It's Easier Than It Seems

The morning sun slowly crept threw the haze of fog and pollution, and made it's way into the sky ready to scorch the pavements below. The already bustling streets of Manhattan lined with even more tourists and businessmen, setting out for a long day ahead.

I had watched the streets through rose tinted glasses when I first arrived. I was amazed by the sophistication of the rich, the motivation of the poor, and the sheer endurance some tourists were willing to go through just for an I Love NYC shirt.

But now all I saw was movement below, and all I heard was noise. Where I once saw dreams was now lined with nightmares and dead ends, and everything I thought I knew up until this point had been wrong.

My dream to be a successful photographer, to move to New York... did that still apply? Was it because of a change in 'circumstances' that I now saw everything so different?

I looked slowly over to my bedside drawer and there it sat. So serene, but so vindictive at the same time. How can a piece of plastic be so destructive?

I shifted from one weight to the other and glanced to the clock on my wall. It told me I was already three minutes late for work but I didn't want to go in, I no longer cared if I got fired; I had enough money to get on a flight and go back to England if I did.

I would go back to my original agent 'Click It' in San Francisco if I could, but it doesn't help they filed for bankruptcy almost as soon as I left, and I couldn't go back to Wade's company, since I was fired from there in the first place.

But right now I didn't care what job I ended up in, as long as I wasn't living in New York by myself.

I ran my hand down my face and sighed heavily. It was about time I faced the world.

***

“What happened?” Mike said, strumming on his bass mindlessly.

Billie looked to him slowly, almost wondering if the question was directed at him or Tré, who he then realised wasn't even in the room. “Hm?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“Between you and Sasha last night,” Mike confirmed, putting the bass down on leaning forward on his chair. “So?”

Billie took a sip of his coffee, contemplating the next thing to say. He hesitated on a few words, before looking to Mike. “Nothing.”

Mike raised his brow. “Nothing?” He questioned, suspicious of Billie's hesitation. “Then why did it take you so long to spit that out?”

“Because it seemed like you were anticipating something,” Billie answered truthfully, standing up off his chair and walking over to the other side of the studio's mixing room. He leant on the cabinet and folded his arms defensively.

“Okay,” Mike replied, not believing a word he had said; he could read Billie's language even if he had just met him, and could see clearly he was hiding something. “Something happened.”

“We just kissed okay,” Billie spat out, a mixture of anger and frustration. “Just drop it.”

“Drop it? What the fuck Billie!?” Mike exclaimed in total confusion. Billie would normally tell him everything, but recently he had built the biggest wall around himself. “A kiss is a good thing, right?”

“I told you to fucking drop it,” Billie growled and stormed out of the small dark room, slamming the door behind him.

Mike sighed, sat in his own company. He ran his hand down his weathered face and glanced across the empty room. He spotted Billie's bag shoved into the corner of the room and decided it was finally time for some less than friendly snooping. After rummaging through what seemed to be endless counts of junk, he finally found something that was more shocking than Billie's sour attitude.

Drugs.

***

“Lady, hey! If you aren't going to order then get out of my café!”

I looked up slowly, aroused from my day dream and stared at the man in front of me. He was in his late 60s; a face almost like leather, and he spoke with a very broad Queens accent. He looked beyond pissed at me, and as I glanced to my side to see a queue forming behind me I could see why.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear me. “I'll have a turkey ham sandwich,” I ordered, not even glancing to the menu.

“Finally! That will be three bucks,” He said in an aggravated tone, making the sandwich with almost the same amount of anger he spoke with. I almost thought the knife he wielded would be plunging into my chest instead of the bread. “Was that so hard now?!”

I handed over the money and he passed me the sandwich I felt I didn't deserve. “No,” I less than enthusiastically replied. His face still etched with annoyance, even as I left his store. I half wondered if I was entirely responsible for his anger, and the other half didn't really care.

Everything had felt like a blur since I found out I was pregnant. It felt like I was in a dream, or like the whole world was passing by and moving on around me, but I was stuck just watching it pass me by. But then I'd get a random jolt of life every now and again in shock as I remembered that there was something growing inside of me, and in less than a year it'd be here and it would be depending on me.

I glanced to my phone, wondering if I should call him, but instead my thumb scrolled down past the 'b' section in my contacts and went straight for 'm' again.

“Hello?”

I smiled softly to myself, it was always reassuring to hear that voice. “Mom... it's me again,” I said, feeling a lot calmer.

“Hey, how are you doing? Have you stopped throwing up?” She asked me.

“No, of course not,” I laughed. “But I'm not okay... I haven't told him yet... I... I don't know how to,” I said, my voice croaking, preparing me to blub like a child. I put my head in my hand and took a deep breath to calm myself. “What should I do?”

“I can't decide that for you,” She said, she always said. “But you need to tell him, that's a decision you can't ignore. But whether you tell him now, in five months, or in five years, that's up to you.”

I bit my lip and leant back into the bench. “I want to before the baby is born, and I know I should do it in person... but he was just so angry when I left.”

“It's been a whole month, Jen. He was just so upset that he reverted to anger as he built up a wall around himself... it's so he didn't feel sad and in pain... and would just feel mad. Your father used to do the same thing, remember?”

I remembered all too well; she was right, and I understood why Billie Joe was like that, but I just felt so damn guilty I couldn't bare to look him in the face again, let alone tell him I was carrying his unborn child.

“You're right... I just... I think I need more time,” I said, knowing I was making up more excuses, and that I was stalling more than I should be. “Maybe I should call Mike and ask how he's doing.”

“Yeah... just remember to follow your heart, okay?”

Confusion spread across my face, what did she mean by that?

“What?” I questioned, unsure of why she suddenly told me that. “What do you mean by that?”

I heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. “Jen, you took this job to follow your dream, but I don't think your head was connected to your heart or you would have stayed in California with Billie, and you'd be happy now. Have you tried looking for jobs in California?”

I gritted my teeth in frustration, “Of course I have but there's nothing going for me,” I said, annoyance in my voice. “Don't you think I've been trying to get a job back there?! I hate it here!”

“I know, I know,” She said, in a calming tone, which aggravated me even more.

“Look, you don't know what I'm going through okay, so don't judge me! Now I have to go back to work so I'll talk to you later,” I hung up the phone and breathed out slowly. I hated being angry my mother, I knew she hadn't done anything wrong but try and help me.

I was just stubborn.

***

Mike glanced across the room to his friend, or that's what he used to call him. Mike believed since the drama began in June that his 'friend' had grown distant, it wasn't just a simple lack of communication, it was a lack of anything.

Billie Joe wasn't all there, and he couldn't figure out why.

Mike stood up from his chair and dropped a bag or marijuana into Billie's lap, it hardly made a sound considering how damaging it was. It was almost like a vital piece of evidence in a murder trial.

“What is this?” Mike asked sternly, pointing to the marijuana, his eyes filled with such rage they were boring holes into the back of Billie's skull.

Billie gulped; he had been made. Nothing he could do could convince Mike he wasn't taking drugs so he had to come clean. “What does it look like?” He said, half making a joke out of a serious conversation, but when he noticed that it only further Mike's angry posture he sighed, and hung his head in defeat.

“It's to help me be less stressed and to sleep better,” Billie admitted, and then took a notepad out of his coat and threw it onto the coffee table. “It's also helped me write.”

Mike slapped a hand down his own face. “When I said write a song, I didn't mean go out and do drugs, you aren't eighteen any more you know... you're a father, a role model.”

Billie stood up from his chair, narrowing his brow. He was half pissed that Mike brought his children into this, and half being defensive. “How am I supposed to be a role model when you won't let me breath... you are PUSHING me to the brink here Mike, give me a God damn break!” He yelled, pushing Mike back lightly. “I understand you are trying to help me, but stop pushing this song onto me like it's the end of the world if we don't get it done.”

“Don't you DARE turn this around on me,” Mike spat, jabbing his index finger into Billie's chest. “You need to seriously sort yourself out, Billie, before it's too late,” he snarled, grabbing his coat and storming out of Billie's house without a goodbye.

Billie felt the cold air from outside gush past him, causing the hair on his arms and neck to stand on end. He closed his eyes slowly, starting to feel that wall tumble down again.

He perched himself on the sofa and looked between the notepad and the marijuana sat on the coffee table. He sighed deeply; unable to pick up either, instead he got out his phone and called the one person who had made him feel slightly normal again.

***

“Do you like it?” Anna said, twirling around to show off her costume. All I could see were shimmering patterns, though, as over a hundred sequins blinded me.

“Fantastic! Do I get eye surgery free with this?” I joked, earning a scoff from Anna. She was oblivious to the fact that her 80s dress she had made herself was in fact... ugly.

“You know I wanted to be a designer,” She pouted, sitting down with a 'flump' onto my couch. “Not a photographer.”

I nodded in reply; she had told this story one too many times; especially when drunk. “Yeah I know, and Bradley wanted to work for Vogue, Melissa wanted to be a doctor, AJ wanted to be a singer,” I listed, sighing after. “No one wants to be at Photocorp, do they? I mean it's a mess of a company, you know it's bad when the word 'corp' is involved.”

Anna tilted her head to look at me, her 80's style side pony tail drooping down with her. “What did you want to do?”

I smiled softly at her, picking lint off of my jeans. “I just wanted to be a photographer.”

She simply shrugged and regained her posture. “You are one,” She bluntly put. “I mean, you take photos for money, that's a photographer, right?” She questioned, not truly understanding my goal.

Instead of going into a deep old sob story about the meaning of life I decided to just agree with her. “Yeah, guess so, but with a nicer company.”

Anna sat up and started fiddling with her hair. “Well then... maybe you should quit,” She shrugged, like it was that simple. I had heard that word tossed around carelessly so many times now I had started to believe it was easier than it seemed.

“Well maybe you should too, and so should Bradley and--”

Anna put her hand up to stop me from going further. “Okay I get it, it's not as easy as that.”

I smiled and shook my head. “Of course it's not, it's life. What do you expect?”

“Rainbows and kittens,” She joked, before looking towards my clock. “I should get going to the party... shame you can't come,” She quietly said, before letting herself out.

I sighed to myself, wishing I could have gone with her. I had made up some elaborate rouse about how my mother was going to call to tell me whether or not she needed help setting up her new computer. She should have figured I was lying... the more information I told, the more likely I was lying.

My whole life had recently felt like an elaborate rouse. I had been lying to everyone apart from mother, perhaps I had been lying to her... and maybe even to myself.

Now I was stuck at home trapped in my head, worrying about everything. Sure I could have gone out with Anna to the party, but I would have been forced to drink—they were like that, and I was more responsible than that... or at least I was now.

I glanced towards my iPhone, the light reflecting down on it like it was a precious artefact. I finally picked up the phone and made my way to the 'b' section of my contacts. I pressed on Billie even before I had time to react; before nerves struck and I chickened out of the situation.

When I heard the dial tone I felt my stomach do a front flip inside of me; my thumb slid over the hang up button and sat there for awhile until I heard a click.

“Hello?” I heard his familiar voice say, and it brought back so many memories. I hadn't heard it in over a month but it felt like years. “Hello?” He greeted again, but still nothing came out of my mouth in reply.

I was tensed up, almost in a state of shock. I realised I had to talk to him but I was unsure of how. Instead I did the next logical thing and hung up on him, immediately regretting that minute of courage. Surely he had caller ID and would have known it was me that prank called him.

I planted my face into my phone and groaned loudly. What was I doing? I was acting like a fourteen year old with a crush on the cool guy in school.

Instead I tried a different, much easier number.

“Hello?”

This time it was a relief to hear that voice, instead of a terrifying nightmare. “...Mike,” I simply said instead of hello. “It's me.”

I half wondered why I thought Mike would recognise my voice until he replied. “Hey Jen... how are you?”

He doesn't seem mad or anything... maybe I can last more than a minute on the phone.

“I'm... okay, I'm good, you? How's things your end?” I asked, trying to slip in questions that relate to Billie.

“We're all good over here, the new album is coming along smoothly, we're all happy and healthy, you know Billie has a girlfriend?”

I froze in despair.

Billie has a girlfriend.

GIRLFRIEND.

“I mean I know it must be tough for you and I'm sorry, but it's good he's moved on since you are so far away and everything,” He babbled on but I paid no attention. “So he's really happy and everything over here.”

I felt like Mike was purposely aiming daggers at me, blaming me for how Billie reacted or is reacting. “Really?” I questioned. “Because you're laying it on a bit thick... but it's okay. I'm glad for him, really, tell him I wish him well with his new relationship,” The thumb on the hang up button firmly pressed down onto my phone, this time I meant it.

Something was happening over the other side of America, but I wasn't sure if it was my place to question it. Was Mike lying to me?

Either way Billie had gotten over me which was great for him... but really bad timing for me. How could I now get back into his life? How could I tell him he was having another child with me if he was moving on with someone else?

I was glad he was happy; at least one of us was.

***

“I'm so glad you called again,” Sasha smiled, sitting on the barstool next to Billie Joe who sat there looking like a man that just shot his dog.

Billie offered a smile to her, almost forcing it. He knew deep down he was just using her. “Want a drink?” He asked, already half way through his own.

“I'll have whatever you're having.”

Billie nodded and ordered one from the waiter for her.

“So... what have you been up to?” She asked, trying her hardest to start some form of conversation with Billie and hold it.

He glanced to her, fiddling with the drink in his hand. “Not much, just band stuff.” He was running every conversation starter into the ground and burying it.

Sasha sighed, picking up her drink and taking a sip almost in defeat. “Stuff?”

“Writing lyrics and...,” Billie trailed off, realising he couldn't be bothered with small talk.“Do you just want to get drunk and have sex?”

Sasha quickly looked to him. “What?” She asked; eyes wider than the moon.

“Well you broke up with your fiancé, I broke up with my girlfriend... I know I'm feeling the burn still,” He said, holding up his drink like some form of proof. “Surely you are just using me, too.”

Sasha bit her lip, almost like she didn't want to believe what he was saying, but he was right. She closed her eyes and looked away. “No,” She looked back to him. “I wanted something more, like a last hope there was one decent guy left on the planet.”

Billie laughed to himself, feeling like he had been transported into a chick flick. “Trust me, I'm looking for that one decent girl... it's the same on both sides.”

“Then let me be that girl... if you can be that guy,” She replied, lifting her drink up and signified a toast to Billie. “But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun.”