I Guess I'll Never Get To Call You Mine
PIERRE
A lot has been happening these past few days and my mind is trying to process it all in. Everything went by so fast like a blur that I still had a hard time believing what we all have been through so far. Simple Plan is currently supposed to be writing songs for a new album, of which most of our ideas are trashy. Our bassist tried to sleep with a member of the band we’re supposed to collaborate with. Considering the fact that she had five brothers that is not a good thing. Also, there’s been a fight and she’s currently not on speaking terms with our drummer. Oh, and did I mention that that particular drummer currently hates our bassist and tried to kill him with my mom’s antique Ming Dynasty vase this morning?
You’re forgetting one more thing, a little voice in my head gently reminded me. A picture of my brother Jay, still so young and healthy flashed in my mind. He will not look like that soon the voice said. In a few months he’ll only be skin and bones and all that chemotherapy will make him lose his hair. He’ll be bedridden for months and won’t be able to move around and talk and joke with you anymore. And then eventually you’ll face the inevitable and he’ll—
A bunch of people turned to look at me and I realized that I’d screamed out loud. An old lady shook her head at me, a disapproving look etched on her face. A kid snickered and whispered something to his friend as he pointed a finger at me. Anger flared up from inside me. They don’t understand. No one understands how I feel. Reminding myself that beating up teenagers would ruin Simple Plans reputation, I proceeded to turn away and walk the other direction. I have no idea where I’m going and I didn’t care.
My feet automatically led me to Le Sainte Elisabeth, one of the best bars in downtown Montréal. Like most places in Quebec, it’s named after a Catholic saint, but I’m pretty sure Saint Elisabeth is glaring at me right now as I pushed the doors open and ordered a pint of beer. One thing led to another and pretty soon empty glasses surrounded me. I drank steadily with a steely determination, until the memory of that dreadful text message I got in Florida was blocked in my mind. I drank until I forgot the initial feeling of shock upon the realization that Jay is going to die, the feelings of grief and sorrow as if he were already dead to me, and the survivor’s guilt that followed because it was he that was ill and not I. Jay, who’d taught me how to tie my shoes and how to swim, who’d stuck up for bullies who picked on his little brother, Jay who’s always supported my musical ambitions from the start. He is going to die that annoying voice in my mind said. “Shut up,” I drawled, and ordered another tumbler of vodka.
I drank until the entire room started to spin and everything was blurry and I can’t even speak, move or think properly. Nothing mattered anymore. Pretty soon my wallet is deprived of its contents and I stumbled out, having achieved my goal. I staggered toward a lamppost and clung to it, puking down my front.
As I wiped the vomit with my arm I began to be dimly aware of my surroundings. There’s a pretty blond woman across the street, hand with a hand with a brown-haired man who looked about my age. They looked happy together, without a care in the world. Hey that lady looked a lot like Ashley my mind piped up. I grinned foolishly. Man I’m so drunk I’m getting hallucinations. And that man looked a lot like my childhood friend—the bassist who used to play for Reset. What was his name again? I retched once more as I bizarrely tried to remember his name. He likes to be called by his initials I thought to myself as my legs gave away from underneath me and I passed out facedown on the street.
You’re forgetting one more thing, a little voice in my head gently reminded me. A picture of my brother Jay, still so young and healthy flashed in my mind. He will not look like that soon the voice said. In a few months he’ll only be skin and bones and all that chemotherapy will make him lose his hair. He’ll be bedridden for months and won’t be able to move around and talk and joke with you anymore. And then eventually you’ll face the inevitable and he’ll—
A bunch of people turned to look at me and I realized that I’d screamed out loud. An old lady shook her head at me, a disapproving look etched on her face. A kid snickered and whispered something to his friend as he pointed a finger at me. Anger flared up from inside me. They don’t understand. No one understands how I feel. Reminding myself that beating up teenagers would ruin Simple Plans reputation, I proceeded to turn away and walk the other direction. I have no idea where I’m going and I didn’t care.
My feet automatically led me to Le Sainte Elisabeth, one of the best bars in downtown Montréal. Like most places in Quebec, it’s named after a Catholic saint, but I’m pretty sure Saint Elisabeth is glaring at me right now as I pushed the doors open and ordered a pint of beer. One thing led to another and pretty soon empty glasses surrounded me. I drank steadily with a steely determination, until the memory of that dreadful text message I got in Florida was blocked in my mind. I drank until I forgot the initial feeling of shock upon the realization that Jay is going to die, the feelings of grief and sorrow as if he were already dead to me, and the survivor’s guilt that followed because it was he that was ill and not I. Jay, who’d taught me how to tie my shoes and how to swim, who’d stuck up for bullies who picked on his little brother, Jay who’s always supported my musical ambitions from the start. He is going to die that annoying voice in my mind said. “Shut up,” I drawled, and ordered another tumbler of vodka.
I drank until the entire room started to spin and everything was blurry and I can’t even speak, move or think properly. Nothing mattered anymore. Pretty soon my wallet is deprived of its contents and I stumbled out, having achieved my goal. I staggered toward a lamppost and clung to it, puking down my front.
As I wiped the vomit with my arm I began to be dimly aware of my surroundings. There’s a pretty blond woman across the street, hand with a hand with a brown-haired man who looked about my age. They looked happy together, without a care in the world. Hey that lady looked a lot like Ashley my mind piped up. I grinned foolishly. Man I’m so drunk I’m getting hallucinations. And that man looked a lot like my childhood friend—the bassist who used to play for Reset. What was his name again? I retched once more as I bizarrely tried to remember his name. He likes to be called by his initials I thought to myself as my legs gave away from underneath me and I passed out facedown on the street.