American Idiot

"Well... Your just going to have to figure it out aren't you?" I say while flipping through a magazine while pretending to look at it. When really I was enjoying poking fun at Tunny.

He sighed and tossed aside his phone onto the mass of blankets strewn across my dirty bed. He hasn't figured out yet how to become an 'effective' Jesus of Suburbia. And apparently the locals at the Underground agree that he is sucking at it because a lot of people have left. Gone and found other places to hang out and waste their time.

Though by now I could almost admit that I love Tunny. I have to say he isn't the best at what he is trying to do. No one can mask the work Jimmy had done here. He oringinzed it and made this place what it is. But Tunny keeps insisting that he can do better. Much better. I've yet to see proof.

He has finally given in a little bit though. Five minutes ago he had been trying to text Jimmy or get a hold of him. But apparelty during one of his drunken nights, he'd deleted the contact yelling "Who the hell needs Jimmy?" And now he is sulking because he can't remember the number. Of course I remember his cell number. It's practically branded into my head from when I'd wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare and call him up at four in the morning and ask him to come over. He'd climb in my window and stay up with me all night talking and leave in the morning when my parents had gone to work.

Tunny had been at texting the last half hour. Poking around and asking friends if they had his number. Course the they all did. But nne of them gave it to Tunny because of all the negative things they have said about Jimmy.

I was sprawled out across my bed painting my nails while he is laughing over a text he got. Then his laughter is cut short by a very serious face.

"What's up with you? You look like you've seen a ghost" I grin, looking down.

He swallows tightly.

"What?" I ask more seriously. He is starting to get me worried. What was up with him?

"Close enough..." He murmurs sadly. His eyes locked on the screen of his phone like he's been shocked. I give him a look.

"What happened?"

He blinked three times straight. reading over the text one of Jimmy's friends had sent him. he began babbling about a subject I couldn't understand.

"I shouldn't have! I... I, fucked everything up. No no no no...." He gripped the phone so tightly I thought he'd break it. I looked at his face in confusion and got tired of being kept in suspense. I reached over and pried it out of his bone white fingers and went to read the text.

"Jimmy's dead..." I murmured in sadness, disbelief.

Tunny became very quiet. Letting the news soak in while I continued to read the text from some guy that had some ties down here but knew Jimmy. His name was Jeramine.

'Hey man, hate to burst ur bubble. But I've got bad news about J.
guess he was depressed or somethin, we found him on the boardwalk
with a gun in his hand. We were a little too late. Sorry, Jimmy's dead.'

I thought it was a little blunt the way he had written the text. Had he had mixed feelings about Jimmy. The half like half hate relationship in his gang. Jimmy never wanted any part of gangs. Said they caused too much trouble. But apparently that wasn't enough to pry him away from the city's lights and drug cartels. I balled my hand up into a fist and unconsciously nibbled on my knuckles. Not realizing how hard I was biting the skin, I made myself bleed. I squeezed my eyes shut, hopeful I guess that it was only a bad dream. I'd wake up from it and be fine. But most things don't work like that, do they?

Tunny hopped off the bed and snatched his phone back out of my frozen fingers. I kept staring unseeingly at the bedspread. He looked shaken.

"Where are you going?" I asked him when he was shrugging into his leather jacket and gathering his things. I know he is upset, I don't need him running off doing stupid things.

He shrugged nonchalantly. Yep, he was going to do something really stupid tonight.
"I'm going to the Underground. To spread the word, I guess."

He disappeared out my bedroom door without a goodbye, a 'I'll see you later' Nothing. And now that I was all alone, I could see how he could have been quite depressed. Jimmy, always had paper thin temper, emotions, the whole nine yards. He didn't take too well to anything that had the opposite effect on him. Which really made me feel guilty now. I was such a bitch to him... I cheated on him, broke up with him for his best friend. Then I go and send him a nasty letter about what a waste of time he was, all the shit going on at home. How happy I was while he was certainly miserable. He had never had the privileged life I'd lived. Rich parents, both parents. A perfect life, a nice car that I didn't buy. Now that I look back on our relationship, I treating him like fucking shit. I treated him like everything he did for me, he owed me. I never thanked him, never said please. Hell, when he was going through all that stuff with his new stepfather, I was nowhere to be found. I never liked to hang around his house because honestly, I thought his house was a piece of crap because it wasn't as good as mine. He drove that bucket of scrap steel he called a car around town without a second thought and I always gave him a attitude when I had to ride with him in it. He had to do a lot of work throughout the summer to afford the thing and I didn't have the decency to appreciate that. I, am the genuine artifact of a total, rotten bitch. And I'd take it all back now if I could.

I dropped my head onto the crumbled blankets in a low thud. Tears swept from my cheeks. Not out of sympathy for myself, but for him, Jimmy. I wasn't going to cry about how I didn't know what I was going to do without him. I'd just have to accept the way things are and that they are most likely my fault.

I stumbled off the bed and down the hall. Out the front door and hopped into my car. I drove east, towards Jimmy's house. Or his ex house. I'm pretty sure his mom still lives there with his stepdad.

I was wary as I parked. But I don't know why I felt like I had to be the one to do it. The one to break the news to them that their son was dead becaus of a depression caused by me. But I wouldn't escape the guilt by also committing suicide. No, I will make myself suffer for it. Maybe by the end of all this I will grow up and find there is more to life then sitting in the shadows under a bridge sniffing coke.