Thinking Back to Those Days

The vinyls that Paloma brought over the next day changed my life forever. Instantly Mike and I, and our drummer John, started attending punk gigs and doing covers by the Ramones, the Clash the Sex Pistols, and many others. The music was fun, fast, and gave me the truth about what was really going on with kids my age, trapped and disillusioned. The music offered an answer to the problems like that, and it filled my ears, and the part of me that had been missing it all along.

One day Paloma was sick, coughing with a runny nose but insisted on taking me to see a band called Operation Ivy.

When she came around in her boots, black band tee, torn jeans, a safety pin through her lip, and Kleenex in her hand I smiled and leaned against the door frame as she blew her nose and then beaconed me to come along.

“You really want me to see this band, don’t you Paloma?” I said grabbing my jacket.

“Billie Joe, YES I DO! They are amazing, and you will love them, and if I could, I would go and kidnap Mike from work and bring him along too, but never fear…” (She coughed) “We will see a lot more of them.”

We took the bus to Berkley from Rodeo. And the ride there was glorious. We just talked about everything, as usual, and there was always something about me being there with Paloma, just talking, that made me feel excited and happy.

Because, in the months prior to this bus ride, we had grown so close, Mike, Her, and I. We had tons of adventures together to fuel this friendship. Jumping fences when caught drinking in allies, the parties we went to. Mike and I even got a haircut and bleach job done by her, one day, because we were just bored. And then there were the parties we played at. She was always at every single show, singing along to the words she knew, front row, with a cigarette in hand and a smile spread across her red lips. The band received her words of encouragement too. One day while we laid on the floor in my room, like so many times before, she sat up and looked at us, and then said that one day, she knew that she was going to flip on the radio, while driving to work, and that our song would come blasting out of the speakers. She said she would roll down the windows, turn it up, and tell whoever was next to her to: “Turn it on! I know these guys!”

We laughed it off, but she stuck by her beliefs. And I would remember that forever.

But there was something else that was starting to overshadow all of that, and I began to think about it while on that bus ride. Paloma started to always have to go home early, and if she didn’t, she couldn’t come and hang out or call for more than a week. She always looked at least a little sleepy, but sometimes it was so bad, that she would sleep first and second period away, or lie about sickness so she could sleep in the nurse’s office.

Mike and I talked about it one night. I recalled the conversation.

“Why do you think Paloma always has to leave Mike?”

“Billie Joe, she has a mom and little siblings. I know you like her, but man, she can’t live here.” I threw a look at his comment and he shrugged.

“I know, I know. Actually, I don’t know. I am worried about her lately because she looks so tired. Too tired. And she is missed school like three times in two weeks.”

Mike shrugged again and gave me the look he always gives me, when he is trying to figure out what I am thinking.

“I don’t know either Billie Joe, but I know you have an idea. What is it?”

“I think that she is either drinking about more than usual, or she is smoking something more than weed and Marlboro’s. It’s just a thought.”

“Billie Joe!” Mike exclaimed and we dashed that idea away with something about doing too much homework or something of the sort.

But while on the bus ride, I couldn’t help but wonder back to that conversation, and why she was so sleepy, and sometimes moody. Even if I did want to keep her here, head on my shoulder, looking like Ms. Punk Rock Goddess, sleeping, her running nose making her breathing sound funny, us going to a show together,

I couldn’t help but worry.