I Carry the Weight of the World on My Shoulders
Chapter two.
Billie Joe heard scratching at his door, followed by Mike’s voice.
“Hey Bill. You up yet?” The bassist asked his best friend through the closed door.
“Yeah.. um… I’ll be out in a sec...” he replied. It was still early, but Billie Joe had been awake for hours. Normally he didn’t wake up before 10am, but this morning was different. He had barely gotten any sleep the night before, tossing and turning, thinking about his appointment with social services. About his daughter. His daughter, the one he never knew about.
So many questions ran through his mind, questions he did not have the answers to. Questions he hoped would be answered today. He sat up from the battered chair beside his bed, already fully dressed in the cleanest clothes he owned, and made his way to the door.
Mike was standing in the kitchen, and handed Billie Joe a cup of coffee, even though he was already wide awake and didn’t need it. The kitchen was tidier, Billie Joe also noticed. The stacks of dirty plates had been washed, and the blinds were open.
“What’s this in aid of?” Billie Joe asked.
“If your daughter’s gonna be moving in, they might want to inspect the place. See that it’s fit to live in.” Mike said.
“Move in?”
“Yeah… that’s what I’d image. Why else would they call you now, after all these years?”
"But wouldn't she be living with Grace...?" the guitarist stated.
"You never know, Bill. Something might have happened..." his friend replied.
Billie Joe looked down at the floor. The thought of something happening to Grace, his Grace, broke his heart. She was the only woman he ever loved, and even though she had moved away, he never stopped thinking about her. Their separation was only temporary, they had said at the time. Time had passed, but it was never too late. They would be together in the end.
“Yeah. I suppose.” Billie shrugged it off. “Can you give me a lift into town? I really can’t be bothered walking.”
“I was going to go see Jason at work, then pick up those magazines for Tré. I suppose it isn’t too far out of my way.”
“Thanks, man.” Billie Joe said, putting his cup in the sink while Mike grabbed his keys.
* * *
The waiting room was standard, really. Billie went to the desk, stated his name, and was asked to take a seat. The walls were covered in posters, many brightly colored bearing slogans such as “Treats don’t need to come from packets. Feed your children fruit!”. The tables were piled up with old fashion magazines, and babysitting pamphlets. But what Billie found most interesting was the other people in the room.
To his left sat a girl; barely looking anything over sixteen, with a shirt stretched over her pregnant belly, and a toddler with her, who she was trying to entertain. On the other side of the room sat a haggard looking woman, trying to talk to her son, but he was ignoring her, picking at the thread on his jeans. Next to them was a youngish couple, both looking like the living dead and with lots of piercings.
A woman with a clipboard followed an elderly couple and their young grandson out, and opened the door for them. She wore a smart business suit, but had ladders in her stockings, and jagged metalwork hanging from each ear.
“Mr Armstrong?” She said looking up from her clipboard as Billie Joe stood up. “If you would follow me please.”
Billie Joe followed her along a corridor to her office, where he took a seat. He hadn’t known what to expect, and was surprised to find a mess, paperwork everywhere and a basket of toys scattered across the floor. The same colorful posters made on the walls hurt the guitarist’s eyes.
“So, Mr Armstrong. I’m Madison Thompson, Oakland Social Services.” They shook hands before she sat down and opened a file on your desk.
“How are things between you and Grace Marriott, Mr Armstrong?” she asked.
“Please, call me Billie Joe,” the man replied. “She moved away about 8 years ago, to be with her family in Florida. I haven’t been in contact with her since.”
“Did you know that she was pregnant when she moved away?”
“No. She couldn't have been. Grace would have told me.” the guitarist stated.
"Well, I'm afraid you're wrong. Grace has an eight year old daughter; named Madelyn. Madelyn is your daughter."
Billie was still trying to take the news in, as Madison slid a couple of pages across the desk for him. He picked up the top one. On it was a full page picture of an eight year old girl. At once, the man could see the resemblance between her and Grace, and himself. She had his natural hair color and green eyes, with the rest of Grace's face. In the picture she looked as happy as a young girl could.
He put the photograph down, and read the next page. It was her file, containing information like her date of birth, school details and living arrangements. His eyes darted down, and he stopped suddenly.
Father: Billie Joe Armstrong. Oakland, California.
Mother: Grace Evelyn Marriott. Gainesville, Florida.
Deceased - March 5, 1996
Grace was dead?
Billie Joe was shocked, and didn't know what to think. He hadn't seen her in years, that didn't mean he loved her any less. He looked at the date again, and noticed she had died less than 5 days ago. If this was hard for him, imagine what it must have been like for Madelyn...
"I'm sorry about your loss." the social worker interrupted his thoughts.
The guitarist looked up. "Where is my daughter now?"
"At the moment she's staying with one of Grace's friends, who has a child around Madelyn's age. There wasn't enough room for her in a state childcare facility, for her until we got in contact with you, and I figured things would be more pleasant that way."
"When can I see her?"
“Hey Bill. You up yet?” The bassist asked his best friend through the closed door.
“Yeah.. um… I’ll be out in a sec...” he replied. It was still early, but Billie Joe had been awake for hours. Normally he didn’t wake up before 10am, but this morning was different. He had barely gotten any sleep the night before, tossing and turning, thinking about his appointment with social services. About his daughter. His daughter, the one he never knew about.
So many questions ran through his mind, questions he did not have the answers to. Questions he hoped would be answered today. He sat up from the battered chair beside his bed, already fully dressed in the cleanest clothes he owned, and made his way to the door.
Mike was standing in the kitchen, and handed Billie Joe a cup of coffee, even though he was already wide awake and didn’t need it. The kitchen was tidier, Billie Joe also noticed. The stacks of dirty plates had been washed, and the blinds were open.
“What’s this in aid of?” Billie Joe asked.
“If your daughter’s gonna be moving in, they might want to inspect the place. See that it’s fit to live in.” Mike said.
“Move in?”
“Yeah… that’s what I’d image. Why else would they call you now, after all these years?”
"But wouldn't she be living with Grace...?" the guitarist stated.
"You never know, Bill. Something might have happened..." his friend replied.
Billie Joe looked down at the floor. The thought of something happening to Grace, his Grace, broke his heart. She was the only woman he ever loved, and even though she had moved away, he never stopped thinking about her. Their separation was only temporary, they had said at the time. Time had passed, but it was never too late. They would be together in the end.
“Yeah. I suppose.” Billie shrugged it off. “Can you give me a lift into town? I really can’t be bothered walking.”
“I was going to go see Jason at work, then pick up those magazines for Tré. I suppose it isn’t too far out of my way.”
“Thanks, man.” Billie Joe said, putting his cup in the sink while Mike grabbed his keys.
* * *
The waiting room was standard, really. Billie went to the desk, stated his name, and was asked to take a seat. The walls were covered in posters, many brightly colored bearing slogans such as “Treats don’t need to come from packets. Feed your children fruit!”. The tables were piled up with old fashion magazines, and babysitting pamphlets. But what Billie found most interesting was the other people in the room.
To his left sat a girl; barely looking anything over sixteen, with a shirt stretched over her pregnant belly, and a toddler with her, who she was trying to entertain. On the other side of the room sat a haggard looking woman, trying to talk to her son, but he was ignoring her, picking at the thread on his jeans. Next to them was a youngish couple, both looking like the living dead and with lots of piercings.
A woman with a clipboard followed an elderly couple and their young grandson out, and opened the door for them. She wore a smart business suit, but had ladders in her stockings, and jagged metalwork hanging from each ear.
“Mr Armstrong?” She said looking up from her clipboard as Billie Joe stood up. “If you would follow me please.”
Billie Joe followed her along a corridor to her office, where he took a seat. He hadn’t known what to expect, and was surprised to find a mess, paperwork everywhere and a basket of toys scattered across the floor. The same colorful posters made on the walls hurt the guitarist’s eyes.
“So, Mr Armstrong. I’m Madison Thompson, Oakland Social Services.” They shook hands before she sat down and opened a file on your desk.
“How are things between you and Grace Marriott, Mr Armstrong?” she asked.
“Please, call me Billie Joe,” the man replied. “She moved away about 8 years ago, to be with her family in Florida. I haven’t been in contact with her since.”
“Did you know that she was pregnant when she moved away?”
“No. She couldn't have been. Grace would have told me.” the guitarist stated.
"Well, I'm afraid you're wrong. Grace has an eight year old daughter; named Madelyn. Madelyn is your daughter."
Billie was still trying to take the news in, as Madison slid a couple of pages across the desk for him. He picked up the top one. On it was a full page picture of an eight year old girl. At once, the man could see the resemblance between her and Grace, and himself. She had his natural hair color and green eyes, with the rest of Grace's face. In the picture she looked as happy as a young girl could.
He put the photograph down, and read the next page. It was her file, containing information like her date of birth, school details and living arrangements. His eyes darted down, and he stopped suddenly.
Father: Billie Joe Armstrong. Oakland, California.
Mother: Grace Evelyn Marriott. Gainesville, Florida.
Deceased - March 5, 1996
Grace was dead?
Billie Joe was shocked, and didn't know what to think. He hadn't seen her in years, that didn't mean he loved her any less. He looked at the date again, and noticed she had died less than 5 days ago. If this was hard for him, imagine what it must have been like for Madelyn...
"I'm sorry about your loss." the social worker interrupted his thoughts.
The guitarist looked up. "Where is my daughter now?"
"At the moment she's staying with one of Grace's friends, who has a child around Madelyn's age. There wasn't enough room for her in a state childcare facility, for her until we got in contact with you, and I figured things would be more pleasant that way."
"When can I see her?"