Bastards of Young

Six hours later I found myself taking refuge in the only place that wasn’t locked up or covered in complete filth – the basement bathroom. In fact it hardly seemed to be in use at all. The flowered tile was yellowing while dust bunnies formed in every corner, but as I pointed out to my new roach friends hanging out behind the toilet (Major Tom and Ziggy respectively), at least there was no danger of rolling over onto a syringe in here.

Removing the pillow and blanket I had packed from my bag, I did my best to turn the 3 foot tub into the fluffy queen sized bed I had been dreaming of since the bus stop.

“Ziggy, hold my pillow?” The roach merely scurried under the sink. “I’m blessed to have a friend like you.” Forcing a grin, I threw the pillow in the tub and stepped in to see what damage I could do.

Turns out quite a bit. At first I tried lying on my back with my feet propped on the wall. After a few minutes I tried to turn over and only succeeded in gashing my leg into the facet. After nursing the small cut, I figured that lying on my stomach might have been the more sensible choice… then I got stuck.

Admitting defeat, I stood carefully and stumbled out of the bathroom and up the stairs to the kitchen. I was happy the lights weren’t working because the smell alone was enough to give you food poisoning. As I made my way across the greasy floor I heard a car pull up to the house. There was the sound of a slam and voices talking heatedly. Normally, I would run to the window to rubber neck, but I wanted to believe that in the three days since leaving home I had become older, wiser, and above such childish indecencies. Plus, I was hungry as crap.

The refrigerator was covered in sticky notes and drawings done by the other squatters. Inside everything was being kept cool with bags of ice that were slightly melted. Most of the stuff had mold, but towards the back was a box of pizza that looked relatively fresh and a six pack of Pabst, which is exactly what I needed.

Taking the pizza and beer out carefully, I heard the front door open and shut as the car sped off. Judging by the footsteps I guessed who ever it was was heading down to the basement too. Not wanting to have an awkward meet up I waited until the footsteps had disappeared before heading to the basement bound myself.

15 minutes, 3 slices of pizza and 4 bottles of Pabst later I was starting to feel that nice numb, tingly feeling in my lips, a sure sign that I was more than sufficiently sloshed. The fact that I was belting out “I Wanna Be You Dog” to Major Tom… or Ziggy (I had lost track) was another clear cut signal.

In the middle of my “Wah wah wadiddy wah wah,” behind your head guitar solo, the door cracked open slightly and I found myself looking dazedly into some one else’s eyes.

“Um…” came a voice from the eyes’ general direction.

“Oh God,” I cried plopping back down in the tub and pulling the shower curtain in front of me. From the other side I heard laughter.

“Its okay! I thought you were doing awesome,” the shower curtains slid back to reveal a cute guy with black hair and a GBH t-shirt grinning good naturedly down at me.

My head fell limply into my hands. “Oh God, this is just… fuck.”

“No, really it’s cool!” The guy took a seat on the tub’s side and continued to grin which I took to mean he was making fun of me mercilessly in his head.

“A cute guy walks in and I’m fuckin’ air guitaring to Major Tom and Ziggy. Perfect!” I threw my hand over my eyes in despair.

“Major Tom and –?,” at this I attempted to gently lean my head back on the grimy tile behind me, but instead sent it hurtling back with a loud thud.

“Aw, damn it!” The guy grabbed my shoulders and leaned me forward slightly.

“Careful, there’s a wall,” I could tell he was stifling a laugh.

“Yeah, I think I discovered that. In 1402, Columbus sailed the ocean blue….”

“What?”

“In 1402 Columbus sailed the ocean blue. I dunno… discovered made me think of Native Americans and then of Columbus and then of that dumb rhyme, which I’m not even sure that’s how it goes, but it’s probably not right.”

“I don’t think it is,” said the guy biting his lower lip and smirking.

“It’s whatever.”

“Exactly.”

We studied each other for a moment in silence. I could tell from his shirt and worn out Chucks and wild energy cracking in his eyes that we were going to be great friends. I figured that that was enough to hope for right now. Luckily, I realized that I had been saying all of this stuff out loud before I got to that part.

He looked slightly weirded out, but attempted to mask it by making his grin wider. “Oh, wild energy, huh? Haven’t heard that one.”

I once again flew into apologies and the back of the wall. “You’re going to break that wall, woman,” he said rubbing the back of my head for a split second. “But, look, I came in here to piss. You’re really not mobile right now, so I’m just going to shut the curtain and go for it.”

“You go for it, hoss.”

He chuckled again and shut the curtain. “No peeking.”

I felt myself blushing as I heard him unzip his fly and begin his… thing.

“Did you underestimate the weird factor of this,” I asked shyly.

“It isn’t bothering me… does it make you feel weird?”

“Alittle. I mean, you have to admit this is a pretty intimate setting.”

The guy snorted.

“No, really, I mean I’ve had sex with guys and I don’t feel nearly as intimate with them as I do when I’m talking to them on the toilet.”

“You’re funny,” with that he zipped back up and flushed. “And probably very deprived of good lovin’ if toilet talks get you off.”

I rubbed my eyes, try to regain some sense of sobriety as the guy opened the curtain again and took his place back on the side, “It doesn’t get me off. It’s just like… I don’t know what it’s like. I’m stupid. Forget I said anything.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he was still grinning, but serious at the same time.

“Well, thanks, Stranger. ‘Why are you so surprised you never saw the Stranger? Did you ever let your lover see the Stranger in your eyes?’,” I augmented this serenade with an odd waving of my hands around my eyes causing more laughter to spring from the Stranger and for once, from me too. “Sorry, huge Billy Joel fan,” I opened another beer, which the Stranger gently removed from my hands as I raised it to my lips and set it on the counter.

“That’s my name.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Your name’s… Billy Joel?”

“Well, close. It’s Billie Joe.”

Hope sprung into my heart. “You’re from the South?”

“God, no,” he quickly caught his mistake from the look on my face, “I mean, my mom is. I didn’t mean anything by that; I just –“

“It’s cool,” I interrupted quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I do like your accent. It’s not too heavy; it makes you sound smart,” again with the look. “I just meant –!”

“Let’s stop while you’re behind?”

“Sounds good,” he blushed and we where silent for a second. “Um… so… Billy Joel, huh? Who else do you like?”

“I really dig the Replacements.”

A surprised, giddy grin spread across his face and I knew I had found a kindred soul. “You. Are. Shitting me! They’re one of my favorites!”

“Really?”

“Yes! Paul Westerberg is a genius!”

I covered my mouth lightly like I always do when I have a lot to say, but no way of getting it all out properly at once. “Yes! Yes! God, anytime that man opens his mouth the world is made better. I just want to fucking cry every time I hear ‘Androgynous.’ I actually named a band I was in Future Outcasts. How lame is that?”

“Not lame at all. I wish I had thought of that! What’s your favorite album,” he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “Choose wisely.”

I chuckled as I answered, “Tim, easy. I mean come on it has all of the greats on it! ‘Here Comes A Regular’? How much further into the soul of a young brooding outcast can you get?”

“I’d personally go with Let It Be, but I know what you mean. I mean, that little groan thing he does during ‘Regular’--.”

“I fucking know! It’s so how you feel when you’re just too depressed to even think about happiness.”

“Exactly!” Silence fell over us again for a second as he smiled half amazed at me – like I had just descended from the heavens as the second coming of Christ. Honestly, I felt the same. Back home people rarely delved into the music world beyond Billy Ray Cyrus, that or they just new the facts of music to seem hip; not the feelings of it.

Without realizing it was coming I let a yawn slip. “Sorry, it’s been a long day,” I said, covering my mouth. Patting the side of the tub Billie wasn’t inhabiting I continued, “I spent 3 days on a Grey Hound to sleep in a tub. If only ma could see me now, right?” We both chuckled as Billie rubbed the back of his neck slightly nervously.

“I have an extra mattress… if you’d be comfortable sharing a – okay…,” I had shot up out of the tub, with my sobriety mostly in tack and my blanket and pillow in hand.

“Let’s go.”

Billie led me to a door I had found to be locked earlier at the end of the small basement hallway. “Gotta keep it locked ‘cause not everyone around here is as trustful as I’d like,” he explained as he unlocked the splintered door and held it open for me. The dark room was pretty messy with take out boxes and crumpled papers everywhere. The mattresses were at opposite ends of the room. I assumed mine was the plain one. Tossing my pillow towards the top and plopping down I felt as if things were finally going right. Billie laid himself out on his own mattress. Once again there was silence and I started to drift into a heavy sleep until Billie’s voice ripped through the silence.

“Hey?”

“Yeah?”

“I never caught your name.”

“It’s Jean.”

“Cool. Jean… very rock star.” I laughed into my pillow. He continued, “This is the start of a good thing, Jean.”

As surprised by his non-alcohol induced openness as I was, I was too tired to respond with anything else beyond a simple, “Mmhm.”