A Ballad For Beulah

Has anyone ever written anything for you?
In all your darkest hours
Have you ever heard me sing?
Listen to me now
You know I'd rather be alone
Than be without you
Don't you know

A pair of blue eyes reflected back at their owner in the mirror of a make-up compact as it clamped shut. No matter how many times the crow's feet at the corners of those eyes were covered with shadow and liquid cover-up and powder, age still tended to show through.

"Stop it," came the deep voice of the man to the left. "You look beautiful."

"Says you," replied to woman beside him, shaking her head. "When a man gets older, he looks handsome and ruggish. Not for a woman. She just becomes old, saggy and...old."

"It's true. It's common knowledge for men to be attracted to younger women, but in case you've forgotten, you're younger than me."

The woman turned to the man and smiled.

"You know what? You always know the right thing to say, don't you?"

"That I do, babe. That I do."

Several minutes later, a black limo pulled up to a private, back entrance at Los Angeles' Shrine Auditorium. The driver stepped out, donning the cliche chauffeur cap, as he walked around the front and then to the back as he opened the door for the limo's passengers.

"Thanks," the woman replied, stepping out, followed by the man who, judging by the matching wedding bands on both of their left ring fingers, must be her husband.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Pritchard," the driver replied, giving the couple a nod of his head as they walked off toward the side entrance door.

Placing his hand on the small of her back, Mike Dirnt gave Beulah, his wife of twenty-five years, a playful slap on the ass.

"Mike," she chastised, although she liked the gesture.

He simply winked at her as they walked inside and were greeted by roadies and the like.

"Mr. and Mrs. Pritchard," came a burly black man as he marked their names off on a clipboard. "Got your badges? 'Cause the Shrine's uppers have been uptight about shit like that ever since that psycho snuck backstage, two years ago, in '29."

"We got 'em," Beulah replied, pulling two passes out of her purse and handing one to her husband while keeping one for herself.

"Oh, I didn't doubt you did. Just procedure," The security officer replied, giving them a smile.

Smiling back, Mike and Beulah moved on, making their way further backstage.

Has anyone ever given anything to you?
In your darkest hours
Did you ever give it back
Well, I have
I have given that to you
If it's all I ever do
This is your song

"Mom! Dad!" came the overly elated voice of twenty-five year old Vegas. With his father's smoldering blue eyes and his mother's full lips, he was a handsome guy. Wearing a simple white T-shirt and a pair of denim jeans, Vegas had his bass strapped to his back as he approached his parents with open arms. "You made it," he continued.

"Of course we did," Beulah replied, reaching her hand out to brush some of her son's hair out of his eyes.

"Mom," Vegas muttered, pretending to be annoyed by the gesture.

"Babe, he's twenty-five," Mike chastised. "Stop picking at his hair."

Beulah just smiled. "I've had an empty house for five years now since your sister graduated high school. Grant me this little piece of motherhood."

Flashing his mother a million dollar smile, Vegas wrapped his arms around his mom and placed his cheek against hers. For the moment, she melted; her heart doing jumping jacks at the love she had for her child.

It seemed like it was only yesterday she was holding him for the first time in the NICU, sitting in a wheel chair, with Mike crouched down beside her.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered. "All of you." Kissing his temple, she was in no way prepared for him suddenly lifting her up off her feet as easily as an adult does to a small child. "Vegas!" she squealed. "Put me down. I ain't no spring chicken anymore."

"She's right," Mike agreed with a smirk. "She's fifty-one now. She could break a hip at any moment."

As soon as Vegas set his mom down, Beulah thwated Mike with her purse and then smiled pleasantly at him. "Where's Bailey and Aurora?"

"Rory's trying to fend off Frankie for the umpteenth time today," Vegas began. "Ever since they hooked up, it's been kinda awkward for Bailey and me. I mean, Frankie's been Bailey's best friend since...forever. He's like another brother, you know? So, him and Rory together? And we're all in the same band? It's just weird. Let's leave it at that."

"Wait," Mike cut in, holding up his hand and furrowing his brow. "What's this about your sister and Frankito?"

"They're dating," Vegas answered as if it were common knowledge. "As in 'a couple.' As in 'unh-unh,'" he added, making thrusting movements. "Knocking boots."

"Vegas," Beulah scolded. "Don't talk about your sister like that. At least, not in front of us."

Mike placed the palm of his hand to his forehead and sighed. "Well, she's twenty-three. I guess I can't say who she can and can't see."

Vegas just smirked as he turned his head slightly. "Uh. Speak of the devil."

"Daddy!"

A young woman who looked like the a younger version of Beulah, but with auburn hair and a nose ring, came bouncing over to the trio as she ran into Mike's arms and hugged him.

"Hey sweetie," he greeted, placing a kiss on her cheek. His little girl was growing up so fucking fast.

Aurora Dawn Pritchard had been born roughly a year and a half after Vegas. On January 27, 2008. She had her parents' blue eyes and was a toe-head like the both of them as well. However, as soon as she discovered hair dye in middle school, she hadn't been a blonde since. Though, she was constantly being compared to Beulah, because mother and daughter were so oddly identical.

And the same could be said for Bailey, who was thirty years old now.

The illegitimate son of Billie Joe Armstrong was nothing but his father's twin. Well...much younger twin, seeing as how the older Armstrong was nearing sixty rather fast.

"Hey! I didn't know we were having a family reunion," the boisterous yet youthful voice of Bailey Armstrong announced as he sauntered over to others, holding his guitar at the neck with one hand, while pulling a cigarette from his lips with the other. "Did I misplace the memo?"

As Beulah's eyes lifted to her oldest child's face, she felt as if she was transported back to a time and place she'd almost forgotten.

Staring at Bailey was like looking at his father. Each and every time. Every expression, every gesture, every word he spoke. He was all his father. Where once there was an ounce of him looking a little like her, he was now just his father. It was uncanny. Magazines and television presenters, people all over the world alike, had remarked the same.

Bailey Armstrong was the next Billie Joe. Not Joey or Jakob. Just Bailey.

It also helped the younger male Armstrong that he was a guitarist and his older brothers were more in the business side of music.

And the rain comes down
There's no pain and there's no doubt
It was easy to say
I believed in you every day
If not for me
Then do it for the world

Watching their children's band perform from backstage never seemed to get old for the grown members of Green Day and their wives. The three pairs of aging adults were all linked in one way or another; be it by holding hands, linked arms or arms wrapped around waists.

They all looked on as a thirty-year-old Frankito Wright banged away on his Zildjian cymbals like a wind-up monkey. Meanwhile, Frank Edwin Wright III, better known as Tre Cool, grinned proudly.

He'd taught his son well. And with Claudia at his side for the last thirty-one years, his second wife for a second time, was the one person in his life to make it all work.

Billie Joe, still donning a head of dark hair, even at fifty-nine, brought an aged hand up to his lips as he took a slow drag from his cigarette as his free hand gave Adrienne's a tight squeeze. His green eyes looked upon her profile and he smile because, ever at sixty-two, she would always be the twenty-one year old he met in Minnesota all those years ago. Granted, she no longer wore dreadlocks and kept to a shorter style, the tank top she wore that showed off her 'Billie Joe' tattoo was proof that she was still young at heart and still loved him after all this time and after all the shit he'd pulled.

Leaning over, he kissed her cheek and that's when their eyes locked.

"Love you," Billie Joe mouthed; his well worn, albeit youthful, green eyes studied every contour of her face.

"Love you, too," Adrienne mouthed back as they both returned their attention to watching Bailey run around the stage, jamming on his guitar while Vegas took to the microphone.

Mike had gray hair now.

He couldn't even recall when the change happened. It just seemed like one day he had brown hair and the next morning he woke up and it was all gray. Or, at least, most of it was gray.

Beulah called it salt and pepper.

At first, he despised it. Not wanting to look old, despite feeling young still. But, after a bit of time, he began to accept in and he even liked it now. It suited him. And let's face it. He wasn't twenty-nine anymore. He was fifty-nine.

Ugh.

Turning his head to the right, he smiled as he watched Beulah focusing on their children play for the crowded Shrine Auditorium which was full of their fans.

Bailey was running amuck, Vegas was taking lead with more confidence than Mike ever could with singing, and Aurora jumped up and down, jamming on her guitar.

Yes. The Pritchard household had certainly been a musical one. And to look back on all the years and how it turned out that the kids had decided to stick together and make music together was more than a proud moment for each set of parents.

Tre and Claudia. Billie Joe and Adrienne. Mike and Beulah.

Their children weren't just making music for themselves, or to make their parents proud.

They were making music to inspire the world. Just as the generations before them had.

Has anyone ever written anything for you?
In your darkest sorrow
Did you ever hear me sing
Listen to me now
You know I'd rather be alone
Than be without you
Don't you know

As the show dwindled down to a close, Beulah found herself crying.

Sure, she'd seen her children perform for larger crowds than this before, but there was something in the air on this very night that struck a chord with her. There was something special about all of this. And she couldn't put it into words and explain why.

"Tonight's a very awesome night for us," Vegas muttered into his mic as he looked out amongst the sea of fans. "We got our parents here, standing in the wings, watching the show. We got Frankie's mom and dad, the infamous Tre Cool and his ever beautiful wife Claudia; my brother Bailey's dad, the crazy popular Billie Joe Armstrong and his knockout wife Adrienne, and, of course there's our mom, Beulah, who still sees us as little kids running around her feet every time she looks at us, with our dad...Mike Pritchard. Our, well, to the rest of the world: Mike Dirnt."

Beulah leaned into Mike's arms, resting her head on his shoulder. "That's our boy."

"But, I'm gonna take a moment to take a little break right now. And don't get too upset. We ain't quite done yet," Vegas assured as he continued. "We still got an encore to perform for all of you, but my fingers kill and to be honest, our dads kinda wanted to surprise everyone with a...reunion show of sorts."

Pulling away from their husbands, Claudia, Adrienne and Beulah looked at the fathers of their children with questioning glances.

"C'mon guys. You ain't gettin' any younger," Bailey egged on, speaking into his microphone.

Giving Beulah a wink, Mike stepped away as he muttered, "Surprise" to her before walking out onto the stage with Billie Joe and Tre in tow.

The crowd began to go wild as the trio grabbed the instruments from their sons while Aurora simply set hers down and walked off stage with her brothers and boyfriend, leaving the older men alone on the stage.

Billie Joe strummed Bailey's guitar for a quick moment before looking back at Tre who was settling down at Frankito's drums with drumsticks in hand, while Mike plucked a little at the bass that belonged to his son.

And just as Beulah thought Billie Joe was about to go up to the microphone to sing, she was pleasantly surprised when Mike placed his lips against the microphone in front of him and smiled at the crowd and muttered a "Hello" to everyone.

The kids rejoined their mothers and, in Adrienne's case, stepmother while their fathers became comfortable with the instruments at their beck and call.

"Everyone knows Billie Joe's the lead singer of Green Day," Mike began, looking down at the four strings on the bass. "But I've been known to sing a few here and there over the years, no matter how rare an occasion. And, uh, the only reason Billie Joe was even the lead singer was because I was too nervous to do it myself," he rattled on. "I thought I sucked at singing. But, I have a beautiful wife who, over the last twenty-five years has informed me that I don't sing all that bad and, well, she's the one thing in my life that's always been right. And I love her more than she'll ever know."

Placing a hand to her heart, Beulah was sure she was crying now.

"She's deserves a lot," he added. "She deserves a song."

Casting his eyes to the side a little, he caught Beulah's flustered smile and grinned as he looked back down to find the right chords and then up at the crowd as he parted his lips.

"I didn't write this...Stevie Nicks did back in 1985. For those of you who don't know, she was in a band called Fleetwood Mac. They were on Reprise Records with me and the guys," Mike spoke a bit more. "And, this may be someone else's song, but tonight, it's a ballad for Beulah..."

And Mike sang his heart out for her. For Beulah.

So, if not for me, then
Do it for yourself
If not for me then
Do it for the world
Poet...priest of nothing
Poet...priest of nothing