It's Easier Than It Seems

For a second it felt like the world had shook beneath my feet; the ground groaned with a loud rumble, and then burst open at the seams. I lifted my head up from the ground to the sky where I watched the sun slowly draining away from me in fear, only to be replaced by a dark looming cloud.

The cloud was made from a mixture of grey smoke and pure steam which bellowed from the street below us high up into the air. It slowly crept towards myself and a few hundred people, where it settled debris and mud down around us, as if it were raining.

A stench surrounded us, one I had never smelt before in my life. My nose instantly closed as I clasped a hand over my mouth in disgust.

I felt a pitter-patter of debris landing on my shoulder, and I looked slowly back up to the sky; only to be met with mud dotting my face. I looked around slowly as did others in confusion. We were being painted by the Earth; painted in brown dirt, and sprinkled with dust from the concrete.

I stopped; frozen on the boulevard. Workers, tourists, housewives, business men, and the homeless all joined me. Realization finally hit that something bad was indeed happening to us, we weren't imagining it, and we weren't watching a scene from a movie. This was real, and we were stood in the middle of a disaster.

Flashbacks from 9/11 played on the residents minds in Manhattan. Some stopped in fear, reliving the moment from just under six years ago. I could hear screams, I could hear cries, and I could hear gasps of shock. The mixture of confusion and worry only dampened when sirens rang out from behind us.

Before I knew what was going on I had my arm yanked and I was pulled away from the cloud. I looked behind me to see my friend from work telling me we needed to get out of the area. My eyes widened, and I finally realised how serious this could be that my legs started working again and I followed her out, pushing past people who were still mesmerised by the cloud.

As we ran out of Midtown Manhattan the sirens of police, fire engines and ambulances squealed past us in aid of anyone hurt or trapped, but I wasn't sure if they knew what was going on, either.

Before any of this happened I was quite happily enjoying a 6” Italian BMT Subway, walking back to my apartment from a hard days work at my photography job. The only worry on my mind was that the “sandwich artist” had put too many jalapeños on my Sub.

And now here I was, running away like I was an extra in a b rated movie.

It's not like it disturbed my peaceful life at all, because I didn't have a peaceful life. I worked day in and day out at my photography job, trying to please both clients and my boss, which never seemed to happen.

On top of that I had to juggle a mixture of guilt and regret in my stomach. One month ago I had left my home in California to work in New York, and for what? To be pushed around by a male chauvinistic boss and to almost die walking home?

I asked myself yet again why I had said yes to my agent.

By half six my friend Anna and I had settled into a Café to shelter, and to watch the news to see if anyone knew what had happened.

A bunch of us huddled around the tiny flat screen in the corner of the café, long forgetting anything to do with personal space. We ushered the shop owner to turn the television up so people at the back could at least hear.

I found it somewhat amusing how something so terrifying happens and the reporter can manage to sound so happy and positive. She explained how a pipe had burst, it was an old pipe, and that it had let out hot steam which rose into the sky. Not too many people were injured, luckily, but there was a worry over the asbestos that was on the pipes.

Everyone looked around in worry... we were all thinking the exact same thing, 'what if we were exposed?'. Each one of our faces were painted with concern and worry.

I turned to Anna and sighed, “Do you think we should go to the hospital? Though I should imagine it's overloaded.”

Anna looked deep in thought, her usual dark brown hair that was normally tied in a tight bun was dotted with debris and all over the place. Her smart suit ruined by dust and mud. “Jen, we weren't that close, I mean we weren't around the original cloud... we just caught the edge of it, hence why we aren't covered in dust, only speckled. I think if we feel unwell tomorrow we should go then.” Anna spoke, like a stone wall. She rarely did anything that was out of character, like lose her cool.

I didn't want to take any chances, but I didn't want to let my anxiety get the best of me so I listened to her. “I'll see you tomorrow then? Unless we are told to stay at home,” I told her, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

Anna nodded and smiled—she had a stern face at the best of times, but managed to crack a smile every now and then. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, and she had the deepest green eyes. I envied her looks too much.

We parted ways once we had left the café since we lived in opposite directions. The scene outside was the same as earlier; the part of the city which had the explosion had pretty much stood to a standstill, and there was a backlog of traffic spreading throughout the city.

I walked home at a quick pace, it wasn't far, but with what was behind me, I had a reason to be scared. I checked nervously over my shoulder and glanced to the cloud. I tried to work out whether it was following me or not. I deduced it wasn't, in fact the wind was pushing it away from me, luckily.

***

“Will... will you call her up?” He asked, worryingly. “Please?”

Mike sighed and shifted his weight onto his other foot. He ran his hand through his peroxide blonde hair and nodded. “Alright, but only this once... you have to face up to this yourself in future, Billie,” Mike sternly spoke. He moved over to his telephone whilst Billie watched anxiously as he dialled Jennifer's number.

Billie's breath hitched as Mike spoke, which was only a simple hello. After no pause as he asked how she was, Billie had deducted Mike was simply talking to an answering machine and remembered to breath again.

Mike put down the phone and turned to face Billie, who hadn't stopped fidgeting since he put down the phone. He smiled at the older man, who was acting like a nervous five year old.

“Answering machine?” Billie Joe asked, tilting his head towards the phone. “Is that a bad sign?” He started biting neurotically at his fingernails.

Mike smiled softly, reassuring Billie. “No, it doesn't mean anything, she's probably just out... I'll give her a call tomorrow, just try and concentrate on writing the song.”

Billie nodded, running a hand through his short black hair. He looked haggard, tired, and now even more stressed than normal. He knew that his relationship with Jennifer was over, but that didn't mean he didn't care about her. What if she injured, or hurt... or worse... dead?

There was a pang of something in his stomach, and he wasn't quite sure what it was.

***

I walked slowly into my house like it was a safe haven from hell and quickly slammed the door behind me. I took a deep breath in—it smelt floral, much better than dirt and concrete. The inside of my home was decorated with light pastel colours, in contrast to the grey drab concrete lining New York City.

It made everything feel more positive, at least for a short while.

I took off my painful and unforgiving heels and let my feet sink slowly into my soft carpet, it was like heaven for my toes.

I stopped to glance at myself in the mirror; I looked a complete mess; like I had gone swimming down in the sewers, and I probably stank of it, too.

My light long brown hair looked like I had gone through a hedge backwards. I sighed when I realised I had almost made myself late for work in the morning due to straightening my hair, and now it was all for nothing. I knew it was going to take a few washes to get the mud out of my hair.

My make up was almost non-existent, instead it was replaced by mud, making me look like some form of tribal man. I ran my hand down my face, but it had dried and it stuck to my skin.

My clothes were also ruined. Since I got the new job I had been wearing white blouses and pencil skirts—I was a photographer, not an office girl, but apparently looks were more important than talent here.

I decided a hot bubble bath was in order and a shower after. I scrubbed hard to get all the mud and debris off, and maybe a little too hard. I was trying to scrub today out of my memory, because every time my head wrapped around what had happened, my mind shoved it into the back with the rest of my concerns I hadn't addressed yet.

I hopped out the shower and pulled on the comfiest and warmest of all dressing gowns. For a few minutes I completely forgot what had happened today, and I also forgot what happened this past month.

Luckily, in a sadistic kind of way, the explosion had taken my mind off of that.

Certain things like California... and Billie Joe Armstrong.

It had been just over a month since I last spoke to anyone from California. I had been so busy settling in that I hadn't checked in with anyone but my mother in England.

I was the one that wanted to stay in contact; to not let go of them, but I felt so ashamed and guilty, that I was using 'busy' as an excuse.

The explosion reassured every doubt I had in my mind about moving to New York. It was quite clear what I had done.

I had made the wrong choice.

I had no time to dwell on my bad choice, I simply had to live with it. I was in a job that paid very well, I had a nice apartment in the city everyone dreams of living in despite the occasional disaster, and I had managed to make a few friends. I had to get over myself, live my life, and be happy.

But my anxiety had been making me feel sick to the stomach since I got here, and it was pulling me back from having too much fun—perhaps so I didn't get hurt again, in case I had to move somewhere new.

I padded down my corridor, stopping at my answering machine which was blinking furiously at me to listen to it's new message. I picked up the handset and dialled for my message, only to be greeted with a voice I was all too familiar with.

“Hello Jen, how are you? We've seen the news over here, and we're just wondering if you are okay or not. Please give us a call when you can to tell us you're okay, and it wouldn't hurt if we could catch up some time! Thank you, bye!” Mike Dirnt said firmly, and then I heard the standard 'click' to tell me the message had ended.

I had missed his voice. When I was in doubt, or I had too many troubles, Mike was the voice of reason.

It had been awhile since I had met Green Day; not too long, it had only been seven months, but it felt like a long time ago since I stepped off that plane to start a new life.

When I thought back to first meeting Tré in the lobby of where I worked it felt like it had been centuries ago.

I smiled at the memory, and they all came flooding back. Meeting Billie and Mike for the first time—Tré and I were bouncing on my bed like children. God, what must have they thought of me as a first impression?

I could turn to Tré for fun, or for happiness when I was feeling down.

Lastly, I could count on Billie to back me up, to defend me, and to make me feel safe.

Each one of the guys had something unique that helped me become who I was today, and for some reason I threw that away for a job.

And not forgetting Morgan. Morgan had been my best friend out in California, and I needed a girl best friend to talk to, and someone outside of Green Day to confide in every once in awhile.

We grew close and she moved in with me, she was like a sister to me in a way. But I betrayed her and forced her to move out of my home, and I don't think she could ever forgive me for that.

I decided to call back straight away, I was scared as hell to talk to Mike, but I wasn't an asshole. Most of the time, anyway.

After a few rings I realised I was going to be put through to his answering machine also. Maybe it was destined that we wouldn't talk to each other, or we just both lead busy lives.

I let him know that I was okay, I slipped in a few details so they could “catch up” on my life, and asked how everyone was on that side of America. I left it short and sweet, without giving away too much.

I sat down slowly onto my sofa and sighed. I turned the television on, only to be met with something I already knew about because I was there—the explosion, and it was on just about every channel.

I wasn't hungry, and I didn't want to watch a movie. Heck I wasn't even tired. My mind decided to relay what could have been the worst month of my life and turn it into a string of emotions.

My eyes pricked with tears, I felt my throat tighten, and before I knew it I was crying into the palms of my hands.

I let out everything I had been storing, everything that I had wanted to let out but I was afraid to.

I hated it here, I hated my job, I missed California, my friends, my home and my family.

I wanted to get on a plane and crawl back to them, begging them for forgiveness but I knew it'd be harder than that, and I knew I was under contract here so it wasn't as easy as it seemed.

But I knew what I had wanted out of my life, and everything finally made sense. Everything was crystal clear. I didn't care what job I had, what amount of money or what clothes I had to wear. I wanted to be around my friends, and I wanted to be happy.

It was quite clear what I had to do, but the question remained... how?

***

Mike walked slowly into a small room that attached itself next to the recording studio. He leaned on the wall and peered in—the room was small and dark, it couldn't fit much but it was the perfect space to get away from it all.

And so Billie had tried to.

But Mike didn't care as he stared at the smaller man, who sat on a small wooden stool in the corner of the room. He held a notepad firmly in his left hand but stared confused at it, like it was some sort of alien object he had never seen in his life, whilst in his right hand held a biro pen that had never touched a piece of paper before.

Billie's hair was dishevelled along with his face, as the bags of his eyes had grown bigger, and his stubble had formed into a beard. Billie had clearly long stopped sleeping in a normal pattern, and had taken to refilling his energy with caffeine instead of sleep.

Mike took what felt like pity on his friend, but knew he couldn't swaddle him.

“She called back,” Mike simply said, not even gaining Billie's attention beforehand, but Billie had known Mike had entered the room when he heard the sound of his shoes squeaking.

Billie looked slowly up from his notepad and put his pen away, he lifted the notepad up at an angle so that Mike couldn't see what was written on the pages, more rather what wasn't written. “And?”

Mike puts his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “She's okay, like I said,” He reassuringly told Billie before tilting his head. “You haven't wrote a single word to the song have you?”

Mike's look of support and reassurance washed away, and that calm and collective face Billie had come to know had been etched with one of annoyance.

Billie bowed his head, ashamed. He shook his head slowly, unable to speak to him.

Mike sighed, swivelling on his heel, he turned around and walked out the room; leaving Billie in utter complete silence.

Billie felt the wrath of Mike's anger wash over him as the door closed quietly, shutting him off from the rest of the world yet again. Except this time it didn't feel like a safe room, it just felt wrong. The air almost stank of guilt as Billie looked to his blank notepad. Mike had been right; he hadn't wrote a single thing, he hadn't even thought of one.

He had too many words spiralling in his head to think straight, and he couldn't put a single one down on paper.

He wanted someone to blame, but he knew he only had himself to blame. He had let himself fall in love again—and it had lead to the same heart ache as before.

He picked up his black biro pen in hopes that a muse would sit in the room with him and help him in his time of need, but instead he sat staring at the blank paper unable to put pen to paper again.

Before he knew it, the only thing that joined with the paper was a wet substance. In almost shock Billie first looked up to the ceiling to check for a leak, only then realising he was in fact crying.

In anger at his weakness, he threw the biro at the wall; it's contents shattering on the ground loudly in sadness. The notepad soon joined it, the papers scattering all around the room. Then finally the stool he sat on met it's demise and smashed to the floor with a dull thud.

Billie slumped against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest. He planted his head on his knees before hearing the door open with a quiet 'clink'. He lifted his head slowly, meeting the blue eyes of his younger friend.

Mike looked around the room in confusion, then to Billie in concern. He gave him an apathetic smile and sat down next to him. “I think we need to talk.”