Long Road to Ruin

For the next few days I sat contently in Jay’s small, pathetic excuse for an apartment, smoking as much as my vulnerable system could handle at one time. For the most part, the only sound was the constant humming of the television, save for a handful of relatively interesting conversations between he and I.

“Why are you even here, man?” he asked, not long after I had first settled in. “Where’s the rest of the band? Family?” His own current drug use had heightened his desire for conversation and I listened as he babbled on and on like an excited child. I, however, had no idea where to begin. I didn’t particularly like the idea of revealing that my band had been broken to pieces and my family had abandoned me.

Hm....Didn't you abandon them?

“Gone,” was my simple, unfeeling reply.

He went on about Green Day in a tone of sorrow, mourning almost, for nearly an hour before I finally stopped him. All that I could offer in the way of condolences was the idea that what’s meant to be will find its way, and that if he really cared about my band that much he’d let me be and let fate take hold of the situation. Accept it. I mean, that’s all that I could do. This was enough to sober him up a bit, and he didn’t say another word about it.



Life had miraculously returned to me with the inhaling of the toxic smoke. The stress-fueled aches and pains that had begun to take a toll on my body were slowly melting away, akin to the changing of the seasons. I felt refreshed. Maybe even happy. Who knows? It was apparent that relying on my ever-changing emotions was unwise. All I could do was handle them as they were thrown at me, and enjoy them while they lasted.

The more time that I spent with Jay, the more I realized that he had become an effective outlet for all of my pain. I had learned that he was twenty five, no more than a child compared to my thirty-seven year old self, but somehow he had the uncanny capability of understanding what I was feeling. I didn’t even have to say a word of explanation. We sat for hours smoking, playing cards, watching mindless television shows and making small talk. This was enough to substantially entertain our idle brains for a while, but soon enough, the teenage-like boredom that had been such a large part of our young lives set in.

“Want me to show you around the neighborhood?” he asked devilishly, a gleam of mischievousness dancing in his eye.

At first, I was nothing but hesitant. Which I think is understandable. This man was not only a stranger, but also fourteen years my junior and that fact alone set off warning sirens in my head. Besides, I wasn’t even sure if the lust for adventure that had once dominated my personality still lingered.

“Aren’t I in enough trouble already?” I muttered aloud, to no one in particular.

“Who said anything about trouble?” he replied as he absentmindedly tugged on his eyebrow ring. “It’s only some fresh air.” I had to admit that fresh air didn’t sound like a bad idea after being isolated in that musty apartment for so long. The stench of dust and mold had embedded itself in my nostrils and I cringed at the reminder.

I agreed to go. Chicago was now my new home, as threatening as a hurricane but as inviting as a soft rainstorm, all wrapped up into one large variety of commercial buildings. If it was the last thing I did, I would learn to blend in here. I was ready to become separated from my identity. Ready to become one with the city of the damned.

Upon stepping outside, it became painfully evident that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. It took a few moments for my vision to snap back into focus. I blinked several times as the bright circles of excess light left my eyes.

It was a beautiful day to be out and about in the city. Those same familiar skyscrapers towered up above the patch of sidewalk on which I was standing, shimmering against the pale blue backdrop. The usually fierce wind had died down to a soft, whispering breeze. In that moment, as that breeze ruffled my ebony bangs, I felt a pang of excitement. This was almost like a much-needed vacation; a vacation that I hadn’t been fortunate enough to have in twenty years.

Jay began to walk rather energetically down the street, a smile plastered onto his young face and his heavily tattooed arms swinging back and forth. He had neglected to tell me where we were going or why but I followed him nonetheless. Hell, he could be leading me straight into some kind of trap and I’d still follow. It was kind of nice to just walk for a while with a heart full of new found peace and a mind plagued with absolutely nothing, even though the lack thereof was probably an illusion of my own desperate creation.

This was the game of life and I had already rolled the dice; therefore, I might as well just go with the flow and accept where that gamble was taking me.

Jay and I had walked several blocks before a sudden, sharp sound interrupted both our silence and the usual sounds of the city.

My phone.

It rang ominously from within the left pocket of my jeans and I got the urge to pretend that it wasn’t mine, to ignore the fact that someone from my old life was calling.

“You gonna answer that or what?” he asked, obviously annoyed by the continuous ringing. It would be different if I had a cool ringtone. A song, maybe. But not the classic alarm clock noise. That noise is universally hated for a reason. I sighed.

“Hello?” I said, without even bothering to take a glance at the caller I.D.

“Hi,” a glum voice replied. A young voice.

My son’s voice.

“Joey!” I exclaimed, shocked. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he replied sarcastically, “My father is a destitute runaway and my mother is confined to her bed for most of the day, every day, but everything is just freaking grand.”

“Joey,” I started, but was stopped mid-sentence.

“You ruined everything, you know that?” he spat. “All I’ve ever wanted was a normal life. A life where people get to know me for me and not because I’m Billie Joe Armstrong’s son. People expect me to automatically be some kind of guitar god. Girls only want to date me because I look like you. Do you know how that feels?”

I was speechless.

“I learned to deal with that after a while, but then you betrayed your own wife. You destroyed her, and you made my life even worse. How can you sleep at night?”

At this point, I was so unspeakably angry. I could feel my blood boiling and shooting through my veins, causing an extreme adrenaline rush. My knuckles tightened as I clenched my hands into fists. My body was hot. My mind was racing. I was still the parent, and I was sure as hell not going to allow my own son to speak to me like this.

“Joseph Marciano-“ I started.

“Fuck you,” he snarled.

He hung up.