Worry Rock

Billie Joe was often the biggest grump the day before his birthday. He hated everything, to put it simply. He hated everything because he was getting another year older, when he wanted to be getting a year younger. When I would tease him about it, just to get on his nerves, he always retorted with ‘You have no idea how it feels to be turning old. You’re still fucking young’.”

Of course, that was a long while ago, and now that I was in my thirties, I started to understand what it felt like. It was what Billie Joe called “Pre-birthday depression”.

The name still brought a smile to my face.

But it was normal now, that on April 15th, the day before my birthday I was a bit snappier, and ruder. It was as if I had PMS, just instead of my period I got my birthday. It was a Monday afternoon, and it was nice and quiet. Billie Joe’s body lay sprawled out on the comfortable couch. Sydney sat on the love seat next to us, doing her homework. The TV seemed only a mere echo in the back of the room, the characters on it only being small murmurs in the background of our own. “I have a project due next Tuesday,” Sydney murmured, not looking at her father or I but speaking to us. “It’s supposed to be on something we know about.” She paused and her eyes flashed to her fathers stretched out form. “I’ve grown up with music and guitar. I mean, both of you know how to play guitar and drums and all of that…is there any way that you two could teach me something from Dad’s band?”

Billie Joe lifted his head and looked over at his daughter. Sydney had never had the true motivation to learn guitar, and Billie Joe always said that it never bothered him that his daughter didn’t really want to learn it, although it was a slight lie. “Which song?” he asked.

Sydney shrugged. “Any of them.” She paused and lifted her hand to tap her finger on her chin. “Worry Rock?”

Billie Joe grinned at his daughter. “Old song,” he admitted.

Sydney grinned back at him and then scrawled something out over the sheet of paper in front of her. “You can use my old guitar,” I interrupted with a slight smirk, my eyes on the ceiling. “If I can ever find it.”

“It’s downstairs,” Billie Joe said softly.

I arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nodded slowly and sat up, pulling me with him. “I’ve never seen your guitar,” Sydney admitted, “All I know is that you used to play a lot. I read it online and I remember you telling me a long time ago.”

Billie Joe arched an eyebrow at his daughter. “You look us up online?”

Sydney smiled embarrassedly and looked back down to her paper, writing something else. “Well, no, but I go on this website, called Geek Stink Breath, and it’s a fan site of your band, dad, obviously; I mean you can tell from the title. But anyway, there are cool people on it – so yeah, I heard that mom used to play guitar a lot.” She shrugged. “Tiff introduced me to it.”

Billie Joe flicked his tongue over his bottom lip and nodded. “Right, okay.”

“They write fan fiction,” she added with a grim smile. “Kinda nasty, though,” she admitted. “I mean, no offence, some people are good writers an’ all, but its disturbing looking at some love story someone wrote about your father. Tiff shows me it all the time.”

Billie Joe smirked slightly. “I remember when I was younger and on tour, Tre, Mike and I stumbled onto a slash sight.” He giggled as if he were a teenager. “Some were well written—I just find it,” he thought for a moment, “…Odd yet flattering that teenagers can think of old men like that.”

“Flattering that girl’s write about you and Uncle Mike?”

Billie Joe chuckled. “You can’t leave me up to their imagination.” The older man grinned slyly. “Your friend, Tiff, does she write this stuff?”

Sydney shuddered. “Yes. Its ok an’ all, just not what I want to read. It’s supposedly about you and a past girlfriend. And instead of getting with mom you got with an old girlfriend after losing her for years.”

Billie Joe arched an eyebrow once again. “Interesting…I love to think of where these girls got their ideas.”

“Maria,” Sydney said simply and then looked back up at her father, “Or well, the song at least.”

“Maria wasn’t a real person, tell Tiff that,” he said with a slight smile. “I had a past girlfriend, but her name wasn’t Maria.”

“What was it?” Sydney pressed, by now forgetting about her homework as I listened silently, still wrapped in my husbands arms.

He chuckled and leant down, kissing the top of my head. “Amanda.”

“Oh I heard that somewhere,” I murmured, “A book or something. First girl to break your heart.”

Sydney bit the tip of her pen and leant forward. “Really? So you started out with an Amanda and ended up with an Amanda?” She grinned. “That’s pretty cool.”

Billie Joe nodded slowly as he looked down at me. “I guess the girls with the name Amanda just have something on me.”

Our eyes connected for a brief moment before he brushed his lips against my own, and Sydney rolled her eyes playfully. “How did you and mom meet?” Sydney asked after a moment.

“On a plane,” I explained. “I was what you would call a teenie.”

Billie Joe gasped dramatically. “No you weren’t.”

I rolled my eyes and leant back against his chest. “Yes I was, darling. I nearly fainted at the sight of you.”

My husband giggled. “You did, didn’t you?”

“No need to laugh at me,” I pouted.

*

"Hey, is this seat taken?" he asked, pointing down to the seat next to me.
Never in my life had I been so happy to have had no one sit next to me.

"N... No, its not ta... Taken," I said, stumbling over my words.

He smiled, and sat down next to me. I was scared to look at him, because if I did, I probably wouldn't be able to stop. But in the end, I looked next to me. His smile could have killed anyone, and right there it killed me. I didn't even want to look into his eyes, because I probably would have melted right there.

"What's your name?" he asked, sitting forward to see my face.

I looked at him, his smile made me feel like I could talk forever...but then again, I didn't want to make myself look that pathetic when he had just sat down next to me.
"I'm Mandy," I said, surprising myself that I didn't stumble over my words again.

He nodded, "I like that name," he said.

I sat there, looking at him when it all caught up to me. Here I was, pretty much kicked out of my house for the summer, to stay with my grandmother that never remembered my name, and yet Billie Joe Armstrong, the guy I had looked up to was sitting right next to me, telling me he liked my name...

*

The older man smiled and gently rubbed my back, absent-mindedly. “Wasn’t, m’dear. I was laughing with you. And you weren’t a teenie; I mean you didn’t try to rape me on the plane.”

I snorted along with Sydney. “But I was slightly obsessed.”

“Yeah, but you held a conversation. No offence to any girls or anything in your school, but I remember meeting someone about your age, Sid, when I went to pick you up early, and she just stared up at me as if I were her God.”

“You probably were,” I insisted.

Sydney laughed and nodded. “Especially the whores in my school.”

“That’s not nice,” Billie Joe pointed out, as if Sydney were a child.

“It’s true, though,” she said.

“How?” Billie Joe asked slowly, “You can’t be telling me that they’re already having sex.”

“They are,” she grumbled, “Remember Ceria?”

“Vaguely.”

“She slept with her boyfriend, Will, at a party last weekend.” She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t even kissed a boy yet.”

“That’s because you’re too damn young,” Billie Joe spat darkly, “It’s completely disgusting how down the ages of when girls are having sex. And the people are complaining about over-population. Well then stop your children from getting pregnant at the age of fourteen and fifteen. No one should be having sex at that age.”

Sydney shrugged. “I agree. You always give me crap for hating the girls at my school, well now you know why.” The thirteen-year old looked down at her paper one more time and then threw her pen into her backpack. “Is Worry Rock easy to play?” she asked slowly.

Billie Joe shrugged. “Easy enough. None of my band’s songs are hard.”

“Like…learn in less than a week early?”

“If you pay attention and want to learn it.” Billie Joe turned to me. “Do you know how to play it?”

I nodded slowly. “Mhmm.”

“You know people are always asking me if I’m related to you,” Sydney stated with a hint of amusement. “Both of you.”

“People know who I am?” I asked dazedly.

“Yeah,” Sydney said with a nod.

Billie Joe rolled his eyes. “People don’t ask for your autograph because you’re just beautiful.” He stopped and then made a disturbed face. “At least, I hope not.”

I laughed and whacked his arm lightly.

*

My cell phone rested lightly against my left ear, my hand pressed up against it as I pulled my sunglasses to the top of my head. I looked down at the five-year old girl that stood next to me, her eyes skimming the menu. I leant down and picked up the small girl and handed her the cell phone, in return earning a puzzled look. “Call your daddy, okay?” I asked her in a sweet tone. “Just press the green button and somewhere it should say Daddy. Then press it again.”

Sydney nodded and looked down at the cell phone, obviously concentrating hard. After a few moments she pressed the phone to her ear and used her free hand to plug her other one. I smiled to myself at her and adjusted my purse on my shoulder, waiting to hear Sydney say hello to her father. “Daddy?” Her sweet, innocent voice called out before she smiled widely. “Hi Daddy. No, we’re at Arby’s. No, in line. Yeah. Yeah...Okay. Okay, bye Daddy.”

Sydney stuck out her hand for me to take my cell phone and I did, pressing it back against my ear. “Hello?”

“Hey baby.”

I smiled at my husbands voice as I juggled my daughter and phone in both hands. He was back in the tour bus with Tre and Mike, wanting food. “What did you pigs – guys want from Arby’s?” Sydney giggled at me, stuffing her hand in her mouth.

“Nice, darling. I’ll take you calling us pigs as incognito because you’re near people.”

“Or you can simply accept the fact that you three are pigs,” I challenged with a smile.

Billie Joe laughed. “Or I can do that.” There was a bit of silence and then Billie Joe was heard again. “Tre says he wants a BLT, Mike says he wants a ham sandwich, and I’ll have whatever you have.”

“How do you know I won’t choose something completely disgusting?”

“Because I know that you know how crappy the food on this bus gets from city to city and you’re not willing to starve on a stupid decision you made to get me back. I also know that you know that I would eat whatever it was, so you’d be punishing yourself.”

I laughed at him and sighed. “I do forget that this is you I’m speaking to.”

You could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Yes, darling. Any idea how long it’ll take you to get back here?”

“I’m only in line now,” I murmured. I went to say another word but Sydney tugged on my arm, catching my attention. “Hmm?” I hummed, looking up at her. Billie Joe was silent, obviously listening to his daughter and me.

“There are girls looking at you,” she whispered, burying her head into my shoulder.

I arched an eyebrow and looked over her, shifting her in my arm. “What? Who?”

“Whas’ wrong?” Billie Joe asked.

“Nothing,” I said lightly, my eyes slowly crawling across the room to two girls talking to each other. They looked about fifteen or sixteen years old and they were both smiling, looking over at me. One wore a Green Day t-shirt, which made me smile. “Aha,” I said softly, “I’ve been spotted by fans of yours.”

“Yeah? If they’re about thirteen years old and carrying knives, run darling.”

I laughed again at him and shook my head. “They look harmless.”

“They usually do.”

I rolled my eyes at him and shifted the phone to my other ear. ”I’ve got to go, I’m about to order. I should be there in about fifteen to twenty minutes, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye Bill.”

“See yah.”

I snapped my cell phone shut and tucked it back into my coats pocket before adjusting Sydney more comfortably in my arms .She lifted her head finally and wrapped her arms around my neck, fully enjoying being carried by her mother. When I got up to the counter I ordered quickly and helped Sydney order before walking away, not having the strength to stand there for ten minutes, trying to balance Sydney in my arms. I gently placed Sydney down on a chair and placed my purse on the table next to her. Sydney sat down on the chair, swinging her legs off of it and I slowly pulled my hair down, realizing I was too cold with it up.

My eyes flickered onto my daughter and I smiled at her, watching her amuse herself with my hair band before I felt someone tap my back. When I turned around the girls I had seen before came into view, both of them smiling sheepishly. “Um,” one of them started, obviously slightly nervous, “I’m—we’re really sorry to bother you, but we saw you before and you really look like Billie Joe Armstrong’s wife, and we were just wondering that if you were and if we could have your autograph?”

“Maybe a picture?” The other one piped up, flashing a Canon digital camera.

My lips were pulled upward and I couldn’t help but smile. I was amazed that these two girls – hell, anyone would want my autograph, and I’m pretty sure it showed on my face. “Of course,” I said softly before turning around quickly to tell Sydney to not wander, knowing she had the worst habit to, just like her father.

The two girls squealed, making me laugh. They both blushed. “We both went to your husband’s concert last night,” the first girl explained.

“Yeah, and it was really good,” the other one added.

I smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell them that.”

“My name is Angel,” the girl to first speak blurted before blushing. “That,” she said, motioning to her friend, “Is Christelle.”

The girl, who I now knew as Christelle waved. “Can we have an autograph for our friend, Tash? Her mom made her stay with her, but she wanted to come in so she’d be here right now if it weren’t for her mom.”

It was an overwhelming feeling, really, having two teenage girls stand there like this because of me. “Sure,” I said with another smile. I checked on Sydney once more before signing the girls t-shirts with a sharpie that Christelle carried in her purse, and then on the back of a small iPod nano for Tash before posing with the two girls separately for photos. When the two girls walked away I turned back around to Sydney and picked her up once again, slinging my purse over my shoulder to go pick up the food. Sydney giggled and I arched a puzzled eyebrow. “What?” I cooed.

“Mommy’s famous.”

*

Billie Joe stumbled back up the stairs holding two guitars, one in each hand. They were both his signature Les Paul guitars. He handed one to Sydney and then stuffed his hand in his pocket, grabbing a guitar pic and handing it to the thirteen year old. “You know how to play a chord?” he asked gently as he sat back against the couch, next to me.

I grabbed the guitar off of my husbands lap and grinned, placing it on my own. Billie Joe pulled his attention away from his daughter who was getting adjusted to the large guitar and over to me, making him smile. “Damn, it’s been a long time,” I admitted.

Billie Joe chuckled. “So it has.”

I ran my hands up and down the neck of the guitar and wriggled my eyebrows at my husband, who laughed. We both looked away from the guitar I was holding and to Sydney, who had strummed the guitar. Billie Joe grinned. “Good,” he murmured.

“Do you have music for the song?” Sydney asked, obviously slightly impatient.

“To learn music, you have to learn some of the guitar. If I told you what to play right now you’d probably just stare at me.” He stopped talking for a moment and sat back against the couch, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “And no, I do not. I don’t play music by notes. That takes way too long, and is way too boring.”

“You’re not a normal musician, are you?”

“Not even close, darling.” Billie Joe’s mouth opened, but his words were drowned out by the shrill ring of the telephone. Billie Joe sighed angrily and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. “Please don’t let it be them,” he chanted. The answer machine picked up, and Billie Joe seemed to hide behind me from it as Mike’s voice appeared. “I was supposed to go to the studio today,” he admitted feebly, “I forgot.”

“So just tell them.”

“Mike told me he’s questioning my --,” Billie Joe snapped his fingers a few times, trying to think of the word, his eyes slowly lifting to my own. “Whatever. Mike’s wondering if I’m really into working in the band. He thinks I don’t want it anymore because I don’t like meeting up with him and Tre. It wouldn’t be that bad if they came here, but they don’t want to.”

It was one of those moments where I didn’t know what to say to Billie Joe, and felt bad that I couldn’t. Instead of even trying to stumble over words I just placed a hand on his back, pulling his hunched over body against my own into a hug. He sighed deeply; inhaling the shampoo I used that morning and kissed my temple before standing up and stalking into the kitchen to get the phone. Sydney looked over at me slowly as she lay the guitar down on her lap. I smiled sympathetically and grabbed the guitar pic that my husband had left behind and strummed a few chords from Worry Rock. Sydney’s eyes lit up. “You know how to play it?”

I looked up at her and smiled, nodding. “And if you’re nice enough I may try to teach it to you.”

“Dearly mother of mine that I love so much?” Sydney pressed with a large grin.

I laughed at her and beckoned her over. She plopped down on the couch next to me, the large grin still on her face. “I think it’s so cool how both my parents can play the guitar.”

I laughed. “I haven’t played in forever.”

“How did you learn?”

“Spare time,” I said with a shrug, “Like most guitar players learn. Themselves.”

There was a loud crash in the kitchen, sounding as if Billie Joe had lashed out at something in a last minute fit of rage. Sydney and I both stopped talking and looked over at each other, both of us slightly startled. We were both dead quiet as Billie Joe entered the lounge. Quite honestly, he looked as if he was ready to cry.

“Billie?” I cooed. I gently placed the guitar where I sat as I stood up and walked over to the man that was roughly looking around for something.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and he seemed to freeze for a moment before turning around to face me. As soon as he did, he dug his fingers into my back and buried his head into my neck. He sniffled loudly after a moment and pulled his head out of my neck and pressed it up against my own forehead, his lips traveling to my nose. “I’ve got to go,” he admitted. “Stupid fucking sons of a bitch won’t budge a single fucking bit. I tell them I’m in the middle of helping Sydney and they shoot shit out at me, telling me that if it comes down to it they’ll fucking kick me out. Like they could ever do that. I am fucking Green Day.”

It was surprising how harsh these three men could be towards each other, especially when they had ambition. “I’ve got to go,” he repeated weakly, not looking at his daughter from the fear that she’d be annoyed with him.

My hands tangled themselves within his hair as I kissed his lips softly, him not reacting for a moment before kissing back, forcefully. He had the bad habit to take out his anger in kisses or sex, whichever came first. He pulled himself away from me and looked over at Sydney. “I’m sorry, Sid,” he apologized.

Sydney shrugged, looking down. It didn’t bother her as much anymore, she had grown up with her father not being able to be home a whole lot. “It’s alright. Mom said she’d help me.”

I couldn’t look at Billie, but I could feel his shameful eyes on me. “Oh,” his soft, calm tone was forced. “Okay then.”

He kissed my cheek one more time and then grabbed his jacket, car keys and cigarettes, before leaning over and kissing his daughter’s cheek. Billie Joe left the Armstrong household with only a small ”Bye.”

***
It had been later the next time I had heard much about Billie Joe. Sydney was already in bed, sound asleep. She was with me all afternoon, learning to play Worry Rock not one of our biggest motives. We both felt slightly guilty, both of us knowing that Billie Joe really did want to sit with her and teach her how to play.

I was still up, however. I wanted to stay up to wait for Billie Joe after seeing how he was this afternoon, and I also knew that the sooner my eyes closed, the sooner I was a year older. I didn’t want my birthday to arrive.

My head rested on the cool marble of the kitchen island. My eyes slowly drooped closed and I felt the darkness start to take over, a dream start to creep into my mind. But I was thrown out of it by a shrill ring that filled the kitchen. My eyes snapped open and I lifted my head from the counter, not knowing if I had actually been asleep at all.

“Hello?” I croaked out. I winced at how terrible my voice sounded and cleared my throat.

“Hello?”

No, that certainly wasn’t my husband. “Hello?” I repeated, now confused.

“Mand?”

“Mike?”

My mind whirled as I tried to figure out why he was calling as late as it was. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “Did I wake you?”

“No,” I lied. My eyes wandered over to the clock on the oven and I snorted at the time. It was only eleven. “I was just resting my eyes.”

Mike chuckled into the phone, obviously not believing me. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I murmured and then yawned. “How about you?”

“I’m okay,” he repeated back at me. “Is Billie there?”

My eyebrow slowly arched and I’m sure a completely stupid and confused look washed over my tired face. “No – at least I don’t think so. I never heard him get in. Actually, I was waiting up for him – for you?”

“What?” Mike asked, now also confused.

“Uh,” I mumbled, “Billie Joe? He called earlier at like nine-thirty.”

“Yeah?” Mike urged on.

“Yeah, you were there, though.”

“When was it?” he asked as if he had not heard me before.

“Nine-thirty,” I repeated.

“Hmm,” Mike hummed, as if trying to think what he was doing at that time. “What did he say he was doing?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” I snapped. “Sorry, I mean – he said he was with Tre and you.”

“Nine-thirty?”

“Nine-thirty,” I repeated again.

“Darling, Tre, your husband and I had a fight today at the studio. He left us at about eight. Tre and I cleaned up a little and then we both headed home. I just got back from dinner with Brittney…I figured I’d call to apologize and tell him that what’s going on with us shouldn’t be happening.”

My eyes narrowed as I followed the patterns on the marble counter. If they left at eight, why did Billie call me at half-past nine to tell me he was with the guys? “But when he called me, he told me that he was with you and Tre. Could he have maybe been with Tre?”

“I just spent the past fifteen minutes talking to Tre. He went home too, darling. He said he had been watching movies with Rachel all night.”

I felt as if I had been punched in my gut. There was an option that I didn’t want to have. “Are you sure he told you he was with us?”

“Yes,” I stated simply. “He called me, and he said he was calling to tell me he’d be home later than expected because Tre, he and you all went out.”

“We all went out, just back to home. Not together.”

My eyes closed slowly, and I wasn’t feeling tired anymore. There were a lot of built up emotions in me at the moment, almost begging to come out. “This makes no sense,” I whispered to myself.

“How long has he been doing that?” Mike asked sympathetically. “Calling you and telling you he’s been going out with us?”

I had to blink at the moment to keep the threatening tears away. “He’s been lying about it?”

“How long?” he repeated with the same sympathetic tone.

“Late February,” I choked out. “He’s been fucking lying to me about it, Mike?”

“I wouldn’t say he’s lying –maybe you’re just mishearing?”

“No,” I muttered. “No, because I ask him a lot and he always says the same thing.”

There was silence on the phone. By new I was leaning over the counter, my head resting firmly in the palm of my hands. I had never doubted Billie Joe about what he was saying to me. Did that make me gullible? The thoughts of my husband lying to me for months seemed to be surreal. No husband does that. No husband lies to your face.

Unless they have a good reason to lie.

No, unless they think they have a good reason. You only hear about cheating bastard husbands in cheap cliché films where the husband is cheating on his wife with a much more beautiful woman.

My eyes snapped open and I stared right now into the counter. “Mand?” Mike cooed. “Are you okay, darling?”

“Yeah,” I lied, although the withheld sobs that were clogging up my throat messed up my speech. “I’m…fine. I think I just need to sleep.”

“You sure, dear? You need me to come over? I’ll—“

“Its fine, Mike,” I said with a soft smile, a small tear running down my cheek. “I think I may just be mishearing him, like you were suggesting. Do you want me to tell him to call you back tomorrow?”

“No,” he said gently. “It’s alright. I’m sorry – don’t let this hurt your birthday, hon.”

“I won’t,” I lied.

“You call me tomorrow and tell me how you are, okay?” Mike asked, although it was more of a demand.

“Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay, good. Goodnight, hon.”

“Night, Mikey.”

I pulled the cordless phone away from my ear and stared at is as I pressed the off button. I just sat there for a few more moment before I slid off of the wooden stool and stood up straight. My legs were shaking gently as I stumbled to put the phone in the charger and made my way out of the kitchen.

As desperately as I could, I tried to block the bad thoughts out. The thoughts that were haunting me at the moment, telling me that my husband was a disgusting liar. My husband of thirteen-fucking-years was a miserable liar.

Against my better judgment, I kept the doors unlocked so that the man could get inside the house as I walked by them. It took almost all the energy and willpower out of me to not cry right there; to not wake Sydney up and tell her that her father was a liar and that I didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

My eyes scanned the door to the guest bedroom, and I considered sleeping right in there but then went against it. I wasn’t the liar. That bastard should have to sleep in the guest room. I pushed the door open to Sydney’s room to check on her and the closed it gently. My legs seemed to drag myself to the bedroom that I shared with Billie Joe, and I collapsed onto the comfortable bed, not even bothering to undress or shut the door.

I hereby solemnly swear to tell the whole truth
And nothing but the truth is what I'll ever hear from you now
"Trust" is a dirty word that comes
Only from such a liar