Green Days: American Idiot, the Full Story

Give Me Novacaine

Give Me Novacaine.

June 13

It had been over a month since Jesus’ accident. He was still in the hospital. The doctors said he had made an excellent recovery, or at least that’s what Jesus could make out as he swung in and out of a chemical induced coma.

The pain had subsided greatly but it was still there, choosing to show itself at random intervals and in various places throughout the very long day. He had only one visitor, Vinny. Of course Jesus wasn’t expecting much. But it would have been nice if he had someone a little less disgruntled at his bedside.

The beeps from the machines that were still attached to him no longer annoyed him as it did those first weeks. Now the noise had faded into the background much like everything else.

He was alone at the moment. Never been one to enjoy company. He would give anything to have just one other soul in the cold, sterile room besides himself. Anything to distract the voices.

Yes, that statement may come off as psychotic to someone but Jesus knew what it was. He’d heard it before. Not often, of course, but every time he knew to listen. In fact, the last time he heard it was that first night in the shelter. Before that it was only once before when his father passed away. The voice then was nice and comforting, telling him everything would be okay. Even at the shelter, it still was a voice of reason amidst all the insanity. Now, however, it had changed completely. It was something to be feared. Something cold and dark, worse then the imaginary monsters under a child’s bed, worse then the thing in the closet, worse then the men that put him here. He feared it more then he had anything in his life.

He wanted to sleep. Would love nothing more then to close his eyes and rest for a little while but that’s when the voice is at it’s worse. It waits for him to be calm and at peace to attack him with an onslaught of insults.

He silently prayed for a nurse to come in and give him something, anything to take away the sensation inside him. He couldn’t take the feeling anymore. It overwhelmed all his senses. A fusion between pain and fear.

He fought off the sleep that ultimately closed his heavy eyes off for as long as he could. He felt himself slip, out of body and out of mind, into the world of fear, anger, hatred and darkness that had become his dreams. Not dreams, nightmares.

He was alone. Trapped in a room that seemed to go on infinitely in all directions. It was all white. White was a color that scared him more then black. White was absent of all color, all personality. Just blankness. He felt his heart’s pace quicken. The voice was coming, he had no escape.

He closed his eyes and prayed for someone in the outside world to wake him. It never happened. He was there in that void, alone. His eyes opened again. This time he knew he wasn’t by himself. He felt the voice’s presence like a fire behind him. He turned slowly and faced the voice yet again.

Jimmy. That was the voices name, St. Jimmy to be exact. It was himself. He looked down at his hospital gown and back up at the fearful creature. A snide smirk plastered across His face. His clothes all in black. Deep lines etched into His forearms, blood falling to the white floor.

“What do you want?” Jesus whispered.

“That’s a good questions, Jesus. What do we all want? I want to ask the same of you.”

“I want you gone. I never want to see you again.”

“That’s impossible. I am you. I am your reflection. You know you can never be without me. I’m always there. Right beneath the surface.”

“You’re wrong! You’re not me. You’re evil and cruel and I don’t need you.”

“What a joke. You know you need me. I am the reason you’re still alive. You’d have been killed by those dealers if I hadn’t been there to take over while you cowered in my prison.”

“No, you will never have control over me.”

“Oh, I will. Just you wait. One day you’ll be so scared and helpless and I’ll be the only one there to take care of you. I’m all you have left, Jesus.”

“No, Jimmy.”

“What are you doing? Are you crying? There you go again being your pathetic self. Always showing emotions, running from your battles.”

Jesus felt each word slice him like a blade. Opening old wounds and cutting new ones. He didn’t even feel the salty tears running down his face. Why did he let Jimmy ruin him like this? Why did he allow him to treat him so badly? If Jimmy really was a part of him then couldn’t he control him?

“Yes, keep crying, Jesus. You know that as soon as you’re out of here you’ll have no place to go. You’ll die out there on the streets unless you let me take over.”

“No, I’ll never!”

“You’re fucking weak!”

Jimmy charged forward and punched Jesus cold hard in the face. Pain shot through Jesus’ body worse then during the fight with the men in the alleyway. He felt himself get ripped out of the empty, dark place in his mind.


Pain shot through him again as he felt himself gasping for air. He opened his eyes to see his room filled with doctors. What had happened?

“He’s back.”

“What’s going on?”

“You flat lined son, for thirty seconds. Lucky we were able to bring you back.”

“I was…dead?”

“Temporarily. You’re back now kid and good thing. You have a visitor.”

He nodded and the doctors filed out of his room. Jesus managed to raise his head a few inches to see who the visitor was. Vinny. Not surprising. Though having died for thirty seconds it would have been nice to see his mother. Not that she’d know he was even in the hospital.

“How ya doin’, kid?”

“I almost died, Vin. Hell, they said I did for thirty seconds.”

“Whoa, sorry man. I uh…I got ya these.”

He cast his eyes down quickly as he handed me a small box of chocolates and a Get Well Soon card. I reached an arm out to hug him.

“Thanks, man. You don’t know what it means.”

“So, do you know when they’ll let ya out?”

“No clue, whenever I’m able to stand up on my own and when they think I’m capable of taking care of myself, I guess.”

“I quit.”


“Mr. Whirly’s gang. I quit. Told them I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Vin, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

“No, Jimmy. I saw what happened to ya. It shouldn’t have. It might happen to someone else. I can’t see shit like that again.”

“So what are we gonna do? You quit, that means you can’t stay in the club.”

“I know. I got a job.”

“Really? You, a job?”

“Shut up. Yeah, I did. A little delivery gig at La Valle’s Pizza off of Telegraph.”

“So you’re serious about this?”

“Yeah, I even got us an apartment. It’s not much, okay? Just a small one bedroom. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, you take the room. And do you think I can get a job at the pizza joint?”

“No way, I’m not letting you work. You’re too sick.”

“I’ll be fine. I can’t stay there without doing anything.”

“Fine, you can clean up and cook or something.”

“You mean it?”

“Yeah, man. Me and you. We can make it.”

“Alright, Vinny.”

“Good. Look, I’ll see you in a bit after my shift.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Hope you feel better, Jimmy.”

Vinny smiled at Jesus and left the hospital room. Jesus breathed in a sigh of relief. An apartment? He really was going to have his own place? This was one of the greatest feelings in the world. It could only get better if a nurse would come in and give him some Novacaine to take away the throbbing headache in the back of his head.