Forgetmenots and Second Thoughts

Wren found herself sitting shyly near the back of Gilman’s, waiting for Billie Joe and the rest of Sweet Children to finish their set of songs. Billie Joe had agreed that the two of them needed to talk, but that this conversation would have to take place after they were finished performing. She slumped in her seat and sighed impatiently. For what Billie and Sara had deemed a friendly, “all-ages” club, there were some really odd people there that gave Wren an eerie feeling. Those with large, multicoloured mohawks or faces full of piercings were those that Wren shied away from.

This was the first time Wren was to hear any of the members of Sweet Children play. This excited Wren as she had wanted to hear Billie sing from the moment she had found out that he was the front man. From the second their instruments began sounding, Wren surprisingly fell in love. She had not taken a true liking to the genre; she had thought that it was sloppy and harsh on the ears. But Billie’s voice was smooth and different than the others. He incorporated vibrato as well, something the others hadn’t. An icy chill crept down her spine and she shivered. This was a side of Billie she had not seen, and her liking for him grew even more.

She had begun to grow tired, and her patience slowly diminished. As much as she was enjoying the music, she contemplated waiting outside. Her head had begun to pound something fierce, and her eyelids were starting to droop. It had been a long day.

Billie Joe and his band stopped playing for a minute, his lips still brushing up against the duct taped microphone. “This last song`s called `Road To Acceptance’.” He shouted at the roaring, rambunctious crowd surrounding the stage. He jumped into the final song, Mike and John not far behind. A small smile inched towards Wren’s lips. She could tell that Billie was enjoying every second up on that stage; they all were. She watched as he whipped his sweat-soaked head of messy curls back and forth, beads of water dripping down his face. The man was full of energy, full of life—it was as though he completely transformed when he stepped foot on the stage.

With the amount of bodies around her emitting heat, there was no need for Wren’s knit cardigan that she had lazily slung around her shoulders. She slipped it off and folded it neatly across her lap. She then began nervously chewing on the inside of her lip, grinding her teeth into the sensitive pink flesh until it broke and stung. The taste of rusty pennies filled the inside of her mouth.

The music finally stopped, and Wren rose immediately following, pushing her way through the people and toward the front of the building. She found herself being thrown around and eventually was pressed up against the black graphitised wall, struggling to get by. She inhaled deeply and continued to walk forward, her shoulders scraping against the wall, her arms close to her chest, clutching her sweater. She soon found the familiar door that she and Mike had come to just hours earlier, and hurriedly clasped the brass knob, twisted it, and shoved the door open. She was delighted to see her friends collecting equipment, getting ready to leave.

Billie’s head spun around as soon as the door had swung open. His vivid green eyes immediately fixed themselves on her deep blues, the corners of his lips inching upward into a grin. Her mouth followed his lead and she smiled shyly, rocking back and forth on the heels of her Chuck Taylors.

“You were really great.” She said timidly, pressing her lips together so that they were forming a thin line. He thanked her graciously and picked up his powder blue Fernandez Stratocaster, and the two headed for the door. Wren’s eyes were glued on the guitar; its pastel color could only be seen on parts of the guitar that were not covered in stickers or duct tape. It was unique, and Wren was intrigued by it.

The two were followed out the building by John, Mike and Sara, all whom were happily chatting behind them. Wren still could not move her gaze from the Stratocaster, and Billie had taken to noticing. He grinned slightly. Wren’s deep blue eyes rolled up to look at Billie’s face. He bobbed his head, understanding. “It’s pretty great, isn’t it?” He said proudly. “My father got it for me back when I was like ten or eleven years old. It was my guitar teacher’s.”

Wren’s eyes widened. “You’ve had it for that long?” She asked him, feeling rather foolish right afterward. It would explain its state—the shiny black duct tape curved around certain places; the stickers of The Circus Tents, The Muffs, and other various band’s logos plastered all over the guitar’s body; the initials ‘BJ’ made with red electrical tape stuck to the pick guard. Billie let out a soft chuckle, amused at her sudden interest in his guitar.

“I call her Blue.” He told her with a sincere look in his eyes. Wren gave him a half smile and brought her gaze down toward the floor. “She’s my prized possession.”

Once they had finally made their way outside of Gilman’s, Billie Joe led Wren over toward Sara’s old, rustic pickup truck and placed his guitar in its open back. The temperature had decreased giving Wren a reason to put her knitted cardigan back over her already goose bump-covered skin. Cars were filing out of the area around the club, leaving the group of five to be some of the only people left. Mike and John bid their goodbyes and walked their separate ways, both with some form of equipment in hand. Sara climbed into the driver’s seat and buckled herself in, waiting. Billie turned to face Wren.

“Are you coming back to my place?” He questioned her, raising one of his bushy brown brows. Wren could feel her face burn; her cheeks flush a rosy pink color. She looked away from his stare and nodded slightly, crossing her arms over her chest. A small, gentle laugh escaped through his lips.

“Alright, cool.” He said to her, holding open the passenger seat door. “After you.” He told her politely. The color in Wren’s face deepened as she climbed inside, and scooted over to sit beside Sara. She felt like she had not seen Sara in a long time, even though it had only been a couple days. Her shoulder length hair still held its natural, light auburn wave and her stone pale skin still showed no signs of a tan. She had on a pair of baggy, destroyed jeans and a black scoop neck tee shirt with a picture of the Ramones imprinted on it. Her dark brown eyes were lined with thick black eye liner, her thin lips coated with clear lip gloss and her typical ‘I-don’t-care’ attitude shone through her face. Wren flashed her a bright smile as Billie Joe fastened his seatbelt.

The ride back to Rodeo did not seem to take as long as Wren had remembered; Billie and Wren were soon waving goodbye to Sara and walking silently up his front porch. Billie fumbled through his pants pockets until he retrieved his house key. He slid the piece of metal through the lock and twisted the brass door handle, allowing the two entry.

Wren almost felt comfortable when stepping into Billie’s house for a second time. She followed behind him up the large wooden staircase, a feeling of familiarity passing through her. They reached the landing and came to a door that Wren had never gotten the chance to enter during her last visit. She had been curious to see what Billie’s room would look like and nervous at the same time.

When she walked inside, she was immediately engulfed in a stuffy scent of boy mixed with whatever cheap cologne he used and marijuana. His walls were a yellowish cream color, the floors a medium toned hardwood. An unmade single bed lay in the corner by a window covered in plaid flannel sheets and pillows and a navy blue comforter. A dresser sat across from the bed, and beside it, a guitar stand. The room was not a complete disaster area, but it was far from organized. Billie Joe walked over toward the guitar stand and placed his Stratocaster on it, fastening it in. He then turned back to Wren.

“So,” He began. “What’s up?” he started to slowly walk backwards, until he collapsed onto his bed. He perked his curly topped head up so that he could see Wren, and then patted the space beside him playfully. Wren brought a hand to her mouth and giggled softly before slowly making her way over to him. She sat down beside him and smiled giddily before speaking.

“I don’t know. Billie, I just—,” She broke off, unsure of what to say next. Her smile gradually faded until she was staring down at her lap. She was not sure how to put her feelings into words—or if she really wanted to anymore.

She felt a hand slip around her waist. Her eyes slowly crept over to Billie, who was still lying down on his back. The corners over her lips rose slightly and Billie tilted his head, his eyes full of earnestness.

“Mike told me he had picked you up.” Billie said, his tone gentle, caring. “What were you doing, walking that far out? I thought you were going home?” Wren let out a deep, audible sigh and stared intently into his vivid hazel greens. She knew there was no way out of telling him about Charlie. She nervously bit her lip and closed her eyes.

“I did go home.” She took another deep breath and flung her eyelids open once more. “And I am never going back. Look—,” She stuck out her wrist. Little red splotches were visible through her fair complexion. She could not stand to look at Billie Joe as the words spilt out through her lips—the pained look on his face was almost too unbearable.

“He didn’t...”Billie’s voice trailed off, hints of anger dripping through each word. “Wren, what happened?” He asked sternly. Wren’s eyes were beginning to well with tears, her cheeks flushing. An icy chill slithered down her spine.

“He just grabbed me. It was not anything like the first time...” She started. “His grip is something fierce.” Droplets were now uncontrollably pouring over her scarlet cheeks and down to her chin. She could not seem to talk about Charlie without breaking down, and this made her feel utterly pathetic.

Billie Joe sat up and began caressing her back soothingly, a look of envy and anger on his face. He stared attentively at the wall across from them, not saying a word. Without thinking, Wren slowly leaned into Billie and placed her head on his shoulder, burying her face into the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent slowly. He pulled her closer to him, snaking his arms around her waist. Wren could not help but son even harder, his messy curls sticking to her tears as they rolled out of her sapphire eyes.

“Shh...”He cooed soothingly in attempt to calm her down. “It’ll be alright. Everything will be okay. You can stay here for as long as you need to. Longer than you--,” Wren’s head perked up.

“No, Billie,” She began to protest; “I can’t just barge into your life and invade your house. I mean, what would your parents think of all of this?” Wren was speaking so fast that she did not have time to think about the words escaping from her mouth. Billie Joe shook his head in objection.

“First of all, you’re not invading, by any means.” He started, staring intently into her eyes. “And second, my mother and I are the only two living here. She will not mind.” Wren nodded in defeat, yet now her head was circling with hundreds of questions. She attempted a tiny smile, trying to brighten the look of her damp and puffy face.

“What about your father?” She asked him, still snivelling. “Are your parents divorced or something?” Billie immediately looked down at his lap, he grip on her waist loosening slightly. He shook his head, his mop of dishevelled curls displacing themselves.

“Nah, he passed a while back.” He answered her in a softer tone. “Had oesophageal cancer. Nothing we could do.” He let out a deep sigh and threw himself back down on his bed, pulling Wren down with him. He drew her closer to him until she was pressed up against his chest. Wren figured the subject was touchy, and mentally vowed not to bring it up again unless absolutely necessary.

And then, another thought crossed her mind. What on earth were they doing, laying down together, so close to each other? It was not to say that Wren did not like it; in fact, she did not want to leave his grasp. She figured that now would be as good as any to tell him what she had been holding back on for a little while now.

Butterflies started to fill the inside of her stomach, tickling its edges and giving her a feeling of uneasiness. A lump began growing steadily in her throat and her breathing picked up, her heart pounding like a hammer on cloth. She was lost for words and was afraid of what his reaction would be.

“Billie Joe...I...,” She set off, bringing her gaze gradually up toward his. The two stared at each other for what seemed like ages before Wren even uttered another word. “I...I...I d-don’t know...,” She stuttered shyly. She brought her eyes back down so that they were staring at his chest, and Wren could feel Billie’s hands tightening their clasp around her hips. He squeezed her closely, enveloping her in an embrace.

“I know.” He said quietly, almost inaudibly, sending a chill creeping down Wren’s spine. Her heartbeat picked up, pounding faster and faster, as though it would jump out of her chest at any given moment. She felt Billie’s fingers intertwine through her locks of straight chestnut hair, and one of his feet relaxingly stroke her leg. Instinctively, Wren looked back up, catching his eye once more. She bit her lip nervously, the pain from hours previous sending a stinging sensation ringing throughout her mouth. She hesitated, but slowly brought her once folded arms up and threw them playfully around his neck. A smile sprouted on Billie’s lips.

Every sense seemed to get pushed into overdrive as Billie Joe titled and lowered his head downward, getting closer and closer to Wren’s. She could feel his warm breath against her skin, his thick eyelashes tickling her cheeks gently. He paused for a moment as his lips brushed hers before pressing them together, kissing her delicately. Wren’s insides melted, her knees weakened.

The kiss had only lasted a moment, yet it had felt like so much longer to Wren. He pulled back only far enough to stare into her blue eyes and smile. He chuckled softly.

“I know.”