Through the Light of the Bottle
Give Me Progress
The phone rang promptly the second I shut the door on Gerard’s diminishing figure.
“Hello?” I sigh, rubbing my temple, my mind somehow comprehending my fingers' ideas to push all of Gerard out of my head.
It was Brian on the other line. The pressure of my fingers to my head grew.
“Give me progress” he takes an irritating crunch of an apple and chews loudly into the phone, making him sound like an asshole.
“You mean the progress since Jim fucked it up? Why the hell didn’t you send me down in the first place?” my fingers move in slow, large circles.
“You were in California trying to convince people that there is no true link between heart disease and alcohol consumption.”
“Right,” I drawl out, “I just don’t see the whole point of me being here,” my nails start to pinch the skin, seizing the white flesh between it’s grip.
“What is your goddamn progress Kate?”
“Look, just don’t worry about it; I got it under control completely,” I quickly put the receiver down, and rub the nail marks out of my forehead.
“fuck,” I sigh as I shove my legs into a pair of jeans and a pair of dark sunglasses as I stride out the hotel door into the sunlight.
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“Leave my brother alone.”
I’m standing outside in a goddamn Starbucks parking lot, arguing with this skinny kid about Gerard.
Who happens to be his brother.
This is just fan-fucking-tastic.
“Look, I’m nowhere near your brother, kid, so why the hell are you throwing a fit?” I step around him, heading towards the entrance doors to the coffee shop.
“Oh fuck off; I know you aren’t going away, you're just going to keep on buggin him,” he follows close on my heels, “and stop thinking I’m a fucking kid, I’m probably older than you.”
“Yea, but I’m pretty sure I could take you, so I just could care less about age sweetheart,” I walk to the back of the line. I see out of the corner of my eye, everyone’s head turning, staring at Mikey as he glared at my side profile.
“Oh fuck off.”
“Mikey Way, language!” I mock yell with a roll of my eyes. I step up to the front counter.
“I’ll have a Iced Green Tea Latte…”
“You’re Mikey Way,” she stares dumbfounded.
“Yea, we actually prefer to call him Asshole, Green Tea Latte, thanks,” I fake smile, handing her a five. She dumbly nods her head, handing back four dollars in change.
For a drink that cost $3.59.
I stuff the bills in the tip jar and walk off as Mikey grabs a cup holder and scribbles down a signature, tossing it carelessly to the girl as he chases after me.
“Seriously, leave him alone.”
“Seriously, leave me alone, I’m doing my fucking job.”
“And he’s doing his.”
“See, that’s we you’re wrong,” I stop abruptly, spinning around and facing Mikey, “You’re job entails singing in front of mass audiences and pumping out a record every couple of years. Any other little activities you all decide to take up has nothing to do with your job and everything to do with you abusing your fame.”
“But if we have the fame, why don’t we use it to spread a message!” He shoots back.
“Touché,” I lift my hand and walk to the bus stop, “You’re right. Only, I’m right in the sense, I have every reason to do something about the message you send.”
“You can’t just force your opinions down our throats,” he stays in step with me.
“And you can’t force yours down mine,” I calmly retort, stepping on the bus, and sitting down in the far seat, refusing to look at his retreating figure as he storms off to his car, hoping to race me in my unsaid destination.
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“I must say, it was quiet cute to be assaulted in a Starbucks parking lot by a kid in a Joy Division shirt,” I calm stroll up to his hunched over figure, sitting outside an arena on a brick wall. As I get closer, I see the faint lines appear on a canvas as a result of the sweeping motions of his hands.
His head shoots up, a grin plastered in the middle of his soft features.
“Mikey’s a little overprotective,” his eyes shine in a obvious pride.
“Shouldn’t it be the other way around,” I stroll up casually, leaning over to look at the paper more clearly.
“What do you mean,” his eye return to his work, his voice distant as he concentrates on the figure that is taking shape on the pages.
“I was always protective of my younger sister, I don’t think she ever felt the same,” I give up trying to guess who he’s drawing and hop onto the wall, the brick slightly scratching my skin.
“Why do you say it in past tense,” and although he’s still staring at the paper before him, his hand stills, signaling his whole body is open and ready to my answer.
I refuse.
“Why are you wearing black?” I stare at his black tee shirt and dark black pants.
“Why are you changing the subject?” his eyes meet mine and I feel the strong urge to turn my head away quickly. Instead, I divert my eyes to the skinny figure stomping across the parking lot.
“Well, it is ninety degrees out.”
He sighs and his hand picks up speed. “It’s a look,” his voice hardens slightly, the tone he held with me before abandoned.
“'Cause that’s not ridiculous,” I roll my eyes.
“It’s not,” his voice level picks up, “it’s a statement.”
“What, that’s heat strokes and sweat stains are sexy? Are you bringing them back Gerard?” My lips upturn into a taunting smile.
“Fuck you, it’s a bigger statement.”
“What, that kids shouldn’t make their own decisions for themselves?” my eyebrow raises slowly as I await an answer.
His voice stops momentarily, his eyes meet mine, and I see a small smile form in his lips. “You’re good,” he laughs.
“You think I don’t know that?” I smile too, letting my defensive mode down quickly.
“Just wanted to remind you,” and I feel a gap start to close and it’s so fucking cliché that I quickly jump down and brush off the rear of my jeans. I walk away backwards, cheeks red as I stare at his stunned eyes and awkward smile.
“I’m glad your still drawing,” I comment before turning around and strolling back to the bus stop, passing an aggravated Mikey on the way.
“What are you talking about?” he yells over the sound of the road coming into play.
“Never mind,” I yell to the wind in front of me as I pick up my speed, rushing to catch up with the bus.
“Hello?” I sigh, rubbing my temple, my mind somehow comprehending my fingers' ideas to push all of Gerard out of my head.
It was Brian on the other line. The pressure of my fingers to my head grew.
“Give me progress” he takes an irritating crunch of an apple and chews loudly into the phone, making him sound like an asshole.
“You mean the progress since Jim fucked it up? Why the hell didn’t you send me down in the first place?” my fingers move in slow, large circles.
“You were in California trying to convince people that there is no true link between heart disease and alcohol consumption.”
“Right,” I drawl out, “I just don’t see the whole point of me being here,” my nails start to pinch the skin, seizing the white flesh between it’s grip.
“What is your goddamn progress Kate?”
“Look, just don’t worry about it; I got it under control completely,” I quickly put the receiver down, and rub the nail marks out of my forehead.
“fuck,” I sigh as I shove my legs into a pair of jeans and a pair of dark sunglasses as I stride out the hotel door into the sunlight.
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“Leave my brother alone.”
I’m standing outside in a goddamn Starbucks parking lot, arguing with this skinny kid about Gerard.
Who happens to be his brother.
This is just fan-fucking-tastic.
“Look, I’m nowhere near your brother, kid, so why the hell are you throwing a fit?” I step around him, heading towards the entrance doors to the coffee shop.
“Oh fuck off; I know you aren’t going away, you're just going to keep on buggin him,” he follows close on my heels, “and stop thinking I’m a fucking kid, I’m probably older than you.”
“Yea, but I’m pretty sure I could take you, so I just could care less about age sweetheart,” I walk to the back of the line. I see out of the corner of my eye, everyone’s head turning, staring at Mikey as he glared at my side profile.
“Oh fuck off.”
“Mikey Way, language!” I mock yell with a roll of my eyes. I step up to the front counter.
“I’ll have a Iced Green Tea Latte…”
“You’re Mikey Way,” she stares dumbfounded.
“Yea, we actually prefer to call him Asshole, Green Tea Latte, thanks,” I fake smile, handing her a five. She dumbly nods her head, handing back four dollars in change.
For a drink that cost $3.59.
I stuff the bills in the tip jar and walk off as Mikey grabs a cup holder and scribbles down a signature, tossing it carelessly to the girl as he chases after me.
“Seriously, leave him alone.”
“Seriously, leave me alone, I’m doing my fucking job.”
“And he’s doing his.”
“See, that’s we you’re wrong,” I stop abruptly, spinning around and facing Mikey, “You’re job entails singing in front of mass audiences and pumping out a record every couple of years. Any other little activities you all decide to take up has nothing to do with your job and everything to do with you abusing your fame.”
“But if we have the fame, why don’t we use it to spread a message!” He shoots back.
“Touché,” I lift my hand and walk to the bus stop, “You’re right. Only, I’m right in the sense, I have every reason to do something about the message you send.”
“You can’t just force your opinions down our throats,” he stays in step with me.
“And you can’t force yours down mine,” I calmly retort, stepping on the bus, and sitting down in the far seat, refusing to look at his retreating figure as he storms off to his car, hoping to race me in my unsaid destination.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I must say, it was quiet cute to be assaulted in a Starbucks parking lot by a kid in a Joy Division shirt,” I calm stroll up to his hunched over figure, sitting outside an arena on a brick wall. As I get closer, I see the faint lines appear on a canvas as a result of the sweeping motions of his hands.
His head shoots up, a grin plastered in the middle of his soft features.
“Mikey’s a little overprotective,” his eyes shine in a obvious pride.
“Shouldn’t it be the other way around,” I stroll up casually, leaning over to look at the paper more clearly.
“What do you mean,” his eye return to his work, his voice distant as he concentrates on the figure that is taking shape on the pages.
“I was always protective of my younger sister, I don’t think she ever felt the same,” I give up trying to guess who he’s drawing and hop onto the wall, the brick slightly scratching my skin.
“Why do you say it in past tense,” and although he’s still staring at the paper before him, his hand stills, signaling his whole body is open and ready to my answer.
I refuse.
“Why are you wearing black?” I stare at his black tee shirt and dark black pants.
“Why are you changing the subject?” his eyes meet mine and I feel the strong urge to turn my head away quickly. Instead, I divert my eyes to the skinny figure stomping across the parking lot.
“Well, it is ninety degrees out.”
He sighs and his hand picks up speed. “It’s a look,” his voice hardens slightly, the tone he held with me before abandoned.
“'Cause that’s not ridiculous,” I roll my eyes.
“It’s not,” his voice level picks up, “it’s a statement.”
“What, that’s heat strokes and sweat stains are sexy? Are you bringing them back Gerard?” My lips upturn into a taunting smile.
“Fuck you, it’s a bigger statement.”
“What, that kids shouldn’t make their own decisions for themselves?” my eyebrow raises slowly as I await an answer.
His voice stops momentarily, his eyes meet mine, and I see a small smile form in his lips. “You’re good,” he laughs.
“You think I don’t know that?” I smile too, letting my defensive mode down quickly.
“Just wanted to remind you,” and I feel a gap start to close and it’s so fucking cliché that I quickly jump down and brush off the rear of my jeans. I walk away backwards, cheeks red as I stare at his stunned eyes and awkward smile.
“I’m glad your still drawing,” I comment before turning around and strolling back to the bus stop, passing an aggravated Mikey on the way.
“What are you talking about?” he yells over the sound of the road coming into play.
“Never mind,” I yell to the wind in front of me as I pick up my speed, rushing to catch up with the bus.