You're Beautiful to Me

“I Spy something tall and green.”
I sat up at the sound of Gloria’s words. “Holy shit, are we there?”
“Is it a tree?” Monster said brightly.
Gloria just looked at him. “No, Monster, it’s the Statue of Liberty.”
It was nine in the morning and I still wasn’t completely awake, despite the two pots of coffee I’d whored up and wolfed down. (Monster seemed fine with this—although he spent more time cradling the cans than drinking from them.) We’d alternated car games and had found that I Spy was far more fascinating than 20 Questions, but only in the sense that no one felt like such an idiot by the end. I was immediately pumped with joy when I realized we were almost there.
I hobbled over to the bus window and glanced out, clapping my hands and cheering. I grabbed Molly’s hand, her book flying across the bus and her screaming. I forced her to dance with me.
“WE’RE FINALLY PLAYING A SHOW,” I sung.
“Clayah, let me go.”
“Shut up and let me have this moment. I haven’t been able to jump around a stage for over a month.”
“You’re still not going to be able to jump around you know.”
I let her go and she flopped back on the couch. “You are such a killjoy,” I said with a disapproving headshake.
She smiled. “Thanks.”
“Not that kind of killjoy.”
“Shut up and let me have this moment,” she mimicked.
My phone buzzed over on the counter and Gloria tossed it to me.
“Drew, Drew, stop a minute, STOP.” Mark and Drew paused Rock Band.
“Why only pick on me?” Drew said.
“Because the drums are louder than Mark’s guitar.”
“Not electronically, he’d giving too much whammy and feedback to call it music.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“SHUT UP, I need to answer the phone.”
My caller ID read Mikey’s phone. I hit the button and said, “Hey Mikes.”
“Clayah, it’s Ray, I had to borrow Mikey’s phone.”
“Oh. What’s up?”
“Our bus just passed through the tunnel,” he said slowly, “…but we’ve got some bad news.”
My blood stopped flowing. “What do you mean ’bad news’?” Everyone’s heads perked up and looked at me with curiosity (spare Mollers, who was rummaging in the bunk room trying to find where her book flew).
“There’s just a tiny problem with getting our buses to Central Park.”
“And that is?”
“A mob about the size of Long Island’s entire population.”
My jaw dropped. “Wait, so what’re you saying?”
“I just talked to MTV,” Ray said, “And they’re trying to clear enough people so that our buses can get it. But it’s a real riot there, Clayah, we’re not sure we’ll even get in to play—“
“YOU BETTER BE FUCKING KIDDING,” I roared.” I swore I heard Frank in the background saying ‘told you.’
“They’re doing everything they can,” Ray said, attempting to soothe me. But I could’ve breathed fire in that moment. “There’s a shit ton of cars and everyone’s moving really slow—“
“I don’t care how damn slow they’re moving!” I boomed. “You’re in a bus for Christ’s sake, fucking plow them, I am not going to NOT play—“
“Clayah?” Mikey was on the other end of the line now. “Chill out for a sec, okay?”
“NO! Mikey, we have to play this set!”
“They’re doing everything they can,” Mikey said. “If we do play it might just be a little later.”
“’If’ we play?”
“Alright, not exactly how I intended to put it.”
“Look.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. “Try and pull over somewhere. I’m sure we’re not that far behind you.”
“Why?”
“I have a plan.”

“That is a really stupid plan.”
I frowned at Jeph. “Grow a pair, dude, and think of a better idea.”
Jeph frowned back. “We could fall and DIE. You’ve already been beaten up enough, do you really want to risk another hospital stay?”
Green Day was hopping up and down. “Shut up, Jeph,” Billie said. “This is going to be freaking awesome.”
“See?” I pointed. “Billie likes it.”
“I’m with Jeph on this one.” Gerard crossed his arms.
I sighed. “Alright. All those in favor?” I raised my hand. I was mirrored by Green Day, Rush And Ruin, Frank, Ray, Dan, and Bert.
“Those wussing out?”
Gerard, Mikey, Quinn, and Jeph raised their hands.
“We win,” I clapped.
“Are you really this desperate to play?” Quinn said.
Bert elbowed his guitarist’s ribs. “Dude, it’s Clayah. She’s already asylum worthy besides this.”
“Thank you, Bert.”
“Anytime, pumpkin.”
“Okay everybody, grab your shit.” I strode toward our bus and snapped my fingers over my head, like ordering dogs to follow my lead. But hey, it worked. Even Gerard and Mikey finally gave in.
Mostly.
“I still say this is a really dangerous idea,” Gerard whined.
“Isn’t My Chemical Romance supposed to be the most dangerous band in the world right now?” Levi grinned.
“…Shut up.”
“Uhm, guys?” I interrupted. “I hate to break this up, but we’re supposed to be playing in Central Park in less than an hour. I suggest you all haul ass so we can get this set up.”
“I still—“
“WE heard you,” everybody yelled. Gerard crossed his arms again.

We all lay quietly and tried not to make any noise. The only things visible to anyone else were drum kits and amps. We texted back and forth to each other—nothing important, but I got about fifty texts collectively from Green Day about how excited they were.
And then, my phone buzzed. Our bus driver:
in times square now!
I slid my phone closed. “Guys? I whispered to my band. “It’s show time.”
They all whipped out their phones and texted everyone else. Except Drew, who rolled over and peeked through the bars surrounding the edge.
“Holy shit!” she whispered. “There are kids freaking EVERYWHERE.”
“Good,” I said back. “Let’s be sure not to disappoint.”
I heard mic feedback and Bert’s voice come out and echo through the buildings. “Ladies and gentleman,” he said in his talk show host voice, “We present… one big happy family.”
All of us jumped up. The guys had their guitars and basses lying with them. Singers had mics. Drummers dashed to their sets.
Kids on the street screamed so loud I swore my eardrums would burst. I guess they were pretty amazed at the sight of us.
That is, all four bands about to do a set to New York City from the roofs of their buses.
I swayed a little when I stood. We weren’t moving very fast. In fact, we were funeral procession slow. The height made me nervous, but when I heard Ray give a lead in, my heart glowed. This of course had to be the first song. So I strolled up to the mic and said:
“Look alive, sunshine.”
The kids screamed again, and I desperately wanted to scream with them, but instead:
“One-oh-nine in the sky but the pigs won’t quit. You’re here with us, from the roof of our bus. We’ll be your surgeons, your proctors, your helicopters. Pumpin’ out the slaughter-matic sound to keep you live. A system failure for the masses—“
I cupped my hand around my ear to hear the kids scream back “ANTI-MATTER FOR THE MASTER PLAN!”
“Louder than God’s revolver and twice as shiny. This one’s for ALL you rock n’ rollers, all you crash queens and motor babies.”
Bert screamed into his mic, “LISTEN UP!”
I can’t imagine how cool My Chemical Romance must have felt when all of Times Square reverberated, “The future is bulletproof! The aftermath is secondary. It’s time to do it now and do it loud!”
Gerard couldn’t resist his scratchy screaming of, “Killyjoys: MAKE SOME NOISE!!”
The crowd in the streets joined in with the “Na Na Na”s, Gerard belting his heart out, Bert and Billie and I harmonizing and backing when needed.
All in all, it was pretty much the coolest moment ever.
I take that back.
American Idiot. Listening. You And Me Is Only Me. Headfirst For Halos. 21 Guns. Blind Side. Liar Liar (Burn In Hell). Mechanics. Teenagers. Vampire Money. King For A Day. What Makes No Sense To Me Is The Source. The Ghost Of You. Basket Case. We were out there for hours.
Green Day’s finale piece was St. Jimmy.
The Used’s finale piece was Blood On My Hands.
My Chemical Romance’s finale piece was Welcome To The Black Parade (shocking, because our bus line-up didn’t make us look like a parade at all).
When Rush And Ruin wanted to pick a song to play as our finale, we absolutely refused to play Mechanics again. We weren’t about to let our band be a one-hit wonder. Plus, we were making music history on the top of tour buses driving through the New York City streets, a mass of kids trailing our buses and singing along. Police showed up; crowd control, although I knew none of us would get hurt because there was no way to get on top of the bus except for on the inside emergency exit.
Therefore, R&R chose our title track.

We all crashed in a hotel room that night. Rush And Ruin didn’t even give a fuck. We ordered a huge suite in a holiday in, dragging our bus cots up in the elevators and confusing the hell out of all the other guests. We were exhausted and still pumped with adrenaline.
At one point I rolled over in bed to face Gerard on my left.
“So big brother,” I said smugly, “Still think it was a stupid idea?”
Gerard was half dead, washable marker smeared across his neck so his “Bandit” message was hardly legible. He laughed weakly and pushed my shoulder. He either pushed harder than intended or didn’t realize how flimsy I was at this point. The push jolted me to roll onto Mikey behind me, sending us both tumbling off the bed.
“AHH!” Mike screamed. “Fucking-A, man! Mikey why are you so bony?” He pulled his pillow out from under his head and tried to hit Mikey. He hit me. So I had to get revenge.
I felt so terrible for Mollers and Gloria when they walked into the hotel room, with plastic drugstore bags filled with junk food, to find four bands engaged in an epic pillow fight/wrestling match/who-can-cuss-out-the-stupidest-insults/the-hotel-can-sue-us-for-all-we’re-worth showdown.
“GUYS, GUYS!” Gloria tried to yell over us. “Do you realize how loud you are?” We ignored her. She threw her plastic bag into Molly’s arm and pushed her way through the war, jumping up on one of the beds and yelling for us to
“SHUT. THE FUCK. UP.”
We all froze and looked at her. She hid satisfaction under irritation.
“You guys were so LOUD,” she said. “The hotel will kill us if you don’t tone it down.”
“Hey Gloria, are you standing close to the edge?”
“Huh?”
The whole room winced at Tre’s joke as Gloria turned slowly around to see Tre behind her, armed with a pillow. Her eyes went wide. Tre slammed the pillow across her body and she flew off the bed, hitting the floor hard. Everyone gave war cries and took Gloria’s fall as a cue to resume the fight.
To me Gloria looked like she’d had the wind knocked out of her, and that worried me. I crawled across the floor (I’d gotten a brutal hit from Quinn and had no space to stand, so staying down was safer) to her.
“Are you okay?” I said, leaning over her.
Her eyes were wide and I was afraid she’d be paralyzed or something. Until she flew up and tackled me.

Everyone was scattered across the hotel floor and two of the three beds. They were all so worn out that if you walked in it could’ve been the seen of a mass murder; so asleep they seemed dead. The only people still awake were me, Mikey, and Gerard.
We stretched out on the last bed, facing the TV, the volume low so as not to wake the others. We passed a bag of chips and Monster drinks back and forth between each other.
“Look!” Gerard whispered. “It’s even on CNN!”
We’d been channel surfing for hours, not entirely sure why we hadn’t fallen asleep; our best guess was all the coffee we’d pumped into our systems. Drinking Monster probably didn’t help that. And on every news channel we found on hotel cable, the show in Times Square was the headline. They were calling it, “the rebirth of real rock n’ roll,” “the biggest New York riot since Woodstock,” and my personal favorite, “the day Rush And Ruin conquered the world.”
Tell me that is not the coolest thing you’ve ever heard.
Indeed, it was on CNN. The screen gave clips of the chaos caught on film, switching between shots of our bands. A newswoman gave a voice over.
“Police were called into Times Square today for riot control during the impromptu procession,” she said, “although it seemed no one in the trailing crowd were trying to harm each other or the other musicians.”
“Well no shit, we have the best fans in the world.” Mikey popped a chip into his mouth. “They don’t get violent. Most of the time.”
“Sources say the idea for the show was that of fourteen year old Clayah Shier, lead singer of the teenage punk band, Rush And Ruin,” the newscaster went on. “They’re tour mates, Green Day, are often called the biggest band in the world since The Beatles. But it seems Rush And Ruin have stolen that title, and Clayah Shier is the biggest face in the world.”
“WHAT?!” Oh, I was pissed.
Gerard turned the TV on mute and looked at me. “What’s wrong?”
I gestured furiously to the TV. “How can they ever say that? It’s bullshit!”
“I think a lot of musicians would love to hear that,” Mikey said, question implicated.
“But it isn’t true,” I insisted. “Rush And Ruin isn’t just me. It’s Mark and Levi and Drew and Monster—I wouldn’t be anything without them. Rush And Ruin wouldn’t exist. The press has no right to go off saying that I’m ‘the face’ just because I’m the lead singer. Their faces were on camera just as much as mine. It’s not fair and it’s not true.”
Gerard and Mikey stared at me in shock. “Well,” Gerard said, “that’s pretty far beyond your years, Clayah.”
I shrugged. “I don’t deserve all the credit. I’m nothing without them.”
Mikey sat up and hugged me. “You are probably the coolest kid in the world.”
I grinned and hugged my brother back.

I was still brooding hours after Mikey and Clayah had finally fallen asleep, they’re heads leaned onto one another’s. Fourteen years apart and suddenly I was the rejected one.
I rose slowly and used the streetlights shining through the curtains to see where everyone was and not steps on them. I grabbed my cigarettes, my Party Poison jacket, and my iPod from the table. I slid the patio door open quietly and squeezed through the smallest space I could so as not to blast my sleeping friends with the frozen air. I skulked off into the night to practically pout.
That was mature.
Once I shut the door behind me I hated being a part of the freeze. It sunk into my bones in the five seconds it took me to put my jacket on. I sat on one of the chairs and lit up a Marlboro. New York is the city that never sleeps—I’d just joined the masses.
I flipped through my music library multiple times but couldn’t find anything that would distract or comfort me. (I almost settled on a Rush And Ruin song before realizing it would be completely ass backwards.) I shoved my iPod in my pocket.
I took a long drag of my cigarette in the blind hope that it would calm me. It didn’t. I had admitted to myself at this point that I was jealous. Very jealous.
I understood Clayah and Mikey had a bond I would never know. I’d thought Clayah and I had one too. But it would never be the same. And I’d completely fucked it up regardless. I should’ve told her that night Mikey and I stayed with her on the bus. Then I would be the favored one.
Then again, if I hadn’t attacked Ryan in the first place she wouldn’t have had those dreams.
That’s what I would take back: the violence. Going at Ryan and Barnabus. Clayah was afraid of me, like I was some kind of animal.
Maybe I was.
There were so may times I didn’t want to play shows, so many nights I didn’t want to sleep—I just wanted to sit with Clayah and talk to her for hours on end, know every thought that ran through her mind. Mikey was right, Clayah was the coolest kid in the world. And she was far beyond her years.
Hey, my compliment had been a good one, too.
I sat out on the patio and chain smoked until the sun began to rise over the city. I wallowed in self-pity and anger and envy. I dwelled on all the painful thoughts until my brain pumped battery acid. Then I thought about it some more.

My Shallow Teenage Woes
(Shier/Bryant/Demia/Pettington/Austin)

Wail your songs of pain and burning despair
You’re vomiting black into your dyed and gelled hair
Name dropping pharmaceuticals and listing off some chemicals,
As if it will get you somewhere
Medical tape is surrounding your wounds
Perspiration frosting your skin in little white rooms
The couches so unpleasant and it reeks of disinfectant,
Like soap can kill off mental disease
But like you said there’s nothing WRONG WITH ME, and

Why
Do
These
Tragedies
Come
Crawling out
When
We
Are
Burning the debt of the prices we’ve paid?!

Spare me your shallow teenage woes
See if I give a damn when you’re slicing your throat
And ties that bind you to reality.

He’s hanging on the edge and dying to let go
She reaches so far to grasp him that she’s breaking her toes
Locked up in the bathroom with a snubbed cigarette
Only brand name booze you know, the only taste you’ll get,
Look at all the fucks I give BITCH

Why
Do
These
Tragedies
Come
Crawling out
When
We
Are
Burning the debt of the prices we’ve paid?!

Spare me your shallow teenage woes
See if I give a damn when you’re slicing your throat
And ties that bind you to reality
Point your toes inward, twist your ankles, kid
Your Chuck Taylors and dark nails will count you in
Who gives a damn about a suicide note
Composed of feigned shallow teenage woes
It burns my ears and it’s pissing me…
Off.

Now I’m not saying
That all honesty is dead
(Not Biblical truth)
However claiming that
Bullshit lies us in
(The bastard kids)
I only strike the match
When it strays out of control
And for the sake of

EVERYONE TO LISTEN TO MY SHALLOW TEENAGE WOES!

Spare me your shallow teenage woes
See if I give a damn when you’re slicing your throat
And ties that bind you to reality
Point your toes inward, twist your ankles, kid
Your Chuck Taylors and dark nails will count you in
Who gives a damn about a suicide note
Composed of feigned shallow teenage woes
It burns my ears and it’s pissing me…
Off
(Do you really think I care about you’re problems?)
It’s pissing me…
Off
(Keep the drama for the stage, not your fucking Facebook page!)
It’s pissing me…
OFF
(Shut up, it’s my turn)
It’s pissing me..
OFF
(Because I want, just what everyone wants, for--)

EVERYONE TO LISTEN TO MY SHALLOW TEENAGE WOES!

(Alright, I’m quiet now.)