Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 19, 2005 11:52:13 GMT -5
You didn't have to wait long for this, did you? lol.
*************
PT.1
This was where he belonged.
The roar of the crowd echoed in his ears, the beat of it matching his heart. He felt the vibration of the music within him. Tré’s drums pounded away, Mike’s bass wailed deeply throughout the stadium. Billie’s fingers flew up and down the strings of his guitar, the notes rising through the air, the lyrics pouring from his mouth. He felt high and couldn’t help himself from jumping up and down a few times to loose some of the energy that was bubbling up inside of him.
There was simply no greater bliss than to scream your art, your soul, your mind into a microphone, have everyone hear it, and have them all love it. There was nothing greater than to look down at the yelling fans crowding against the stage, raising their arms, all bobbing to the beat of the something HE had created himself.
Billie Joe would never tire of it. This was who he was. This was where he belonged.
He turned his head to glance at Mike when “Holiday” faded to a close. The taller man raised his eyebrows, and, with a wide grin, Billie nodded. Hunching over his guitar, Billie Joe started the first few chords of “Poprocks and Coke”. He then straightened.
“Wherever you go, you know I’ll be there,” he sang into the microphone. “If you go far, you know I’ll be there…” He smiled as he heard the audience singing along with him, over five hundred voices belting out his words. “I’ll go anywhere, so I’ll see you there. You place the name, you know I’ll be there…” Mike grinned from where he was strumming his bass, noting how his best friend was totally lost to the music.
But then something went wrong. Billie had backed away from the microphone and was playing the instrumental part of the song, when he suddenly faltered. His hands slipped on the strings of the guitar, and one shot out to grasp the microphone stand to steady himself. It didn’t work, for he slid to his knees, his guitar banging loudly against the floor.
The crowd murmured in confusion when the music died away, and Tré could see heads turning from his position on top of the drum stand. Mike took his bass guitar off and let it fall to the floor of the stage. He rushed over to kneel beside Billie, who was breathing hard, his eyes closed, the hand still holding the stem of the microphone stand clenched tightly.
“Billie?” Mike said, shaking the smaller man’s shoulder. There was no response other than Billie Joe turning his head away. “Shit, Billie, say something.”
Tré stood up from behind his drums, dropping the sticks to the floor. He stared at his friends’ hunched forms, glancing once at the restless crowd. “What the fuck…?”
“Billie,” Mike said more firmly. “C’mon, man. I’m getting you out of here.” He slipped Billie Joe’s arm over his shoulder, then slowly lifted him to his feet. Billie’s legs hardly supported him, but he managed to help Mike a little as his friend tugged him across the stage.
When they finally made it to the back, out of sight of the fans, Billie suddenly pushed Mike away from him. Rather, he pushed himself away from Mike, since his strength could really do nothing to the much taller man. But he took only two steps and was under the threat of falling again, so Mike darted forward and grabbed him. He was met with a feeble struggle.
“Dammit, Billie,” he said, struggling to keep both of them off the floor, which Billie Joe really wasn’t helping with at the moment. “Stop! What’s your problem? What the fuck is going on?”
“Just let me go,” Billie mumbled. “I’m fine.”
“You’re NOT fine, Billie Joe Armstrong,” Mike snapped. “You practically fainted out there. That’s never happened before. Did you drink too much or something? I thought you promised Adrienne that you would cut down on the alcohol.” Billie shook his head.
“I didn’t drink,” he replied.
“Then what the hell happened?” Mike asked. Billie Joe stopped struggling to get loose and simply stood in his friend’s embrace, breathing hard.
“I…I don’t know,” he whispered. There was a small pause. “But I’m fine now, right? So you can let go of me.” Mike did so, albeit slowly, in case Billie showed any sign of falling. The smaller man wavered back and forth a little before he finally found his balance. He sent a smile at his friend. “See? Good as new.”
The bassist grunted, unconvinced. “You’re telling me what happened later,” he demanded. “And―” The shrill shriek of a cell phone cut him short. Billie Joe jumped, then dug around in his pocket before he found the offensive object. He flipped it open.
“It’s Adrienne,” he announced, then pressed the green button and held it to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Honey, are you okay?” his wife’s voice floated through the earpiece. Mike crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Billie had the damn volume on that thing so high he could hear every word of the conversation.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Billie Joe told her.
“Good. We saw you…fall,” she finished after an uncertain pause. “We were watching the concert on the TV. Oh, you should have seen the boys. They were hysterical.” She might have been about to say soemthing else, but a small voice butted into the conversation, faint from distance.
“Is he okay, Mommy? Where’s Daddy, I wanna talk to him.”
Billie Joe smiled, just imagining Jakob hopping up and down beside his mother and tugging insistently on her sleeve. “Hi, Jake,” he said. There were small shuffles as the phone was brought down to the young boy’s level. Billie’s son’s voice then came to his ear.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here, tiger,” Billie Joe replied.
“Daddy, are you sick?” Jakob asked innocently. “You fell down.”
“Yes, I did,” Billie answered. “But I’m better now. It’s alright.”
“I wanna talk to him!” came another voice, and Billie heard the thumps of sneakers across a wooden floor, coming steadily closer. There were some clicks and thumps, and then Billie heard Jakob wailing in the background.
“No, I was talking to him!” the youngest of Billie’s sons cried indignantly. “Give it back, Joey!” Billie Joe sighed with a smile as he heard his children fighting over the phone. The scuffle didn’t last long, for then Adrienne barked,
“Joseph Marciano Armstrong, give the phone back to your brother!” The small sounds ceased, and then there was another small clink as the phone was handed back to Jake. “Now apologize,” Billie heard his wife demand.
“Sorry,” Joey mumbled in the background.
“You don’t grab things, sweetie,” Adie told him in a gentler tone. She said something else, but it was drowned out as Jakob brought the phone to his face again.
“Daddy, when are you comin’ home?” he asked, then sniffed slightly. Billie could just imagine Jake standing in the middle of their kitchen, the phone held to his ear, tears running down his face and his brown eyes wide and glistening.
“Soon,” Billie Joe replied. “Tonight was the last show of the tour. I’ll be home in a few days, okay buddy?” There was another feeble sniff, then Jakob murmured, “uh-huh”.
“I miss you,” the small boy said. Billie smiled again.
“Miss you, too,” he replied, looking up at the ceiling. “Let me talk to Joey now, okay? I love you, Jake.”
“Love you too, Daddy.” Then the phone was passed from one set of hands to another, and Billie could soon hear his eldest breathing loudly into the mouthpiece.
“Dad?”
“Yeah? I’m here.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m alright. I’m sorry I scared you like that.”
“Did you puke?”
Billie laughed softly. “No, I didn’t puke. You want me to?”
“No,” Joey said immediately. “I was just wonderin’. Hey, guess what?” His high-pitched voice was filled with excitement, and Billie Joe could hear him jumping up and down.
“What?”
“My baseball team won!”
“Really? That’s awesome, Joey! What was the score?”
“Fifteen to seven.”
“Wow, man, you thrashed them!”
“I know, it was cool! We all got little trophies too! I wanna show it to you when you get back! It’s sitting on my dresser.”
“Next to the other fifty you have?” Billie teased gently, the pride evident in his voice.
“Da-a-ad,” Joey said in exasperation. “I only have four!”
“Five, now,” Billie replied. “I’m proud of you, Joey. Now hand the phone back to Mommy. I want to talk to her for a little while. Love you, buddy.”
“Love ya, too!” Joey responded, and then he disappeared. Billie listened to more small shuffles for a few seconds before he had his wife on the line.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Adrienne asked as soon as she got the phone in her hands. Billie tilted his head back a little, relieving the tension in his neck.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said with a sigh. “I’m…just tired. A good night’s sleep’ll do me good.”
“And you’ll take the proper pills?” Adie said warningly. “You know how you get when you don’t take your medicine, Billie Joe.”
“What’re you, my mother?” Billie replied teasingly, smiling.
“No. I’m your wife. And I’m telling you to take your pills. Otherwise Mike will kick your ass for me.”
“Watch your language, missy,” Billie said. “I don’t want to teach the children a new word.” Adie snorted.
“Like you’re any better.”
“Didn’t say that. I’ll see you soon, honey. Love you.”
“Alright. Feel better, baby. Love you back.”
Click.
Billie snapped his cell phone closed and stuck it back in his pocket. During his conversation with his family, he hadn’t noticed Tré coming backstage, who was leaning against the wall next to Mike, talking quietly with the bassist. They both looked up at him when he turned around.
“The stadium’s emptying out,” Tré reported, without any need of questions or inquiries. “They’re not at all happy, but I think they understand. You took quite a tumble there, man. Are you okay?” Billie sighed and ran a hand over his face.
“You are the fifth person to ask me that within the hour,” he said. “And I’m going to say the same thing: Yes, I’m FINE. I’m okay, see?” Billie Joe held his arms out and struck an impatient pose. Tré bit the inside of his cheek, then stepped forward and poked Billie in the stomach, making the other man release his breath and curl inward.
“Jackass,” Billie said, smiling, shoving the drummer on the shoulder. Tré smirked, his body tilting back from the force of the smaller man’s push. Despite the others’ joking around, Mike was serious when he said,
“You’re telling me what happened when we’re going to pick up Stella.” Billie rolled his eyes, stepping away from his and Tré’s playful shoving match.
“Fine, alright,” he grumbled. “I don’t know what to tell you, though.”
“Bullshit,” the bassist mumbled to himself, quiet enough for the other two not to hear. And it was true. Mike could tell that something was bothering Billie Joe, even though the black-haired man put on a cheerful face and joked around like nothing was wrong. He’d known Billie for twenty-three fucking years, it’s not like he was stupid when it came to his best friend.
****************
Wow.....a whole new start.....leaves me feeling kind of weird.....I remember when I first posted "Suicide Makeover", I was so worried you guys would bash it.......and was really happy when I got the opposite......just wow.
*************
PT.1
This was where he belonged.
The roar of the crowd echoed in his ears, the beat of it matching his heart. He felt the vibration of the music within him. Tré’s drums pounded away, Mike’s bass wailed deeply throughout the stadium. Billie’s fingers flew up and down the strings of his guitar, the notes rising through the air, the lyrics pouring from his mouth. He felt high and couldn’t help himself from jumping up and down a few times to loose some of the energy that was bubbling up inside of him.
There was simply no greater bliss than to scream your art, your soul, your mind into a microphone, have everyone hear it, and have them all love it. There was nothing greater than to look down at the yelling fans crowding against the stage, raising their arms, all bobbing to the beat of the something HE had created himself.
Billie Joe would never tire of it. This was who he was. This was where he belonged.
He turned his head to glance at Mike when “Holiday” faded to a close. The taller man raised his eyebrows, and, with a wide grin, Billie nodded. Hunching over his guitar, Billie Joe started the first few chords of “Poprocks and Coke”. He then straightened.
“Wherever you go, you know I’ll be there,” he sang into the microphone. “If you go far, you know I’ll be there…” He smiled as he heard the audience singing along with him, over five hundred voices belting out his words. “I’ll go anywhere, so I’ll see you there. You place the name, you know I’ll be there…” Mike grinned from where he was strumming his bass, noting how his best friend was totally lost to the music.
But then something went wrong. Billie had backed away from the microphone and was playing the instrumental part of the song, when he suddenly faltered. His hands slipped on the strings of the guitar, and one shot out to grasp the microphone stand to steady himself. It didn’t work, for he slid to his knees, his guitar banging loudly against the floor.
The crowd murmured in confusion when the music died away, and Tré could see heads turning from his position on top of the drum stand. Mike took his bass guitar off and let it fall to the floor of the stage. He rushed over to kneel beside Billie, who was breathing hard, his eyes closed, the hand still holding the stem of the microphone stand clenched tightly.
“Billie?” Mike said, shaking the smaller man’s shoulder. There was no response other than Billie Joe turning his head away. “Shit, Billie, say something.”
Tré stood up from behind his drums, dropping the sticks to the floor. He stared at his friends’ hunched forms, glancing once at the restless crowd. “What the fuck…?”
“Billie,” Mike said more firmly. “C’mon, man. I’m getting you out of here.” He slipped Billie Joe’s arm over his shoulder, then slowly lifted him to his feet. Billie’s legs hardly supported him, but he managed to help Mike a little as his friend tugged him across the stage.
When they finally made it to the back, out of sight of the fans, Billie suddenly pushed Mike away from him. Rather, he pushed himself away from Mike, since his strength could really do nothing to the much taller man. But he took only two steps and was under the threat of falling again, so Mike darted forward and grabbed him. He was met with a feeble struggle.
“Dammit, Billie,” he said, struggling to keep both of them off the floor, which Billie Joe really wasn’t helping with at the moment. “Stop! What’s your problem? What the fuck is going on?”
“Just let me go,” Billie mumbled. “I’m fine.”
“You’re NOT fine, Billie Joe Armstrong,” Mike snapped. “You practically fainted out there. That’s never happened before. Did you drink too much or something? I thought you promised Adrienne that you would cut down on the alcohol.” Billie shook his head.
“I didn’t drink,” he replied.
“Then what the hell happened?” Mike asked. Billie Joe stopped struggling to get loose and simply stood in his friend’s embrace, breathing hard.
“I…I don’t know,” he whispered. There was a small pause. “But I’m fine now, right? So you can let go of me.” Mike did so, albeit slowly, in case Billie showed any sign of falling. The smaller man wavered back and forth a little before he finally found his balance. He sent a smile at his friend. “See? Good as new.”
The bassist grunted, unconvinced. “You’re telling me what happened later,” he demanded. “And―” The shrill shriek of a cell phone cut him short. Billie Joe jumped, then dug around in his pocket before he found the offensive object. He flipped it open.
“It’s Adrienne,” he announced, then pressed the green button and held it to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Honey, are you okay?” his wife’s voice floated through the earpiece. Mike crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Billie had the damn volume on that thing so high he could hear every word of the conversation.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Billie Joe told her.
“Good. We saw you…fall,” she finished after an uncertain pause. “We were watching the concert on the TV. Oh, you should have seen the boys. They were hysterical.” She might have been about to say soemthing else, but a small voice butted into the conversation, faint from distance.
“Is he okay, Mommy? Where’s Daddy, I wanna talk to him.”
Billie Joe smiled, just imagining Jakob hopping up and down beside his mother and tugging insistently on her sleeve. “Hi, Jake,” he said. There were small shuffles as the phone was brought down to the young boy’s level. Billie’s son’s voice then came to his ear.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here, tiger,” Billie Joe replied.
“Daddy, are you sick?” Jakob asked innocently. “You fell down.”
“Yes, I did,” Billie answered. “But I’m better now. It’s alright.”
“I wanna talk to him!” came another voice, and Billie heard the thumps of sneakers across a wooden floor, coming steadily closer. There were some clicks and thumps, and then Billie heard Jakob wailing in the background.
“No, I was talking to him!” the youngest of Billie’s sons cried indignantly. “Give it back, Joey!” Billie Joe sighed with a smile as he heard his children fighting over the phone. The scuffle didn’t last long, for then Adrienne barked,
“Joseph Marciano Armstrong, give the phone back to your brother!” The small sounds ceased, and then there was another small clink as the phone was handed back to Jake. “Now apologize,” Billie heard his wife demand.
“Sorry,” Joey mumbled in the background.
“You don’t grab things, sweetie,” Adie told him in a gentler tone. She said something else, but it was drowned out as Jakob brought the phone to his face again.
“Daddy, when are you comin’ home?” he asked, then sniffed slightly. Billie could just imagine Jake standing in the middle of their kitchen, the phone held to his ear, tears running down his face and his brown eyes wide and glistening.
“Soon,” Billie Joe replied. “Tonight was the last show of the tour. I’ll be home in a few days, okay buddy?” There was another feeble sniff, then Jakob murmured, “uh-huh”.
“I miss you,” the small boy said. Billie smiled again.
“Miss you, too,” he replied, looking up at the ceiling. “Let me talk to Joey now, okay? I love you, Jake.”
“Love you too, Daddy.” Then the phone was passed from one set of hands to another, and Billie could soon hear his eldest breathing loudly into the mouthpiece.
“Dad?”
“Yeah? I’m here.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m alright. I’m sorry I scared you like that.”
“Did you puke?”
Billie laughed softly. “No, I didn’t puke. You want me to?”
“No,” Joey said immediately. “I was just wonderin’. Hey, guess what?” His high-pitched voice was filled with excitement, and Billie Joe could hear him jumping up and down.
“What?”
“My baseball team won!”
“Really? That’s awesome, Joey! What was the score?”
“Fifteen to seven.”
“Wow, man, you thrashed them!”
“I know, it was cool! We all got little trophies too! I wanna show it to you when you get back! It’s sitting on my dresser.”
“Next to the other fifty you have?” Billie teased gently, the pride evident in his voice.
“Da-a-ad,” Joey said in exasperation. “I only have four!”
“Five, now,” Billie replied. “I’m proud of you, Joey. Now hand the phone back to Mommy. I want to talk to her for a little while. Love you, buddy.”
“Love ya, too!” Joey responded, and then he disappeared. Billie listened to more small shuffles for a few seconds before he had his wife on the line.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Adrienne asked as soon as she got the phone in her hands. Billie tilted his head back a little, relieving the tension in his neck.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said with a sigh. “I’m…just tired. A good night’s sleep’ll do me good.”
“And you’ll take the proper pills?” Adie said warningly. “You know how you get when you don’t take your medicine, Billie Joe.”
“What’re you, my mother?” Billie replied teasingly, smiling.
“No. I’m your wife. And I’m telling you to take your pills. Otherwise Mike will kick your ass for me.”
“Watch your language, missy,” Billie said. “I don’t want to teach the children a new word.” Adie snorted.
“Like you’re any better.”
“Didn’t say that. I’ll see you soon, honey. Love you.”
“Alright. Feel better, baby. Love you back.”
Click.
Billie snapped his cell phone closed and stuck it back in his pocket. During his conversation with his family, he hadn’t noticed Tré coming backstage, who was leaning against the wall next to Mike, talking quietly with the bassist. They both looked up at him when he turned around.
“The stadium’s emptying out,” Tré reported, without any need of questions or inquiries. “They’re not at all happy, but I think they understand. You took quite a tumble there, man. Are you okay?” Billie sighed and ran a hand over his face.
“You are the fifth person to ask me that within the hour,” he said. “And I’m going to say the same thing: Yes, I’m FINE. I’m okay, see?” Billie Joe held his arms out and struck an impatient pose. Tré bit the inside of his cheek, then stepped forward and poked Billie in the stomach, making the other man release his breath and curl inward.
“Jackass,” Billie said, smiling, shoving the drummer on the shoulder. Tré smirked, his body tilting back from the force of the smaller man’s push. Despite the others’ joking around, Mike was serious when he said,
“You’re telling me what happened when we’re going to pick up Stella.” Billie rolled his eyes, stepping away from his and Tré’s playful shoving match.
“Fine, alright,” he grumbled. “I don’t know what to tell you, though.”
“Bullshit,” the bassist mumbled to himself, quiet enough for the other two not to hear. And it was true. Mike could tell that something was bothering Billie Joe, even though the black-haired man put on a cheerful face and joked around like nothing was wrong. He’d known Billie for twenty-three fucking years, it’s not like he was stupid when it came to his best friend.
****************
Wow.....a whole new start.....leaves me feeling kind of weird.....I remember when I first posted "Suicide Makeover", I was so worried you guys would bash it.......and was really happy when I got the opposite......just wow.