To Love/Hate the Spotlight

I spy with my little eye something... blue.

"The tiles."

Okay, I spy something... white.

"The salt shaker," The Voice answered in a bored, flat tone.

Correct. I sp-

"This is fucking stupid. I'm done."

Oh come on, you're winning!

"I'm winning because I am in your fucking head! I wish I wasn't, but this--is lame! Just join the conversation already and stop torturing me!"

But-

"No, fuck you."

My cheeks reddened as I sank further down in my seat. Playing I Spy for twenty minutes straight with the voice in my head? I am lame.

But I wouldn't be playing if I wasn't blown off by Billie Joe with a simple smile outside the car and then to be stuck between him and Mikey Way at brunch. Sitting here stretched past the realm of awkwardness and I seemed to be the only one giving in to it.

With bother Mikes sitting across from each other, a soft spoken Bob at the end, my husband chatting with his his new best buddy, and Tre and Toro commenting opposite and Frank sitting casual in front of me, eating their orders, I wondered how I ended up with a bagel. I thought I said toast; it's one of the most safe foods to eat in front of strangers... millionaire strangers. Anyways, where's my toast? Not this fruit loop shaped lump of dough and a small tub of cream cheese. Gag me with a spoon... Well, I suppose this is a blessing in disguise on account I have no interest in eating at the moment. I have to lose the weight regardless. Water is different; it is a crutch for my skittish nerves.

Any twitches of paranoia, take a sip.
Trapped in overwhelming company, have another sip.
Sideways glances and blocked out voices, have another- oops! Glass empty.

Taking the god awful bagel into my hands, I turned it over several times before hearing my husband and the replica of my baby's daddy laugh again, and I tore up the spongy bread piece by piece. Whatever was exchanged between them on that bus will probably be forever a mystery to me. I know Billie. He's not planning on telling me anytime soon.

Struck with frustration, I re-shredded the clumps, some toppling off the plate. I made the mistake of keeping my head down, and a UFO collided against my cheek, forcing me to jump two inches above the seat cushion. Upon inspection it was a chunk of pancake -Hallelujah, no syrup- so I looked to the only person who decided to eat pancakes.

"W-T-F, Frank?"

Mike threw a chuckle my way but continued his conversation with Mikey about bass guitars.

The guitarist wore the evil grin a child could master and pointed at my plate.

"So?" I prompted, inconspicuously curling my fingers around a piece of bagel.

Showing some teeth this time, he leaned forward and just almost missed planting one of his elbows in a small dish of eggs. "I just totally guerrilla attacked your ass!" Saying -more like yelling- this, he practically jumped out of his chair and cackled, gaining the few other patrons' attention. So maybe I jumped the gun a little on the whole "He's not a spaz" thing.

"Dude, I missed something," Tre remarked, sharing the puzzlement splashed on all their faces. The few patrons were mildly interested.

"Frank, I was just tearing it up for the hell of it," I replied innocently. To be quite honest, I was still trying to get over the fact that I was smacked with a scrap of pancake by a rock star.

"I'm... sorry..." Frank eased down into his seat. If this was a sitcom, the audience would be expressing a united, "Awww..."

"Iero..." You'd never guess how difficult it is to keep a smirk from surfacing. All eyes on me. Just because I'm the only girl, doesn't mean I'm a dainty lady. "There's one thing you should know about me: ... no one -and I mean no one- guerrilla attacks me in a non-sexual way." And with that, I ditched the measly bagel piece and grabbed a handful and whipped it at him.

Eyes squeezed shut. Teeth clenched. His hand shields were too late, and majority pelted him as the strays whizzed past or clipped Ray's curls. I thought of old battle tactics: An army shooting at the right time up in the air towards their enemies. Instead of a rain of arrows, my version turned out to be a breakfast favorite. But when all had fallen to gravity, both bands gaped at me; Frank with upturned corners of his lips; Billie Joe so flabbergasted because never had I joined a food fight with him.

"Oh, it's on!" Frank snatched up the rest of his flapjacks and fired back. Being the fearless fighter that I am, I ducked out of my chair with a squeal. The battle broke out during my brief time on the floor. As other patrons picked up their plates and moved out of the vicinity, the makings of brunch flew from all angles across the table. Tre's battle cries were unmistakable. See I'm the smart one; I hide under the table.

"Oh. My. God. Gerard!"

"Frankie!"

The scene of action took a break to acknowledge the pair of matching teenage girls, possibly around my age. It was obvious by their wardrobe they were on the way to wait in the growing line for the show. It was around one or two -I don't carry a watch- and the concert was at six. We thought it would be safe here because of that. But like I had heard, My Chem lives up to their reputation as kind and welcoming to fans. As the girls dashed over -stuttering in disbelief and awe- I climbed up onto my chair, sweeping away the edible shrapnel.

"You guys saved my life!" I used to laugh at this, such a cop-out, but she appeared sincere. If I went to their a school a few years ago, I would have probably been friends with them.

"MCR is like the best-band-ever."

"Thanks."

Once I emerged -brushing hair out of my face- the girls were startled. I laughed on the inside. They must think I'm some crazed admirer stowing away under the table just to be near highly desired genitals. I may be twisted, but I'm not crack-brained. Truth is, I didn't even look. So just to prove I'm not a stalker, I rested my head on Billie Joe since his buddy was bombarded with autographs and pictures along with his group. My gaze wandered to Mike and Tre now so engrossed with eating their food or what's left of it, then to Billie Joe pouring packs of sugar in his coffee.

"Are you okay?" I asked, looking up to him.

He turned his head with a lazy grin. "We're huge in Cali."

"I know..." I patted his thigh. "This is just the beginning... you'll make the whole world California, cheesy as it is to say."

Draping his arm over my shoulder and holding me closer, he pecked me on the forehead. "That was pretty cheesy, but I hope you're right."

A pleasant moment of silence swept over us. These times were like those at the train tracks back in Bartlett. Feeling as though we're the only two lovers that existed and the maze of rusting rail cars kept us safe from the rest of the world, ready to judge.

"I recorded your food fight on my phone; wanna see?"

"No, it's okay. We'll check it out on YouTube later," Mikey soothed, becoming another personal hero of mine.

But there it was: Pleasant moment shattered, and I quickly remembered I'm supposed to be miffed at Billie Joe for being fickle.

"You know you are telling me what happened on the bus between you two?"

"... yeah, but not until way later."

*

"Okay, so who decided to throw eggs?" I couldn't tell who said it since we all were picking off crumbs of yellow.

"I don't know. Do you know, Frank?"

I glanced at Frank: Keeping his head down at his own mess, yet sporting an impish grin. Whoa- I just had the sudden urge to call him "Cutie Pie." That is not healthy at all.

The ride back was more bearable, given the distraction of trying to get brunch off our persons. I was shoved against the door, and now I'm here squished against the very end of the curved row. We should have taken two: One for Billie Joe and me, and the other could go to the rest.

Jeez, am I that selfish?

"Babe." I looked over to get an eyeful of black hair. "Could you make sure there's no food in my hair?"

"Sure." A quick scan -spotless, always is. Being me, I gasped.

"What is it?"

"It-it-it's everywhere! Ew- get away!" Being me, terror is no stranger even when I'm faking it.

"Fuck - what is it?!" He jerked forward into his knees, swatting at his head like a crack addict suffering from withdrawal.

I wanted to burst. I am such an asshole.

"Just tell me what it is!"

Leaning towards his ear and taking great caution not to be accidentally smacked, I murmured, "Your hair, Hun."

He froze mid-swing, probably about to shoot darts from his eyes. "You... jerk."

"God I hope he hits you."

The others were silent, restraining a smile I didn't understand. I guess it's routine, but I had a funny feeling. I was way too trusting by leaning forward to check on him. He couldn't be at all mad. "It was only a joke-" He lunged at me -scaring to shriek- and licked me from jaw to what will someday be crow's feet. Which reminds me, I should get around to deciding my opinion on Botox... oh, right. "Ew, gross!" I wiped away furiously at the trail of saliva -which wasn't much- and smeared the remnants on his short sleeve, him laughing with the others the entire time. "You ass!"

"A lick means he likes you," Mikey commented a matter-of-factly. I think the glasses make him look ten times smarter.

"Yeah, look his tail is wagging," Mike jeered. It was a pretty ballsy move on account he's sitting right next to Billie.

I stared at Billie Joe grasping onto the "Puppy Dog" defense. A blitzkrieg tongue compared to hair faux pas hysterics...

"Oh you know you're going to forgive me and kiss me and say you hate me but you really love me so come here since neither of us can resist," he stated with as much enthusiasm as a cocktailed diet coke head. Arms already trapping me, a girly giggle betrays me, and there we are again: Two losers retarded in love. Frowning upside down in the pressure of our kiss; laughing at our stupidity when it deludes us to geniuses. We don't know what the hell we're doing, making it up as we go along, and being so skilled at it that we're enviable. Hard to swallow, right? Yeah, me too.

"So how long have you two been together?" Dwindling to a stop, we looked down the other end of the stretch. Hoping to whoever that it wasn't The Original it turned out to be Frank more or less glaring. I should be more compassionate since his divorce. But then again, the sun is in my eyes. I could be mistaken.

"Three years-ish," Billie answered. With all the movement I somehow ended up draping my legs across his knee caps and my head nestled against his chest. I love that's he warm when I'm cold.

"How did you guys meet?" Bob was actually intrigued.

Billie Joe had the anxious heart flutter out of the both of us. He initiated answering for us, so let him spin more acceptable BS even though he's terrible when it comes to improv. "Um... you know what? Becky tells it way better than I can."

Son of a-

"It's rather sweet," he added and rubbed at my thigh. Minimally hurting him would be too obvious and that runs the risk that he might like it, defeating the purpose entirely.

All except Mike and Tre shooting glares of caution, the band, I thought I'd never get closer to than a poster, placed their attention on me. My mind cramped up with heart warming meetings -no- plagiarism? You've Got Mail. No, that's weirder. Oh yeah, Pretty Woman. I'm a hooker! Fuck that. No, I'll just humiliate him.

"Well..." I started, dragging it out to form a setting. "I... was..."

Fuck! I still can't think of anything!

"What do you guys care anyways? Guys don't usually care about chick stuff."

"We care," Frank piped. "And besides, I'm very interested myself."

"We have to get to know each other some time." I was too focused on Frank's dour expression to match whoever said that. Even if I did, it wouldn't have made a difference. Pressure much?

But seriously this is sick. I can't conjure up anything at Billie Joe's expense.

"I'm sure it can't be too hard. Blow Job's an easy target. His music for one."

1) Shut up and 2) I think I got something.

"Come on, babe." He urged, knowing that we had to lie but spotlighting me to do so.

"O-kay... well, when I came to Cali with a... friend, I was a huge internet music pirate -I'd like to point out was," I quickly added seeing their hints of disapproval. "So by then I was already a Google junkie searching and labeling tracks, because there is no way I'm spending a dollar at iTunes and it won't even give a bloody preview and that is such a rip-off-"

"Ranting psycho - ranting psycho - get to the point."

"But... I digress..." -Get to the point- "The one album with the once voice and lyrics I had on constant replay is the one I couldn't find jack on. That friend I mentioned and I went to a gig that happened to be my mystery band so one thing came to another and here we are now."

You would have never guessed I had an imagination.

"I didn't know that," Mike mused in the corner. He must have assumed it was all school. History class was part of it, but would it be wise to give it credit?

The Original shifted forward -hands clasped- with a pondering stare. "That's a freaky coincidence. Do you think it was like fate?" He didn't know the half of it. But that was something My Gerard would have asked: Fate, Destiny, Together Forever in Love were all building blocks of his psyche.

"We don't really believe in that area of philosophy," Billie stated with so much confidence that it confused me. We never had discussed "our" beliefs. I thought we had our own. I agree with him, but that's not the point.

Dragging a yawn, I rested in the crook of his neck. The crimson twin punctures captivated my eyes. "... some of the best dreams aren't while you sleep."