Chasing Cars

Joey Armstrong was slumped in the backseat of the car, angrily glaring out the window. His dad was being an arse. He’d slipped up once at school, and swore at a teacher, and his dad was acting like he’d gone and stabbed someone. Billie Joe was just driving along, fucking ranting on about how Joey is better than that, but unbeknown to Billie, his son had stopped listening about three minutes ago.

“Joey, are you even listening to me?” Billie Joe growled, turning around in his seat to face his son, when the car was stopped at a red light.

Joey didn’t answer, and Billie Joe twisted back around, swearing darkly under his breath as he shifted the car into gear when the light ahead of them turned green. He fumbled around on the dashboard, flicking the radio on. The thirty-seven year old man actually laughed out loud, and felt almost all his anger melt away when the all too familiar riff of Holiday seeped from the speakers. It was still quite a weird feeling to hear a song he’d written be played on the radio, even after all these years. Joey sat up and leant forward, leaning through the gap in between the two front seats.

“This—this is you isn’t it?” he asked his dad, even though he already knew the answer. It was just a lame attempt at breaking the tension between the two.

“Yeah,” Billie Joe said with a small grin. “It’s still weird hearing it on the stereo.”

Joey smiled, leaning back into his seat just as Billie Joe wheeled the car around a corner, and into a quiet suburban street. The road ahead of Billie Joe was clear of all traffic, and the sidewalks were pretty dead too. He could see a few kids playing a mini game of baseball on their front lawn; a woman was also walking her dog, stopping to let it sniff at a hydrant. On the other side of the street, an old couple were shuffling along, hand in hand past a teenage boy with black shaggy hair. Billie Joe was literally five feet away from driving past the teenager when he blinked. He blinked, and suddenly the small stretch of road ahead of him wasn’t empty anymore. In an instant, the kid had stepped out in front of Billie’s car. Now, Billie Joe Armstrong was never one for cliché’s, but the world around him seemed to slow down. He heard Joey choke out a scream from behind him as Billie’s heart jumped into his throat, and out of pure reflex, his foot slammed into the break pedal with so much force it hurt. A horrible screeching sound drowned out the noise from the stereo, as the tires on Billie’s Ford Fairlane fought for some sort of grip on the surface of the road as the car skidded into the kid. A sickening thump seemed to echo as the boy’s body connected with the bonnet of his car, and the windshield splintered before Billie Joe’s eyes, resembling some sort of demented spider web, as the kid’s head smashed into it. The car finally seemed to screech to a halt, and the boy was thrown forward onto the tarmac of the road. Billie Joe felt his body hurtling forward as gravity took its toll, but his seatbelt locked into place, snapping the thirty-seven year old man’s frame backwards again.

Then, everything went still.

Billie Joe’s ears were roaring, as if a thousand de-tuned radios were being blasted into his head all at once. He could faintly hear Joey sobbing behind him as he frantically unbuckled his seatbelt and practically threw himself out of his car, leaving the engine running and the door open. In blind panic, Billie Joe stumbled across the tarmac to where the teenager had landed, hands clawing at his own hair. The teenage boy’s face was a mess of bloody cuts, as he lay spread-eagled across the tarmac, unconscious and unmoving.

At this point, Billie Joe lost all sense of logic.

He had no idea what to do. Panic and fear were tearing at his chest, and his head was still roaring with the static-like noise. Less than thirty seconds had passed since the kid had hit the floor, and already a small crowd was gathering. It was then that Billie realised he should probably call 911. He tore his eyes away from the wreck of the child on the road and staggered back to his car, frantically searching the glove-box for his cell-phone. He couldn’t bring himself to even glance at Joey in the back seat. He just grabbed his phone and dialled for the paramedics. What probably took only minutes in reality, it felt like years as Billie Joe dialled 911. There was a dislocation between the absolute panic that was now enveloping him, and the overly-calm voice on the other end of the line.

By now, a large crowd had gathered around the car, and the boy’s body. After a few tries at staring down at the teenager, Billie Joe gave up all attempts of trying to play doctor, and sank to the floor against his car. He couldn’t do anything beyond making sure nobody moved the poor kid. Billie felt useless, really fucking incompetent, and all he could think was that this was his fault, he’d caused this. He’d actually done this. Billie Joe tried to control the ever-impending panic attack that was gripping his nervous system when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. Billie’s head snapped up, and he recognised the woman he’d seen walking her dog.

“Are you okay?” She asked him, concern etched into her features. “I saw everything, the kid ran out in front of you. There was nothing you could do.”

With a choked sob, Billie Joe suddenly remembered Joey. He jumped up off the ground and whirled around to find Joey leaning against the side of the car, blood seeping from his nose. Billie’s stomach churned painfully, and he choked slightly on his own breath.

“S-shit, shit shit!” Billie choked out, rushing over to Joey and pulling him into his arms. “W-what…what the fuck did you do?”

“I-I think I head butted the back of your seat,” Joey mumbled, wiping some blood off his face with his t-shirt.

Billie Joe shook his head, his green eyes welling with tears.

“Fuck, Joe… I-I’m so sorry…”

The black-haired man wiped the blood off his son’s face the best he could with the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing, before pulling him into a tight hug. Joey could feel his dad trembling against him, as his chest shuddered with un-even breaths. For a short moment, Billie Joe wondered whether he should tell Joey that everything was going to be fine, but in all honesty, Billie Joe didn’t quite know himself. He placed a quick kiss into the top of Joey’s hair, before letting go of him. Back on the road behind him, nothing had changed.

Billie Joe felt his chest tightening and he flipped open his cell-phone, deciding to call his wife. He needed… something, anything. Adrienne picked up on the first three rings. She’d been looking for some misplaced paperwork for Adeline records in the home office.

“Adie,” he managed to choke out down the line. “I-I hit a f-fucking kid.”

Billie Joe was aware he was probably being extremely incoherent, but Adie caught his drift immediately. She was calm, and full of reassuring words. She kept him talking until the ambulance arrived, along with the police. It had been at least a full eight minutes since Billie Joe had reported the accident. The police identified him as the driver and made him turn the engine off in his car, which until now; he hadn’t noticed he’d left running. Billie Joe was being asked a series of questions, but he wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying in reply. He was staring over the police officers shoulder, watching the kid being loaded onto a stretcher, oxygen mask over his face, and a brace around his neck. Billie’s stomach clenched with unease and total disgust at himself as the ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring. He couldn’t help it. All of this felt like his fault. Billie was breathalysed, and had his insurance details taken before being given a lift home. His Fairlane was un-roadworthy with the windshield cracked.

Later that night, when both the boys were in bed, Billie was sat in the den in the basement, face buried in Adrienne’s neck. The thirty-seven year old man was crying so hard his shoulders were shaking with sobs, and Adrienne’s neck was damp with salty tears. She tightened her grip around her husband, placing kisses into his curly mop of black hair, blinking tears out of her own eyes.

“H-he was fifteen, Adie. That’s the same age as Joey. It’s like… I hit m-my own damn kid.”

Adrienne closed her eyes kissed the top of Billie Joe’s head once again. His sweaty hands were gripping her shirt so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, looking like they were going to burst out his skin. She could feel Billie's chest heaving unsteadily against hers as the young man gave up on fighting the panic attack which was threatening to overtake him, and just let the fear envelope him.

Billie Joe Armstrong didn’t have the guts to get behind the wheel of his car again for another month.