No One Knows

Billie Joe was drunk. His head was spinning as he drove out the final chords of 1000 hours, before taking hold of the microphone stand to steady himself. That last double of vodka he'd downed on his way onto the stage had pushed him almost to the limit he could take whilst still being able to function, but nevertheless he had played an awesome show. He realized he probably wasn't in the best state to rely on his own sense of how awesome he was but the crowd were going crazy and yelling for more and that was all the proof he needed. His band rocked. He fell forwards into the mass of sweaty bodies in front of him and somewhere between his feet leaving the edge of the stage and his body coming into contact with the sea of outstretched arms waiting to catch him, he had the blissful realization that he had been right all along. It didn't matter what anyone tried to tell him. This was what he was meant to do and he didn't want to do anything else for the rest of his life.

An hour later, Billie Joe, Mike and Al were propped up against the sweat-slicked wall in the hazy back room of 924 Gilman Street, sharing a joint to add a new level to their intoxication.

"That was fucking intense, guys," said Mike, with an excited smile, "We've never played so good."

Billie Joe's lips twisted into a smile around his joint as he nodded his head in agreement. He took it out of his mouth and was about to reply when he was distracted by someone sitting down on the edge of the bass amp next to him. It took a few moments for the guy to come into focus. The alcohol and the weed were starting to take their toll on his vision. But that was okay. He could do without vision for tonight. He took another drag on his joint as he recognized the guy as the drummer from the Lookouts, also regulars on the punk circuit along Gilman Street. Everyone called him Tre Cool, which suited him because, well, he was a pretty cool guy. They'd hung out together a few times lately and gotten on pretty well. Tre was one of those likable guys that got on with just about everyone.

"Nice show guys," said Tre, turning to the three bleary-eyed band mates. "You know, I picked up your EP the other week and I've been spinning it a lot lately. It's good. You doing another?"

All three boys felt a surge of warm pride.

"We might," said Mike, "You think we should?"

He was fishing for compliments and they both knew it.

"Definitely," said Tre, nodding his head in emphasis, "You guys are one of the best bands doing the circuit right now. You gonna tour?"
"We'd love to tour," said Billie Joe, "But we don't have any money... or a van. We don't even have a decent PA system."

Tre nodded.

"It sucks, huh?" he said, sympathetically.
"You guys were great tonight too," said Al, passing Tre the joint he had been sharing with Mike and Billie Joe. He accepted it with a smile.
"Thanks," said Tre, "I'm not sure we'll be doing it much longer though."
"Why not?" asked Mike with a frown.
"Ah... we're just kinda moving in different directions I guess. We've been jamming together a pretty long time now. I guess we're just kinda ready for new beginnings."
"I can understand that," said Al, "I mean... after a while, you need a change of scene."

Billie Joe looked at Al with a frown. His words had unsettled him slightly because he didn't necessarily agree. His band was one scene he didn't want ever to change.

The next morning, Billie Joe woke up, fully clothed, on his bedroom floor, with a banging in his ears and a heavy ache in his head. He had no idea what had prevented him from making it as far as the bed. He guessed his legs must have given up as soon as he got to his room. He wished they hadn't, though, because sleeping on the hardwood floor had left his whole body aching. He groaned. It was only when he had heaved himself off the floor to relocate to his bed that he realized the banging was getting louder and that it wasn't inside his own head after all. It was the front door.

Cursing whoever was inconsiderate enough to disturb his hangover by knocking on someone's door at... he checked his watch... .two thirty pm? Well. They still could have knocked a little quieter. He staggered down the stairs to answer the door, running a hand through his messy dark hair. He opened the door, letting the California sun flood in, making him blink and shield his eyes.

"Hey... " he said "... .Can I help you?"

The guy on the doorstep looked around forty, unshaven and disheveled, with dark eyes that made Billie Joe uncomfortable although he couldn't say why.

"Your Mom home?" the man asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"No," replied Billie Joe, wearily, "But if you're selling something then-"
"-I'm not selling nothing," the man replied, cutting Billie Joe off with a hint of irritation in his voice, "I just came to see Ollie."

Billie Joe's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" he asked, viewing the man with suspicion.

The man took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms over his chest. He frowned.

"The name's John," he said, a mockingly patronizing tone to his voice, "Now, is she home, or isn't she home?"

Billie Joe folded his arms over his own chest and straightened his posture, wishing the guy wasn't so much taller than he was.

"She isn't home," he said, smoothly.
"That's convenient," said John, rolling his eyes.

Billie Joe felt a flicker of anger in the pit of his stomach. Who did this guy think he was? He was about to respond when he heard the back door slam shut and footsteps on the hallway floor. Dammit. She had been home after all.

"Who's there, Billie?" his mother called.

Billie Joe took a step back from the door and stood aside, keeping his eyes locked onto John's.

"Someone to see you," he replied.

He threw what he hoped was a warning look in John's direction, before his mother stepped in front of him, breaking their stare.

"Thanks, Billie," she said, without looking at him, "I can take this from here."

Billie Joe sullenly turned his back on them and walked into the kitchen, making sure he left the door to the hallway open so he would be able to hear what they were saying. But his mother knew him much too well. She stepped outside, closing the front door behind her before continuing her conversation out on the front porch.

He sighed in frustration, pulling a wooden chair out from under the table and slumping into it, resting his aching head in his hands. He had hated every single one of his mother's boyfriends and he knew that this guy wasn't about to be an exception. If anything, he had made the worst first impression yet, which was quite a statement seeing as he hadn't given any of them much of a chance to impress him.

Deep down, he knew that his Mom deserved to be happy. He hated the thought of her being lonely. But he hated seeing her with guys too, because they always seemed to just walk all over her and she always let them, until they inevitably left leaving her broken hearted all over again. So, as much as it pained him to think of her being alone for the rest of her life and however much it hurt him to hear her crying in her bedroom late at night, he knew that in his own mind, no guy would ever be good enough for her. No guy would ever be as good as his father was.

*** *** ***

She should have seen it coming, really. Over the past few months, his temper had gotten worse, his hangovers more frequent and most of the time he didn't seem to notice whether or not she was even there. If she'd stopped to think about it, she might have realized that he wasn't sober often enough to get a lot of work done. But it wasn't like that would have changed anything. He didn't even listen to her most of the time so she could hardly be expected to exert any kind of control over him. Nobody else ever could.

She was getting ready for school that morning, rushing about the house with a piece of toast in one hand and her overdue English assignment in the other, when he came in the front door. He surprised her, firstly because she had assumed he had already left for work and secondly because he looked such a mess.

"Where have you been?" she asked him, in shock, her toast poised half way to her mouth.

He muttered a reply that she couldn't understand, as he pushed past her and sunk onto the couch in the living room. She followed him. Her heart was beating fast. Nobody could frighten her like her father could.

"Dad?" she prompted, nervously.
"Jessie... just leave me the fuck alone," he growled.

He was slurring his words. At eight am? This had to be a new record. She couldn't go to school and leave him like this.

"Why aren't you at work Dad?" she asked him, quietly, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waited for him to answer.

He was silent for a few moments before he did and she was growing more and more anxious as she watched him, listening to his ragged breathing, the only sound in the room. When he finally raised his eyes to meet hers, she saw they were filled with a mixture of anger and shame and then she knew. Before he even opened his mouth, she knew.

"They fired me."

She was at a loss for what to say. All she wanted to do was scream at him for being so selfish and irresponsible but she knew that wasn't going to do any good. And it wasn't like he would hold back from matching her at the shouting game.

"Why?" she heard herself ask.

It was a pointless question and they both knew that. It was just the first thing that came out of her mouth while she waited for her brain to kick in.

"Why do you fucking think?" he asked angrily.

"Because you're fucking drunk all the time," she responded, quickly.

She didn't know where it came from, and she knew she shouldn't have said it. Talking back to him was never a good idea and she knew that. So why had she? He looked up at her with obvious surprise. He hadn't expected her say that either and his eyes were flashing with anger.

"Don't you dare fucking talk to me like that," he hissed.
"It's the same way you always talk to me!" she challenged, her voice getting louder, as her heart pounded inside her chest.
"You're a kid!" he shouted, swaying slightly as he stood up from the couch, "I can talk to you however the fuck I like! I'm your father! You have to show me some respect!"
"Respect has to be earned!" she shouted back, balling her hands into fists to stop them shaking.

She had never spoken to him this way before and she couldn't understand why she was doing it now. She was losing control. She didn't know what she was saying.

It was liberating.

She had submitted to him for so long and she didn't think she could take it for any longer. Her eyes locked onto his, both pairs burning with anger.

"Don't you dare get smart with me, you little shit!" he growled, grabbing hold of her wrist and backing her against the wall. She tried to shake free of his grasp, but he was too strong. "I don't have to earn nothing from you!"
"And you aren't going to! Cause you've fucked it! You've fucked up everything!"

She saw red. It's a cliche, but it's exactly what happened. Time seemed to stop still as she felt the room close in around her and her mind fog over, until everything was obscured aside from her own fury. Then her father brought it all back in a way she never thought he ever would. She gasped as his palm came into contact with the skin of her face.

Suddenly the fog was clearing and time was starting up again, but now it was running at double speed to make up for what it had lost. She tore her eyes from his and shook free of his grasp, before turning and running out of the door.

She was surprised when she found herself at the school gates. It was the last place she wanted to be and she hadn't planned on still going. She didn't remember getting there, so she assumed her body had just switched to auto pilot when she left the house. Either way, she couldn't take that place. Not then. She turned and walked back down the street, wondering how she'd even managed to get this far because her legs felt numb.

Everything felt numb.

She didn't make it much further down the street before she had to stop, sitting down on the hot concrete and putting her head in her hands. Nothing seemed real. The numbness was leaving now and she was beginning to feel the first stabs of pain. Not in her face, although that hurt too, but somewhere inside her that she hadn't ever felt it before. Somewhere she never thought she ever would.

She had always told herself he would never do it. It had always comforted her to know that no matter how drunk he got, no matter how angry, no matter how much verbal abuse he threw her way... he would never lay a finger on her. He loved her far too much for that.

She was so completely lost in her own thoughts that she didn't hear footsteps approaching, and the voice caught her off-guard.

"Hey... partner in crime..."

She jumped and looked up sharply into his face, her heart pounding all over again. But it was just the kid she had bunked off with behind the gym a few days before. She let out a long breath.

"Sorry, he chuckled, "Didn't mean to scare ya."

He sat down next to her without any invitation and pulled out his cigarettes.

"Needed a change of scene, huh?" he asked, leaning back against the fence behind them.
"Uh... yeah... "

Her voice came out sounding strangled.

"Probably for the best, y'know. Jimmy got caught behind the gym yesterday. Didn't help he was smoking dope at the time. He's my new dealer by the way. Turned out ole' Two Dollar threw in the towel. He's not comin' back. Smart guy. Wish I could do the same."

She was slightly taken aback by his friendly tone. Did he think they were pals now or something? He didn't know anything about her. He didn't even know her name.

"S'what's your name?"
"Jessie."
"Cool. I'm Freddy."

He offered her a cigarette.

"No thanks... I don't," she said.

He nodded. He was quiet for a moment and she was grateful for it. Her mind was still racing and she needed some time to listen to it. But she should have guessed the silence wouldn't last long.

"So what you doing out here today?" he asked her. "You get in a fight?"

She frowned.

"No... why?"

He shrugged, before taking a drag on his cigarette.

"Don't get a shiner like that out of nowhere."

She felt a flicker of fear in her stomach as she raised her fingers to her cheek.

"So who'd you fight with?" he continued.

Jeez, he was unrelenting.

"I didn't get in a fucking fight, ok?" she said, impatiently, "I just had an argument with my dad before school, is all."

Freddy's cigarette had been on its way back to his lips, but it stopped short and he turned to face her. His eyes widened behind his heavy black hair.

"Your Dad?" he repeated, "Your Dad did that to you?"
"We got in an argument," said Jessie defensively, "And I don't want to talk about it."

Freddy twisted his body so that he was facing her full on.

"But he can't!" he spluttered, "You know that right? He can't do that!"
"Aren't you listening?" she frowned, "He just did."
"But you're a kid!" Freddy protested, "You're only a kid!"
"I'm sixteen."
"That is a kid. How can any man justify lashing out at a sixteen year old girl?"

Jessie started to feel frightened. She had said far too much. If her Dad found out what she had said to this guy, who was really a complete stranger... she didn't even want to imagine. She stood up hurriedly and picked up her backpack.

"I have to go," she said, "This has nothing to do with you, so you have to just forget what I said."

She turned away from him and started back down the street, but he picked himself up off the ground and started after her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Wait, Jessie... " he said.

Her breath caught in her throat at his grasp and she shook it free, before shoving him away from her, back into the fence. He stared at her in surprise, holding up both of his hands in surrender.

"Okay... okay, I'm sorry," he said, breathing heavily, "I just wanted to help."
"You can't," she said, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotion, "If it was that simple I would help myself. So just forget about it."

And with that she turned her back on him and was gone, leaving him still standing against the fence, staring after her in disbelief. Alone again.