The Ballad of Michael & Beulah

Okay, so I'm sitting here, still Indian-style, and I think I'm getting a leg cramp, but all I can think of when I look at the picture in my hand is 'Wow.'

Aunt Estelle was so beautiful when she was younger. Photographed here with Grandpa Mike at her side, smiling like she was given the world on a silver platter, she was...ethereal. She had such grace and style. She had a demure air of mystique about her and it's funny to hear the stories and read the letters accounting for how she turned out to be almost a 180 from how everyone in the 'Green Day Clan' would've expected.

She was, after all, the daughter of a famous bassist in a punk band. Wasn't she supposed to grow up and become a hard rocker herself? Question authority, infiltrate the imagination, form ideological alliances, break the status quo, and not graduate from college twice from Stanford with a Bachelors degree and a Masters degree in Fashion Design from the London College of Design. She wasn't supposed to graduate at the top of her class and work with London and Paris' top designers and then relocate to New York where she would start her own, and quite successful fashion line.

Or was she?

Grandpa Mike always wanted her to be her own unique person; to be a rebel. And I guess, in her own way, she did rebel.

Against the life she was brought up in.

* * *

The Manhattan skyline decorated the view beyond the wall of windows that lay to the right of the large, mahogany executive desk; leaving the view, and not the occupant of the office, as the only thing to catch your eye when first stepping inside the room.

Sparsely decorated with very little furniture, but cluttered with photographs of models, cityscape scenery and beloved family and friends, Estelle Pritchard's office had the homey feel without losing the edgy business touch.

And, speaking of Estelle, she sat in her pleasantly comfy leather chair, slouched forward onto the desk as she milled over some faxes she'd been sent within the last hour from this person and that. None of them were by any extent important to her, but for the sake of keeping herself busy despite her hectic workload, she gave them her time.

Unfortunately, her mind lingered off to a distant place she knew all too well, and it turned her frown upside down. Granted, she had last been to Oakland only two months earlier, staying in the apartment she kept in San Francisco, but being away from her family for any given amount of time made her heart ache no matter what. She missed her sister Rory most of all; often wondering how the fifteen-year-old was doing.

And, in the midst of thought, the intercom built into her desk phone scared the shit out of her as her secretary's voice echoed off her office walls.

"Estelle? You've got a visitor."

Estelle turned her head to the phone and raised an eyebrow; propping her elbow on the desk, then resting her chin in the open palm of her hand. With her free hand, she pressed the intercom button on her phone. "Who is it?" she questioned.

"They said it's a surprise."

Rolling her eyes, Estelle gave a sigh and pressed the button once more. "If it's Dominic, tell him I already gave him the Donald Trump Treatment and if he can't accept that, he is welcome to kiss my naturally tan ass."

Without a response from her secretary, Estelle's attention turned to that of her office door clicking open.

Raising her eyebrow, she sat back with a look that suggested surprise but was more so laced with that of impressed.

"I can honestly say you are the last person I expected to see walk through my door today. Or, any day, lately."

Mike, her father, had stepped inside and was momentarily caught up by the view of the Manhattan skyline, as everyone always was, as he began shutting the office door behind him. Shooting her a semi-sheepish smile, he walked closer to her and gestured to it all; the office, the view...Estelle.

"Well, I've been in town."

"Really?" Mike's oldest child questioned. "How long have you been 'in the neighborhood?' Because I'm sure Rory and Vegas would want to know how their dad is doing, and not to mention Beulah must be curious."

Mike frowned at the mention of his wife's name.

"Stella..."

"What? Isn't it okay for me to utter my stepmother's name or is that taboo in your presence, Oh Great One?" Estelle's question came out a little bitterly, but only because she thought so highly of her stepmother and looked down on her father's actions over the last several months.

"Don't talk down to me like I'm the child here," the 51-year-old bassist bit out. "You may be twenty-six but I am still your father."

"Yeah," she scoffed. "You're my father, but in the last two years you haven't been much of a dad." Off Mike's silence as he looked down at his feet, Estelle continued. Standing up, she pushed her chair back, walked around to the front of her desk and leaned against it. "When I finished school in London two years ago, you were there to see me graduate; with smiles that could last a lifetime and boasts of pride for my accomplishments. But then you dropped off the face of the earth, it seems. I knew that the only way for me to not live under the shadow of your success would be to disassociate myself from you. Professionally. And I did that. I spent all of last year in Europe, marketing myself to other designers and building my own line. And I came back here and built all of this."

Estelle held both arms out wide at her sides and stared her father in the eye, and for a moment, he looked like a the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed teenager who had helped put together Green Day, nearly thirty-five years prior.

"I did this on my own, but it still woulda been nice to have your support," she added. "Your moral support." Brown eyes saddening, Estelle shook her head in disbelief as she dropped her hands down and gripped the edge of the desk.

"Stella, honey...I am so sorry. I never meant to...abandon you. That was not my intention. You made it clear you didn't want my financial help. I mean, I took care of your schooling and everything you needed while you were in school. I wanted to do that. No, I needed to do that," Mike amended, stepping a foot closer to his daughter. "But my life isn't perfect. It never has been. You're older now. God help me, you're all grown up and on your own which makes me feel too goddamn old, so now you know what it's like. That life is so fucking hard and making relationships work takes a toll on you; be they professional or personal. And...I'm sorry, but life at home, between Beulah and me has gotten to the point where I wanted out."

"You wanted out. What about--"

"Beulah wanted out, too," Mike cut her off, knowing what she was going to ask. "The arguing was getting too frequent, louder, angrier. And it was breaking my heart that this marriage I've spent so much time on could suddenly fall apart. That the woman I love with all my heart could become the woman I couldn't be around."

Estelle looked wide-eyed at her father; wondering where he was going with his heartfelt admission.

"I walked out on Beulah, Vegas and Rory. But I didn't leave them. I can't leave them. I...I...I need them. Shit, Estelle, it took a month and a half away from them, from my wife, to realize just how goddamn much I need them...her. I messed up...I did some things here in this city that I know could make me lose them all forever, but I need to go back. I need to go back to them and somehow make this all right again. I need to fix all of this."

"Okay," Estelle muttered lamely. "So...amidst all this fixing your relationships with Vegas and Rory, and hopefully with Beulah, do you by any chance see, or care, to fix our relationship?" Narrowing her eyes and tightening her jaw, the dark-haired beauty that was Mike Dirnt's 'Hero' felt hot tears rolling down her cheek as she swallowed back a lump in her throat.

"Oh, Estelle," Mike muttered; pained. Closing the distance between them, he wrapped his arms around her and let out a sigh as her head slowly rested against his chest. "I am so sorry that you felt abandoned by me," he apologized. "I could never abandon you. You're my Hero. My Stella. My Estelle Desiree: Successful Fashion Mogul at the young age of 26."

Despite herself, Estelle laughed.

"Alright, well, you're leaving me again, but this time it's cool. You and mom divorced when I was only two so I was used to the both of you never being together and you being away. But, for Vegas and Rory, they've had their parents together all their lives and you stowing away here in my surrogate city is a great way to fuck with their emotions. You don't want them to second guess the way they feel about you this late in their lives."

"No, I don't," Mike agreed, finally pulling apart from his oldest child. "I'm sorry again."

Estelle shrugged it off. "Eh, I'll live. I...am resilient. I am the hard-core offspring of a punk musician; born and raised in the East Bay." Forming a fist with her right hand, she pounded it against her chest like gangsta, then raised one eyebrow quite high as she closed the opposite eye: the trademark look that Mike had flashed many a photo op in his day.

Mike smirked and nodded in response. "That you are."

Rolling her eyes, Estelle wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled. "So, what now, Dad?"

"Now?" he repeated. "Well, now, I take you to lunch, or dinner...or both. Then we play catch-up before my flight back to California in the morning."

Estelle nodded. "Sounds like a plan." Turning around, she reached over her desk and snatched up her purse -- an Estelle Pritchard design, of course -- and turned back to her father with a grin. "You're paying."

Without missing a beat, she walked past him and he laughed. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Hero."

* * *

I can't tell who wrote on this Polaroid. I'm not familiar with the handwriting. I mean, I know it's not Grandpa Mike's because it looks nothing like the handwriting in his letters here in this box to my right.

However, I don't think it should be that hard to realize that it's Aunt Estelle's.

Running my thumb over the words, obviously written with a black sharpie pen, I smile as I read the words to myself.

The day my father became my Dad again. June 16, 2023