudden confidence felt, and he'd wear this pride to his meeting.
Before he could reunite with his new friend, Chandler would have to betray him. Leonard Green, being team principal of Ferrari, had a second condo in Monza he'd stay in during race week. He could have a condo in every country on the calendar if he really wanted to— but Italy was the country he signed to serve when he bought a share of Ferrari's racing team and eventually made his way to the top. Chandler— someone who drove for a living— was ironically being driven to the condo building so that the two could have a meeting discussing Chandler's possible future in the team. He already knew he was going to say no, but he still wasn't sure how to compose himself in front of Leonard. Rich people were always scary— Chandler considered himself as one of the good ones.
Gazing out of the window without New York looking back at him was always a shock. By this point, he should have been used to it, but he was a simple homesick boy who missed the Big Apple. This being the twelfth race on the calendar meant it was also the twelfth hotel he rotted in, and the twelfth time he pretended the nearby coffee shop was just like his sweet Central Perk back home. Chandler never liked hotels, and the one he had here was no exception.
But the streets of Monza weren't as hostile as every other unfamiliar city. He knew Monza to be home to the Tribbiani family. These were the sidewalks little Joey ran down, grazing his fingers on the rough bricks of buildings that called good morning to him every day. Was the pavement still warm where Joey played hopscotch? Or where his family gathered to watch the fireworks on New Years? Monza was painted in Joey's colours; as beautiful as Chandler could imagine the country that raised the golden boy could have been. He may have not liked any place outside of Manhattan, but Monza was a city he could get used to. This was Joey's land, what is there to hate?
Eventually, the limousine rolled upon the condominium building, and Chandler rehearsed one last time what he was going to say.
"Hi, I'm sorry Mr. Green, but I can't accept your offer. You know who can? Joseph Tribbiani! Why not give him a call?"
If he could manage to convince Leonard to consider Joey for the seat instead, he'd earn the Italian's love forever. What would he do with it? He doesn't know, but it wouldn't hurt to have.
He entered the building and made his way to the top where Leonard resided, signing a couple of photographs and caps on the route. Chandler knocked on the door, the anxiety that was mysteriously absent all morning suddenly hitting him like a wrecking ball. What happens if Leonard reacts badly? Would he slip today's events to Monica, and she'd somehow deduce that Chandler was throwing away this opportunity she worked so hard for just to appease another man? Would she get the wrong idea? No, there was no wrong idea. Nothing was wrong when it came to Joey, and nothing went deeper than their friendship. Chandler was just making up worries.
The door opened, but Leonard did not stand on the other side. Of course, he'd never open his own door. Instead, it was his oldest daughter.
"Chandler! I forgot you were coming today!" Rachel greeted, leaning against the doorframe.
The two were familiar enough considering their mutual friendship with Monica. Rachel had a leg up on him, though— she had known Monica since childhood. She was definitely a much more important figure in the Geller's lives than Chandler was, or was that the insecure parasite in his brain talking again?
"Yeah, that happens."
She let the boy in and led him to where her father sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, and a bronze drink in his hand. The light scent of whiskey spread through the living room— was it professional to drink during a meeting? Technically, this was not an official meeting, so maybe the rules of the workplace did not apply.
"Daddy, your star boy is here." Rachel announced, the mockery in her voice suggesting she's had to hear a lot about Chandler recently. It was strange to think Leonard wanted to meet with him so badly.
"Chandler! Welcome!" Leonard stood up, extending a hand to shake and greeting his future driver with an excitement he rarely wore. He turned to his daughter, "Won't you excuse us, baby?"
"I was just about to leave, anyway." She said, picking her purse up from the coffee table and heading for the door. "You boys have fun with your…whatever."
Rachel never seemed to care much for her father's or best friend's business. She'd occasionally join her father's travels around the world, but very rarely watched the races. She'd hear all about it from Monica on the phone, anyway. As long as her father's team was doing well enough to fund her next shopping spree, she didn't care what happened within the racing world.
Once the door shut behind her, Leonard would not waste a second trying to scout his next driver.
He fell back into the sophisticated pose that only worsened Chandler's nerves. "Tell me, how long is your contract at Sauber for?"
"Listen, Mr. Green—" Chandler sat down on the armchair across from him, fiddling with the button of his shirt. "I don't want to waste your time, so—"
"You're going to decline?" He set his whiskey on the coffee table with just a little too much force, enough to startle the poor boy in front of him. "You wait a week, then come all the way here to turn down my offer— you don't think that's wasting my time?"
Their meeting had barely even started and already, Leonard's thick Long Island accent crescendoed into frustration. "Please, Mr. Green, I just wanna say—"
"That little manager of yours told me you were shaking at the opportunity!"
Damn Monica! Her and her lies! He knows Monica has been working hard to get him on Williams, and now trying her hand at Ferrari, and he knows he's the most ungrateful person in the world for not even considering taking the seat. But he simply did not deserve it as much as Joey did.
"Right…look, Mr. Green, I am very flattered with this offer. Really. I just think there's better options for you than me."
"Of course there are better options! What, you think you're some rockstar?" Leonard moved his hands like a sorcerer might, and Chandler swore he'd walk out of the condo with a curse. But like his lack of faith, he didn't believe in the supernatural either. He believed in the sheer power Leonard had and how at the snap of his fingers, Chandler could be dealt with in the way Italians famously deal with things. "We could have anyone on this team, y'know? We could have called Burke's kid if we wanted. Or even convince Kip out of retirement."
It was at this point Chandler wondered why he bothered coming at all.
"But we're looking for new talent. We want to develop a star. You, Chandler, you're no star. But with the right training, we could make you one. You'll get nothing out of being in Sauber another year." Leonard continued, "And I talked with Nora, she thinks we're perfect for you."
Nora would approve of chopping Chandler's ears off if it somehow meant an improvement in performance. Her words meant nothing.
Chandler adjusted his position, leaning forward on the edge of his seat. "You want new talent? I'm not the guy you want. You have to consider Joseph Tribbiani."
"Tribbiani?"
"Yes. He's a rookie, so you'll have full control of him. A completely blank slate to work with!" It hurt Chandler to objectify his friend in such a manner, but it'll all be worth it to see his friend in his rightful red. "You could do a lot more with him than me. Besides, he's Italian! Wouldn't that be good for your brand? I'm sure everyone here would like the guy from their hometown much more than me."
"You said it yourself. He's a rookie." Leonard took another sip from his whiskey. "We want new talent, not babies. You really think I'm gonna hire a guy in his first year?"
"It won't be his first! He'll be with us at Sauber next year, you'll get him in his second!"
"Wow, what a difference!" Leonard enthused sardonically. Chandler didn't like how sarcasm looked on others. "I'll get a guy in his second year? Why, he's practically a champion at that point! Tell me, Chandler, you think I should just take the shortcut? Cut a deal with Sauber and steal him for myself next year?"
Chandler watched his crazed expression for a moment, looking for hints of expectation. Was he looking for an actual answer?
"...yes?"
"You're crazy!" He slammed his cup of whiskey on the table, droplets of bronze jumping in the air. "You know nothin' about this sport, huh? If you really think I'm gonna hire some rookie willy-nilly, then you're crazy."
Chandler couldn't be upset; he didn't know more than he needed to about Formula 1, nor did he care to.
"I'm telling you, Mr. Green! You have to consider this! He's an amazing driver!" Chandler hasn't actually seen Joey perform since their earliest karting competitions, but he was sure Joey was skilled enough for the prestigious team. "Please, talk to him. You'll see how much he loves your team. You'll see how much he can do for you."
Leonard savoured his words for a brief moment. "Do you want to be here at all?"
"In all honesty— no, sir." Was sir too formal? Chandler wasn't sure, it was hard to think right when his hands gripped his legs hard, drenching his knees with sweat. "But you have to trust me. Joseph will be the greatest addition you could ever even dream of making."
He did not respond. Instead, Leonard got up and opened the door for him.
"It's a shame. I was really looking forward to this talk."
Chandler stood up, wanting to leave knowing his mission was done. "Are you going to think about it?"
"Get outta here, Chandler."
Standing by the door, he waited for Chandler to get out of his sight. The boy obliged.
While his morning was somewhat of a disaster, Chandler still had the rest of the day to look forward to. He returned to his hotel and quickly changed to something more casual for his day with Joey. Chandler decided to break apart from his usual style of fine dress button-ups, and instead donned a loose graphic tee-shirt. Something he figured was more hip, more Joey's style. An image he hoped would linger in the other man's mind, like his did in Chandler's.
He waited patiently outside of the hotel for Joey to come on by and pick him up for the little surprise he had planned— this would be the first in a long time that they weren't only doors away. Being so close to home, Joey decided to stay with his family rather than with everyone else at the hotel. A perfectly fine decision, but one that still made Chandler ache.
He couldn't stop running his hand through his hair and checking his reflection in the hotel window. Did his bangs look fine? Was his hair stylish enough, or was his try-hard effort too evident? Chandler wanted to look presentable. Only because he was in the city and other people— not just Joey— would see him. Nothing more.
He hid under his sunglasses and surgical mask, hoping again that today's hang-out would stay between them two. No meddling fans rushing for autographs or photos. Fame began to feel a bit more like a hassle than a blessing, especially when Joey's involvement with the team was still kept under wraps. The concern of tabloids capturing them lessened now that it was public information that Joey was joining Sauber next year, yet, Chandler still felt scandalous going out with him. Like they were rebellious teens sneaking out into the night, drunk on faux adolescence.
Eventually, Joey pulled up in front of the hotel— oddly enough, on a two-seat bicycle.
"Nice car." Chandler teased. They grew past the need for greetings.
"Laugh all you want, this is my dad's old bike." Joey said, shaking the loose strands of hair out of his sight. Time moved slowly when he did this. "Me and him would always ride around the city on this bad boy. It was my grandpa's bike before my dad's, kinda like a little family legacy, I guess."
"Right. And you're carrying it on with me now?"
"Get on, son!" Joey slapped the empty seat behind his, that was noticeably missing an important component of a bike.
Chandler hesitantly got on the second seat. "No handlebars?"
"Just hold onto me." Joey said as if it were the most normal thing in the world, unaware of the red on Chandler's face.
"I'm not doing that."
"Why not?"
Chandler couldn't imagine that a place like Italy, with Christ at every corner you turned, would take kindly to a public display of affection between two men. "People will look at us funny!"
Joey turned in his seat, "They will no matter what, Mr. Sunglasses."
He waited for his further protest, but Chandler was burnt out. He slithered his arms around Joey's waist and kept close to the man's shoulder before they set sail on this mysterious ride.
The wind brushed hard against them as they cycled through the streets of Monza, with Joey occasionally pointing out places he frequented or held any sort of significance. But Chandler didn't look. Joey sketched the perfect picture of it all with the love he poured into each word. Chandler could go blind, but he'd know exactly what Italy was like. He'd touch the ground and feel not the blades of grass, but where they bent with Joey's shoes, tracing every path he followed. Sitting behind him, Chandler could not see how the Italian sun fell on Joey's face, but he could enjoy it from the reflection of every window they cycled by.
"So, where were ya' this morning?" asked Joey.
It wouldn't have been right to tell him, Chandler figured. That he tried bringing his dream a little closer and miserably failed. He also didn't want to be the one to blame for why Ferrari had their eyes elsewhere. "Nowhere important."
"Come on, tell me!" It pained Joey not to know everything happening in the world around him. Quickly, he'd be killed like the curious cat.
"Fine. I met with the President today, he said he's a big fan of mine."
"Clinton? Or Scalfaro?"
Chandler could only laugh it off. It amazed him how much room Joey had to believe— he was too naive, clearly. Or maybe he just valued Chandler's word far more than he could ever imagine.
He kept his grasp around Joey tight, taking in his warmth. Vulnerability took over in the second he kept his face nestled against Joey's neck, but the reminders of what he abandoned would force him to sit up straight again. Maybe God hadn't entirely left Chandler's soul— the whispers of sin still followed, for every time Chandler's heart beat against Joey's back; for enjoying the embrace he held with another man. But then, Joey would tell a story from his youth that took place on these very sidewalks, and God would grow quieter.
"Now can you tell me where we're going?" Chandler asked, resting against him. This was everything he never knew he wanted.
"We're almost there, just hold your horses!"
"I'm too busy holding you!"
Their bicycle trip came to a quick end once they reached their destination— a run-down looking building, with neon lights that flickered to the tune of the birds. The two boys hopped off the bike and set it against the walls of the building, where grass grew tall and unnoticed. Above the grand door was a faded sign with words barely legible, but Joey could read them just fine.
"Tah-dah!" The Italian boy said with jazz hands.
Chandler wasn't sure what exactly he was looking at. "And you've taken me to…?"
Joey's glee did not falter like the lights. "An arcade!"
Probably one of the last places Chandler expected to be shown. What could have been so special about this place that Joey absolutely needed to show him?
"We've got arcades in New York."
"Yeah, so?" Joey held the door open for him, gentlemanly like in Chandler's dreams.
"I thought you were taking me somewhere more…" He was bombarded with the smell of cheap pizza gone bad. "Exclusive."
"I never said anythin' like that, I just had something really fun planned for us." Joey's cheeky smile still hadn't left, as if there was something Chandler didn't know.
"Like wasting our coins on rigged video games?"
Ignoring the question, Joey grabbed his wrist and took him deep into the arcade. No life breathed other than them two, and only a few lights inside seemed to work. Chandler took off his disguise and shoved them deep into his pockets, no need for anonymity in the dark and empty arcade. For a quick moment, Chandler pondered if Joey was going to kill him here. To die by his side, would be such a heavenly way to die.
"The place shut down a long time ago, but most of the games still work." Joey explained, running his fingers on passing screens. He brought a new colour where he cleaned the dust off.
"Is this the only arcade in all of Italy?"
Joey scoffed, as if Chandler was the peculiar one. "Of course not!"
"So do tell me why we're in an abandoned arcade and not one of the regular ones?"
"Because this was my favourite."
And that answer was perfectly enough for Chandler. Obviously he couldn't see the beauty of the arcade that Joey grew up with, but he was sure that had they switched eyes, that the lights were still glowing and the sound of children's laughter would fill the space between machines— he chose to trust Joey, as he always did.
At the end of Joey's tour was a big indoor-track, extending around the building. Red and blue bumper cars waited for them.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"It'll be so fun! We haven't raced each other since what, twenty years ago?"
"Something like that." Chandler grumbled. He had one wish for the days he spent off track: to stay off track. "How aren't you tired of racing all the time?"
"That doesn't count! It's all practice. I haven't actually gone against anyone in forever."
"Ahh, yes, and bumper cars are the pinnacle of actual racing."
Joey wasn't going to listen to his whining. He sat in the small red bumper car, knees peaking far out. This whole thing screamed safety hazard.
"Who knows, maybe after racing me, you'll start likin' it." Joey hypothesised, a hopeful glint in his eyes. His hands were tight on the tiny steering wheel, more serious than Chandler had ever seen him.
Reluctantly, Chandler boarded the blue bumper car. "Don't start crying if I beat you."
"I won't." He licked his lips, determination clear in his posture.
His joy was contagious. Joey made everything feel exciting— even the one thing Chandler hated above all. He knew just how important this arcade, city, sport was to Joey, and if that meant swallowing his misery for just a couple minutes to enjoy the moment with his friend, then so be it.
"Three, two, one—" Joey extended his arm to the control pedestal to start the ride, "—Go!"
And just like that, they were in motion.
Joey jolted down the track, a speed far from what the two were used to but enough to show that Joey knew his way around a bumper car. Clearly, this was a place that expected him often. Chandler couldn't say the same— he never even played any of the racing games his mother bought for his Atari. Racing was never recreational for him like it was for Joey, and that divide couldn't be clearer now, when Joey rode the track like he was competing for the championship.
Leonard was right to say he didn't know much about the sport, but Chandler knew enough to recognise talent when it was sliding ahead of him. Joey carried a technique only recognizable in professional racing. He was definitely not one to be reckoned with.
"I didn't think we were taking this seriously!" Chandler yelled from far behind, throttling from side to side.
"Why wouldn't we?" He called back, "I wanna show you what I've got!"
He watched carefully how Joey danced around the track— he dipped close into corners, almost as if he was going to go straight into the wall, but he'd turn at the very last second, right when it counted. Joey sliced through the air ahead of them freely, no weight holding him back. He was nothing like Chandler; he was fearless.
Chandler clutched the small steering wheel hard, but it was useless when this was his first time in the arcade-track. "This isn't fair! You know this place a lot better than I do!"
"Come on, you can beat me, Chan'!" Joey egged on. "Just try!"
But no matter how hard Chandler tried, he didn't have the same dreams that led Joey to this arcade in the first place. The knot in his chest tightened— this wasn't supposed to matter. In a building all alone, the only other pair of eyes far ahead of him, there was no one to disappoint. The stakes were non-existent, and yet, Chandler was afraid. Afraid of what would happen when the bumper cars became real cars; when the empty arcade building was replaced with grandstands; when the person who admired him most would beat him time and time again. He couldn't afford to lose to the one person he never wanted to lose. This was God's message in a bottle that Chandler didn't want to pull out of the ocean just yet.
They reached the end of the track, Chandler with a thud when his bumper-car collided with the rear of Joey's.
"Whoops. That's gonna need a red flag." Chandler said dryly.
Joey hopped out of the car, lending a hand out to Chandler and helping his friend out. "So? Whadya think? Am I any good?" He asked with his usual grin. Though, something else was there too— expectancy, wanting to hear the golden words. A search for approval that Chandler got lost on many times.
But Joey was so oblivious, it bordered on offensive. Having finished so far ahead of Chandler with the audacity to ask if he was skilled. "You're okay. Y'know, for a cheater."
Joey's excited smile deepend into shock. "What?! How am I a cheater?"
"Home-field advantage, experience, I don't know." Chandler dusted himself off. "That win doesn't count."
He didn't look too upset about his nullified victory— instead, that hopeful glint from earlier returned. "But it was fun, wasn't it? You enjoyed that?"
Chandler held back a smile. "A little, I guess."
"See? Racing is fun! You do like it!" Joey exclaimed, throwing an arm around Chandler as a friend would do. As only a friend would do.
"Oh, please— it was only fun 'cuz of you." One of these days, Chandler would have to learn how not to run his mouth. Soon he'd learn the consequences of babbling heavy words without thinking first. Joey had every right to assume the wrong idea and slap him right there, but somehow, it was scarier that he was quiet. "Y'know…because I'm not friends with many guys on the track, so it's not really as fun as…well…"
He kept digging himself into a deeper, more awkward hole. The room felt hotter— fog grew on Chandler's glass skin where Joey breathed. Again, Chandler felt those hands from Hell reaching towards him, seeping into his mind and planting those sinful ideas that would have him killed. Without God's guidance, he was more vulnerable to them; and ever so slightly more accepting. Thankfully, Joey cut him off before he'd say something he would regret.
"I'm just glad you had a good time." He said sincerely, nothing sharp to any word coming out of Joey. But the soft-spoken tone quickly went back into hiding. "Which I knew you would, since this is the greatest place on Earth, and everyone has fun here."
"Exactly." Chandler didn't want to argue.
It wasn't that Joey was wrong, but he didn't see the full picture like Chandler did. The greatest place on Earth would always be wherever Joey was.
Every day with Joey was always followed by a deep grief. Chandler would be only minutes away from him, yet still miss him as if his friend were off at war. It was unclear how this happened— how Chandler grew such a strong bond with someone that represented everything he stood against. Joey loved racing, and God, and his family, and was beautiful in every way, and this is the exact kind of person Chandler would curse out at night; whose portrait he'd draw with devil horns; but he couldn't get enough of him. He chalked it all up to jealousy, one without malice. One that made him aspire to something great.
Before Chandler could fall back onto the bed, he noticed a blinking light on his hotel-landline. He clicked play on his missed messages,
"Hey Chandler, I'm about to leave the house. I'm telling you this incase you're waiting for me right now and wonderin' if I stood you up— I didn't! You see, my dad was coughin' all morning and it was this whole thing but I assure you, I'll be there!" Joey's voice came as a much needed parting gift. Though, his silly message was not over. "Wait a minute. If you're waitin' for me outside, you probably won't hear this…oh, crap! I gotta get to you quick, then! Okay— uhh…I'll see ya!"
Joey's heart was lighter than a feather— and the same could likely be said about his brain, too, but that didn't matter. Chandler loved his stutter and his slow realisations and everything else that stood between their telephone lines.
A beep sound played, and in came the next message,
"Hello, Chandler. It's Helena— or, well, Charles. Whichever you prefer." His father adopted his mother's feminine tone, but he was still the disgusting adulterer he was when he closed the door behind him. "I hope this isn't too sudden. I haven't been keeping up with your racing…stuff. You know me, it's hard to find the time. I know it's also been a while since we last spoke."
Seven months, but Chandler wasn't keeping track. He just happened to know.
"I just wanted to let you know I'll be in Australia to watch you for your final race— that's months from now, yes, but I figured the earlier I tell you, the better. That'll give you some time to prepare, right?"
It was a nice thing to consider, but no amount of time in the world could ever prepare Chandler to see his father on their rare meetings. When he'd show up in clothes Nora would wear; hair that went past his shoulders; breast pads beneath his dress; things Chandler could never stomach, even if he had all of eternity to grow the appetite.
"I guess it's about time I show some support. I don't really understand this whole thing, but I can't say I'm not just a little curious as to what it is you and Nora are up to all the time. So, that is all."
There was a time when Charles would end his messages with "Give me a call back", but those days ended once Chandler turned ten, along with the post-cards and the gifts from abroad and anything else that proved he still existed. Chandler wouldn't ever call back because there was nothing they could talk about. Charles became someone new— became Helena— once he fled to Las Vegas, and clearly he thrived there. Some days, Chandler wished he could just go downstairs and find his father waiting for him— still dressed as a man, still with his arm around his wife, but that was forever ago. Now, Charles was a crossdresser and Chandler was a race car driver. The reality was that they couldn't be more different.
But they still had the same face, same blood, same name— and Chandler hoped and prayed and begged that the similarities would end there. That Catholic school was more of a safety precaution than a preventative method and that the demons that drew his father away would skip over Chandler. Days like today, when Satan flew a little too close for comfort, Chandler wondered how far the apple fell from the tree. And he wonders if it was too late to do anything about it once he replays Joey's message over and over again. He wonders if these new ideas were the wrong ideas.
But again, when it came to Joey, there was no such thing as wrong ideas. Everything was right when they were together.