To Love/Hate the Spotlight

"Damn, Billie, doesn't that hurt?" Tre crowded against Billie Joe as we rode down the escalator.

I stood a stair taller; My chin propped up on Billie's shoulder when he shrugged. "A little but it was worth it." He gave my hand a squeeze.

Tre wrinkled his nose and shook his head like a kid offered spinach. "I don't know--- you should get tested for Rabies."

"Oh Tre, you're just jealous," I spat, rolling my eyes.

One by one we filed off and drifted to the side, unsure of what was to come next. Radiating apathy after he woke up from the flight, Mike trudged past us and mumbled, "There's one around every corner... you want anything?"

We looked ahead at his most obvious destination: Starbucks. He's right in an overly-populated monopolized corporation sort of way.

"Ooo!" Tre raised his hand.

Billie glanced over his shoulder, and I shook my head in response. "Nothing for us, thanks."

Tre was the only one of the pair that lingered for our requests as Mike continued down the long hall past baggage claims. He shot another pained expression at Billie Joe before jogging to catch up with our caffeine-deprived bassist.

"Let me see." I slipped in front of him, taking his jaw in my hands. Maybe I had gotten a tad carried away while in the throws of passion. Then again I guess we both did with the sounds and bangs making the stewardess more than curious when knocking on the door. "... do you want a band-aid or something?"

"Nah..." he said, touching his finger to the twin scarlet punctures and the black and purple splotches printed across his neck.

What can I say? I suck.

He winced and grinned. "I like the attention."

I hadn't noticed the strangers staring in shock and disgust. Real horror show.

"I'm surprised you didn't want something to drink to get that taste out of your mouth," he commented.

The acrid copper had stained my tongue, and -for right now- I didn't want it to go away. I nodded, replying, "I don't even taste it anymore."

Billie pulled. "The bags are coming out."

We stood off to the side from the crowd, waiting for our luggage and string instruments; Bringing Tre's drum set was an impossibility. Fellow fliers watched and occasionally grabbed their stuff like zombies snatching up a piece of meat. Bored by the monotonous conveyor belt, my gaze wandered upward to the overhead lights and me tucking my hands into my back pockets. My fingers stopped short, colliding with paper in one of them.

"While I still have you alone..." I prompted, tugging his attention to me.

"Bec, I'm so tired. As of right now, I'm spent. I've got nothing left in here," he whined, patting his crotch.

"No-- I want to know what this is?" The paper was shoved towards his face.

Rubbing his eyes, he yawned. "It's an envelope."

"Good... now look who it's from and tell me why it's addressed to me."

He stared, pouting his lip until his entire face lit up. "It came!" This was all his doing when he snatched it from my hand. "How come you haven't opened it?"

"Hello? I don't even know why I have this. I never wrote a-" My eyes wanted to pop out of my skull at the mortifying realization.

"Promise you won't be mad." He put his hands up in defense.

"No- you didn't!"

"I knew you wouldn't have sent it in yourself so I figured, 'What the hell?' You've worked so hard on it, and I didn't want it to go to waste."

"Waste? Billie Joe, I wrote it for me-- to put my life in perspective-- not to-to... have you even read the entire thing?"

"Good ol' Blow Job, never thinking and always acting in vain."

A tint of doubt clouded his eyes. "... can we at least see what it says? ... please?" Before I could sigh and say yes, he was already tearing at the seal. He knew I couldn't be angry at him for this compared to past discretions; sending my manuscript looked trivial. His eyes zipped across the page several times.

Feeding off the anxiety of his stoic expression, I lightly bounced on the balls of my feet. "Well? What does it say?"

He let out a heavy sigh, holding the letter to his side, and massaging his temples. "... you're not gonna like it."

Rejection washed over me, smashing every positive thought I had about my writing with its dead weight. "They hate it, don't they?"

"No," he huffed, dipping into dramatics. "... they want to talk to you about publication."

"What?!" Breath escaped me. Every single nerve connected to my brain spasmed. Shock wouldn't at all be the proper term. Fourth of July fireworks exploded in my skull. "Are you serious?"

"Do you think I would mess with you about this? I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid."

An overdose of pop rocks and coke gnawed at the tumor inside my chest, sizzling the hardened edges of apathy and despair I had been hoarding for weeks. Sex can't always act as a remedy. Hell, this is way better than sex. I stood -fidgeting- unsure of what to do with myself.

"Babe?" He asked with caution.

A tick tock burst of jubilation rocketed me into Billie Joe's arms, literally tackling him. It wasn't like he slammed into the floor; There was a young teenager to break our fall. Being the little scared jock that he was, he scrambled out of the way with only a grunt as I babbled disbelief to Billie's laughing face. We were a spectacle for those that watched and a reason for those that sneered. Two punks priming for sex in public.

"What the hell, you guys?!" Mike dashed past us, chasing his case waving goodbye as it disappeared to its exit. He pushed through strangers and bestowed the pleasure of waking them up to a splash of hot bean juice.

Our stubborn smiles crumpled into further amusement as we tripped on each other to snatch one of our bags drifting towards us. The rapid pace came to halt when he grabbed the handle and lugged it off the belt. I had little to do not seeing others coming into view

"What I miss?" Tre idled by my side, sipping a mysterious purple concoction.

"What are you drinking?"

In no hurry to aid either of his band mates, he swallowed a large mouthful and answered, "My glucose for the day."

"That's... healthy."

"Healthier than a horse."

"Hello, excuse me?" We both turned at the same time, intrigued by the owner of that nasal falsetto. Have you ever spoke with someone and concluded their voice did not match their appearance? ... well, that wasn't the case for this middle-aged office cut up: Balding brown hair with matching mustache, gold rim spectacles, and the oh so special members only jacket.

Tre sized him up immediately. "Sorry, we don't want any."

"No," Class Geek protested, turning a paper in his hairy-knuckled hands. "Are you by any chance Mr. Armstrong, Cool, or Dirnt?"

"Yes, Tre Cool. How'd you know?"

"We were sent to pick you guys up and escort you to the concert venue. There's a car waiting for you and your fellow band mates, and me and a few of my guys will take care of your things."

"Really?" Tre was in awe of this as was I.

"Yes."

Since I wasn't an active party -or even noticed- in the conversation, I sought out Mike and Billie. Mike was the easiest being relatively tall and blonde; I shouted his name as soon as I confirmed his identity. He waddled over struggling to carry his bass, his bag, Tre's, and one of the two Armstrong messy combinations, so I took that one off his hands.

"Hey, this guy-"

"First, give me a hug."

"Um... o-kay..." Easing the bag to the floor, I maneuvered, pressing my fingertips on his shoulders.

His arms shook from holding the weight. "Bill told me. Congratulations."

"Thanks." I retreated faster than what's considered normal. I'm not a big hug person. They can be so awkward and insincere or maybe out of true affection -surprise me- but I decided long before Billie Joe -only him because he's special- that I was done with it, especially if I'm obligated to do so. But to prove I'm not a callous person, I'll take the first step: I admit I have a problem with dominantly embracing others.

When Tre was in sight, Billie was there and far more amazed by this special treatment. Our luggage sat around them; Billie held Blue's case close to his side.

"Hey Mike?"

"Yeah," he grunted, tossing Tre's bag ahead of him.

"Two questions: 1) What happened to your coffee?"

Scowling, he kicked Tre's bag a few feet in front of him. "I made the mistake of sitting it down on the belt for one second and the next it was gone."

"I'm sorry for your loss, but now tell me who this anonymous band you guys are opening for." It was currently on my mind.

"I don't wanna lie to you, but Billie told me and Tre specifically not to tell you. I'm not sure why. He said he needed to talk you about it." And by the end of his sentence I knew.

No... fucking- no... no fucking-

I couldn't even finish the thought. The curling, choking knot around my lungs told me exactly who Billie Joe was skeptical of revealing to me before I got on a plan going across the country.

"The dumps of New Jersey finally make sense. Do you want me to laugh now or save it for bedtime?"

My physical being switched to cruise control; scooting across the tile not even taking actual steps. Blindly following Mike with a bemused expression plastered across my face. The air suddenly stinking of exhaust, and the motley horns blaring were shallow against my ear drums. Was I holding Billie Joe's hand? Billie or anyone else for that matter couldn't tell I wasn't all there. I knew when to smile and nod at the appropriate times.

"Meet Dazed and Confused Becky. She comes with three super fun actions: Blank stare, blank stare, and blank stare! You can move her around like a puppet. She won't argue, because her mind is so wrapped up in itself! She's even anatomically correct!

Warning: This doll may be toxic and harmful to your child's mental health."

We rode in a black stretch, and that's as far as I know. Tre's legs was the only part of him that was seen as he played above the sun roof. Mike tested buttons with Billie by his side, trying to taunt me over his shoulder about his great deception of sending my manuscript. I, of course, was already inattentive and coercing sleep to be my escape. I kept thinking:

Why couldn't Billie have just told me?
I'm made of flesh, blood, and bone, not glass.
I need time to prepare myself.
To build myself up more than the past made me.
He literally denied me that by trying to protect me.

I know, I know. This is a huge deal.
This could be the solution to what Billie has always wanted: To support us only with his music.
I can't get all weepy and sensitive over this, but he fucking knows that it's too soon.

"Bec?" A warm hand tugged at my shoulder. My eyes snapped open, no such remnants of sleep. The progressive motion of the limo had stopped.

With little regards to the driver coming around the side, I fumbled with the door handle. The white sky was a dark gray in the tinted window. Ignoring the guys, I crawled up onto my knees and pulled. I fell onto the wet grass right at the driver's shiny black shoes. Despite the dull ache and comments of shock, I stared intently at the dark tour bus yards away.

The three ill-bred words, My-Chemical-Romance, painted on the side.