Forgetmenots and Second Thoughts

A variety of rocks stumbled between Wren’s battered grey Chuck Taylors as she angrily stomped down the only road that had become familiar to her. It was becoming late in the day, and the warmer air had slightly dropped in temperature, though it was not enough for Wren to complain about. The sky had stayed a brilliant cerulean blue all day, and little tufts of plush white cloud floated gently with the breeze overhead. It would have been a day that Wren would have typically enjoyed, but because of the circumstances, she did not. In fact, she despised every bit of it.

She had her mind set on where she was going finally—the only other place she knew other than her own home. However, unlike the house she was unwillingly forced to move into and pretended to like, she actually enjoyed her visits to Christie Road. Whenever she was there alone that is, and unfortunately, this did not seem to be a lot.

Wren stuffed her hands into the side pockets of her tattered jeans and stared at the ground as she walked. The calm winds blew her long chestnut hair in all directions, the natural curl it held becoming frizzy and out of control. Wren absolutely loathed when her hair did such a thing. It was just another reason to stay angry at everything.

She soon came to the recognizable hills that could be seen from afar. The feeling this place gave her, it was almost too much to describe. It felt like home, somewhere to go when she really needed a reality check, somewhere to sit and think while the trains came rolling through. It immediately lifted her mood.

The street sign soon came into view and Wren became ecstatic to see that the tracks were vacant; she was the only one around. She settled herself against the wall of the chain link fence that surrounded the area and put her head against the metal, staring up at the sky. She watched as birds flew in and out of the clouds freely, playfully. She couldn’t help but inch the corners of her pale lips upward, easing them into a small smile. It always surprised Wren how such small things could make her day a bit brighter.

Everything in her life seemed to be going downhill, and she did not understand what she did to deserve everything that had happened in the past little while. The torture she had endured was almost too frightening to think about, the feelings she had felt that almost brought her into manic depression.

Then there were the people she had met that had no sooner helped her through everything, even having knowing them only a little less than a month.

There was Sara and Mike and John, three people who were nothing but nice to her from the moment she had met them. Even John, with his deep brown eyes and slick brown hair did not do anything deliberately to her that he thought would hurt her feelings. He was generally a nice guy, from what she had seen thus far. And Sara, the first person to ever ask her hangout since her pre-K play dates with her neighbours back in Delaware. The good old days when glue was considered food and work was stacking multicoloured building blocks as high as possible without letting them fall over. Everything was so much less complicated. At such an age you did not feel heartbreak.

And then there was Billie Joe Armstrong, the only one who had ever wanted to get to know her or offer her a shoulder to lean on or a chest to cry into. He helped her and gave her a place to stay when she needed it, when she could not go home. He was the only one who knew who Wren truly was on the inside, and he knew what had gone on only weeks earlier with the creep she was forced to live with and be civil to: Charlie. Even the thought of his name made her blood boil and her stomach churn.

Billie Joe was genuinely nice her, and she had walked away from him after everything he had done for her. Wren coward, throwing her face into the palms of her hands. She shook her head, her eyes welling up and clouding over with tears, before they split over onto her porcelain cheeks. She could not believe the mess she had made.

“Why?” Wren said aloud to herself, questioning everything. All she wanted was to understand.

He cared about her—it was obvious. Wren felt like she was throwing everything that was beginning to sprout in the garbage.

But really, what was going on? Wren rubbed her temples as she thought about it. There was no questioning the fact that she thought he was attractive. His piercing hazel green eyes, lined with a thick set of eyelashes were the most vivid, beautiful feature on his face. His reddish brown curls that always seemed to be messy and a misplaced mop on his head complimented the “I don’t care” aspect of his personality. His baby face, his perfect figure...everything about his appearance made her want to see him again.

It was then that Wren went into denial. She shook the thought from her head, attempting to convince herself that what she was thinking was not true, and was to be pushed to the very back of her head immediately. Yet, a little voice piped up inside her mind, and forced her to continue thinking about it.

She did not want to admit it. She did not want to admit that she was beginning to develop feelings for Billie Joe Armstrong. But she was.

Wren took a deep breath in and looked around. She hated feeling so confused. She wanted to see him more than anything at that moment, yet she still felt so much detestation for him for treating her like the child she was trying to prove she wasn’t. She hated the guilt she was feeling, and knew she had to talk to Billie as soon as she could.

But she left him looking like a pathetic loser standing at his front door, watching her with a look of utter confusion plastered on his face as she stormed away from him, ignoring his pleas. Would he even want to speak to her again after that? After everything he had given her, everything she had shot down and jumped on. But she had to try.

It was incredible how much her mood had lifted. She was not one hundred percent happy, but she knew what she had to do and that made her exceptionally delighted. She pushed herself up off of the ground with one hand and brushed away any bits of grass from her clothing with the other. She steadied herself and began retracing her steps back down the road she had come from. The green verdant hills and the metal tracks faded in the distance as she walked, her head held higher than it had been for days. She felt confident, rejuvenated.

The air started to become cooler once again as hours passed and it got later. Wren’s exposed skin soon covered itself with tiny goose bumps and her arm hairs stood straight up. She dragged her grey converse against the pavement below her as she sluggishly walked; trying to buy herself time while she thought of exactly what she was going to say to Billie when she saw him. She was not ready for this confrontation, but she knew that if she did not do it now, it would not get done. Lord only knew it needed to be done.

She came across her own house a little while after and wondered whether or not she should change out of her two-day old clothing. She did not want to go into the house and come face-to-face with Charlie again. She could deal with her mother; it was something she had perfected as a young child. But Charlie had already taken advantage of her once, and she was frightened of whatever else it was that he was capable of.

Wren decided to go for it; she would be in and out in an instant. She walked down the cold, concrete pathway of the driveway that was lined with trimmed hedges that were most likely infested with spiders and tiny birds, and she began to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She eased in closer to the front door, and once there, she creaked it open and stepped inside quietly. She did not bother to take her Chucks off the way she normally would, but instead walked down the hallway as fast and as swiftly as she could. She made it to the stairs and walked down to her bedroom, somewhere she had not been for what seemed like ages.

She closed and locked the door behind her and went straight for her wooden bureaux and pulled out one of the drawers, attempting to find something fast to slip on. She grabbed a black v-neck short-sleeved tee shirt and a pair of light washed skinny jeans that were worn in both of the knees, exposing them. She pulled out a final drawer, collecting a knit cardigan. She threw it around her shoulders, snatched her purse and left the room silently. She tiptoed back down the hallway, hoping to be as successful as she had been the first time around, but was out of luck when she noticed Charlie sitting in his ottoman, staring her down.

“Look who came back.” He said in a sarcastic tone, the words dripping in ice. Wren ignored him and continued to walk down the hall. She then heard footsteps creeping closer along the hardwood floors. Charlie appeared behind her, wearing another one of his plaid collared shirts and a pair of jeans that looked to be too large on his frail body. Wren did not turn around, but continued to the door.

Wren was almost home-free when she felt Charlie grab her by the wrist forcefully, and before she could scream, he threw a hand over her mouth. “She wouldn’t be able to hear you anyway,” He said in a fearsome tone, “She’s upstairs taking a bath, listening to her music, relaxing. I won’t let you disturb her.”

Wren squirmed, trying to break free from his tightening grasp. He let go of her wrist, only to yank powerfully downward on her hair. Her eyes began to water in pain and she tried to yelp, but couldn’t.

“You will learn to be a nice girl.” He spat in her ear. Wren was terrified, unsure of how she was to escape this situation. He wrenched her head down harder while tears poured down her cheeks. “Silly little baby. Can’t even handle a little pain.” Wren was beginning to have a hard time breathing and feared passing out. She mentally counted to three and lifted her right leg and stomped down on Charlie’s foot with as much force as she could. He jumped backwards, releasing her hair. She then balled her fists and threw her elbow into his gut. He wheezed and took his hand off of her mouth. Wren heaved in a deep breath and bolted for the door. She twisted the handle and flew outside as fast as she could.

Wren ran down the driveway and down the street, occasionally looking back to make sure that he was not following her. Once the house was completely out of her site, she slowed her pace and caught her breath. She could not go back. That was completely out of the question.

++

Wren rubbed the back of her head with one of her hands. She had developed a massive migraine in a matter of a few minutes after leaving. She tried her best to retrace her steps and find Billie Joe’s house, but it was proving harder than she thought it would be. The day light was dimming, and it was becoming harder to see three feet in front of her.

She could not believe what had happened to her. She did not think that something like that would happen, that Charlie would be so cruel. She thought he was past that, that maybe Wren had already given him what he needed. She could not help but wonder what he was planning to do with her if she had not escaped.

Wren was starting to become exhausted and hungry and was about to give up her search when a pair of headlights gleamed in the distance. The car had a coat of white enamel plastered over it that was chipped and rusted, making it look old and worn out. It slowed, making Wren nervous. Yet, when it pulled up beside her and the driver rolled down their window, she couldn’t have been any happier.

“Wren? What’s going on?” A familiar face asked her. Mike’s long blonde hair was messy, his sky blue eyes full of concern. Wren was not sure what to tell him.

“I was just walking up to Billie’s place.” She said casually. Mike’s lips curled downward into a slight frown, his eyebrows squishing together confusedly.

“Well to start, you’re going the wrong way.” He told her, with a slight chuckle. “You probably missed the turn back a few miles. And he’s not even home right now, as far as I know.” Wren stared at him in disbelief.

“What?” She said, shocked.

“Yeah. He should already be at Gilman’s. We’re playing tonight.” Mike answered her. Wren nodded her head, understanding. She sighed, frustrated at the fact that she’d walked so far for nothing. “I can take you with me. I have some room in the front.” He offered, and Wren gleefully accepted. A feeling of excitement rushed through her system. She had yet to hear them play. Wren hopped in the passenger seat and strapped on her seatbelt.

To Wren’s delight, Mike did not ask her why she was walking to Billie’s in the first place. He had not asked her why her hair was a complete rat’s nest or why her wrist was reddening. It settled her stomach, knowing she wouldn’t have to lie to him.

The two pulled into Berkley after the half-hour drive that contained mostly awkward silence. She had never really talked to Mike. He was always just ‘there’ in the background, sitting quietly and not saying much at all. In truth, this was the very first time she had actually spoken to him face-to-face. She was surprised he even remembered her name.

The deadbeat car swerved and parked along a sidewalk right beside the old warehouse that was now Gilman’s. Wren and Mike both got out of the car, Mike carefully carrying his bass in one hand and his tiny amplifier in the other. Wren held the door open for him, and they both walked inside.

The sound of distorted instruments and shouted lyrics filled their ears when they walked inside. Wren followed Mike to where, she supposed, he was supposed to be, and kept a close eye out for Billie Joe. Teenagers of all ages and all hair colors-- ranging from black to acid green-- jumped and danced and sang around her. Mike continued to lead her to the front of the building, occasionally glancing behind her to make sure she was still close by. Wren’s eyes were looking in every direction she could, taking in the club from all angles. She admired the black graphitized walls.

The band on stage jumped into their final song, and Wren had a feeling that she and Mike were getting closer to where he was to be. He looked back a final time and pointed to a small room in front of him.

“I have to go in there before we go onstage. You can come in with me if you want. I think Sara’s in there, actually.” He told her. Wren nodded in agreement, and he put down his equipment to open the door, which was also black and just as covered in graffiti as the walls around it were. Wren suddenly became tense; what if Billie did not want to see her? And to be honest, should she blame him?

“Mike, finally, man.” She heard a well-known voice holler from inside the room. Butterflies anxiously tickled Wren’s insides. Mike was first to enter.

“Sorry, Bill. I had to pick up a friend on the way.” Mike answered him. He looked back at Wren, who hadn’t moved since he’d opened the door, and raised his eyebrows. “You coming?” He asked her casually.

“Who are you talking to, man?” Billie Joe’s voice came from the room once more before she saw his head poke around the door frame. His green eyes were instantly glued on hers. Wren stuffed her hands into her jean’s pockets and kicked imaginary dust away with her feet. A shy smile curled on her lips.

“Hi.” She said quietly, not taking her eyes off of his. He smirked and walked out, closing the door behind him.

“Hey, you came. I didn’t know you even knew we were playing tonight.” He said to her, his voice sounding almost cheerful. Wren laughed softly and shook her head.

“I didn’t.” She responded, and took a deep breath. “Listen, Billie Joe. I think we need to talk.”