American Idiot

One thing that hadn't changed about anything since Jimmy left, was the fact that I still disliked his parents. His mom, not exactly a winner in the beauty department, has green eyes that narrow suspiciously at you every time you speak or move. I thought it was awkward to have her stares on me when I'd come here with Jimmy. Never mind coming here alone.

His mom was a nurse, a druggy, don't ask me how she got the job in that condition... She is a alcoholic. Just like Brad, Jimmy's stepfather. The house isn't pure of any kind of substance. There is always alcohol and drugs in that house. She hides cocaine between her mattress and smokes it on the weekends she has off, she has alcohol hidden all over the house. I know that not because I'm a snoop, but because Jimmy would be really sneaky on Friday nights when we wanted a drink and she fell asleep on the couch. There is a bottle of whiskey wedged behind the toilet in the bathroom. There is a bottle of Brandy on the top shelf of her closet. There is a collection of Jack Daniels under the couch and a bottle of tequila on the wire rack in her bedroom. Not including that most of the stuff in the fridge is boxes of wine, beer and hard lemonade.

No wonder Jimmy was no star child, he never had the chance to be. His mom forced him into this by keeping all that around the house. Encouraging him on a can of beer when he was fifteen. Tunny says he was there and watched his friend get sick, Tunny ditched school the next day to stay at Jimmy's and tend him to his first hangover. Tunny was sixteen and had already had his fair share of them.

I parked in the drive. Looking up at the small, unfriendly house. The white paint was peeling in places and it no longer had a lawn surrounding it. It was just shrubby weed patches in packed dirt. The cracked concrete drive shifted under my tires as I parked and climbed out. This was a fine example of a house that needs to be knocked down.

I went to the door. Knocked and waited. It was Sunday, so I knew his mother was off work. She answered a minute later with a annoyed expression.

“What do you want?” she sneered.

I held my breath to keep from rudely hurdling at her the news of Jimmy's death.

“Hey! I asked you a question.” she tapped her foot impatiently. Contemplating shutting the door in my face.

“Do you have a minute? It's important.” I say.

She studies my face apprehensively before saying “No, go away.”

“It's really important. More important to you than anyone.” I say.

“Whats this about?” she narrowed her eyes at me like she always has. That hasn't changed either, apparently.

I took a deep breath then sighed “Jimmy.”

She leaned more comfortably against the doorframe and waited on me “You've heard from him?”

I kicked a pebble “Not directly...”

Suspicion crossed her face then it slid right back into the wary expression she had answered the door with. “Well how then? What is up with him? Where is he?” I could see the motherly love behind the dislike for her son.

“I... I'm so sorry. It's all my fault.” I whimpered. It was wrong to have come here at all.

Her eyes narrowed again “What did you do to him this time?” her words lashed like a whip. Reminding me of the horrible person I was to Jimmy.

“I... I made him commit...” I gasped. I couldn't do this. I could hardly admit the words to myself. I didn't want to believe them. They weren't true...

“No.” she said simply “No, your lying...” she whispered. Obviously she had caught the drift of where I was headed. I could feel my eyes water as I whispered “I wish I were.”

She winced “So Jimmy is...?”

I nodded slowly, looking up at the dark blue sky, darkening towards dusk. I tears slipped away. I pursed my lips and closed my eyes “Yes. Jimmy is... Dead.”

I could see the tears in her eyes. The broken chinks in her armor that swore she didn't care what happened to him. Because deep down she did love Jimmy. But now it was all too late to admit it. And now seeing her reaction to my admitation, I felt another wave of guilt and grief wash over me. She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me inside the house. Shutting the door she sat down on a couch. Shock written in her face as she reached down, rummaging around under the couch until she pulled out a bottle of vodka. She unscrewed the lid and took a long drink of it.

“Screw it...” she muttered “I was a horrible mother anyways...” and she drank down the bottle. I watched her sadly. It was my fault she was drowning her loss in her favorite addiction: drinking. Alcohol is the perfect poison to solve your problems. But only until the buzz wears off, leaving a hangover in it's wake, to remind you of everything you lost.

She whimpered hopeless words and flopped over on her side, clutching the bottle of vodka to her chest and bawling as she yelled “Wake me up when September ends.”

Honestly I hadn't expected her to have taken it this hard. She never showed any love towards her only son. She avoided him as completely as he had avoided her, but if she is feeling anything like me right now, she wants to take it back. But once again we are faced with the concept that you can't take something like this back. It's gone forever. Lost to the ash. I sniffled and stole the bottle of whisky off the coffee table and kicked off my chucks, curled up in a ball on the recliner with it and followed her example.

* * *

I refused to meet my own eyes in the mirror. Instead I focused carefully on the buttons of my black blouse. Concentrating on getting them through the holes on the opposite side, and nothing else.

It had been a week since I did the ‘Big reveal’ to Jimmy's mother. After taking vacation time from work for a week, she drank the three following days, it took her one day ro get over her hangover, and she has been sober since. Very sad looking, but sober. Hasn't touched a bottle of alcohol since. What does she figure? It's slowly killing her? She doesn't want to end up like J?

I tied my hair back and did my makeup dark. I usually do anyways, but I felt the need to grieve today. Because today, in the cemetery, in the funeral of three people. Three people I knew quite well.

One was the Jesus of Suburbia.
How far does Suburbia go? Only to the refineries and back? No, it's all based on what it means to you. If you feel trapped and confined in one place, and doing one thing makes you feel a little freer, if only by a fraction, go for it. The Jesus of Suburbia followed what made him happy. And because of it, he was some kind of Jesus to the local 7-11 and the Underground. Everyone at the Underground is taking his permanent absence pretty hard.

Two, was St. Jimmy.
I didn't know Saint Jimmy well, he developed more when he left Suburbia for the bigger better town with more drug cartels and alcoholics. Maybe that city changed him, for better or for worse.
Saint Jimmy wasn't very common in Suburbia. Rarely showing up here and there. He is the reason Jimmy is dead.

And third, my favorite. Regular old Jimmy.
He didn't like being called Jimmy. Not with the Saint part tagged on, noo sirry. He was more limited to a normal life. He was funny, happy, most of the time. He laughed a lot and screwed around just as much. He was really sweet. Obviously sweet enough to come visit me at two in the morning over a bad dream... But of all the people being buried today in one casket, he is easily my favorite. Because at one time, he was mine.

I looked down at the black leather biker chaps. He wouldn't want a bunch of formal freaks at his funeral anyways: he'd want the punks from 7-11 there with their wildly colored hair and Mohawks. He'd want the band t-shirt and holy jeans apparel. The chains and bandanas hanging from their back pockets and all their piercings. He'd say for them to “Come as you are... Not who people want you to be.” I held onto his motto for stregnth. I closed my eyes and imagined just a glimpse, a flash of his face. And it was enough for me to nod slowly and tie my boot laces and get out of here.

From all I'd ever learned from him, I knew what song he would want played at his funeral. He had told me many times during our relationship what it would be. By his favorite band it would be 'Ha Ha You're Dead' by Green Day.
I smiled to myself and remembered the lyrics. I could think of another Green Day song that could have been equally fitting, it was 86.

I let the song play in my head. Murmuring the lyrics I knew so well.

“What brings you around? Did you loose something the last time you were here? Well you'll never find it now, it's buried deep with your identity. So stand aside and let the next one pass. Don't let the door kick you in the ass. There's no return from 86. There's no return from 86. There is no return from 86. There is no return from 86. Don't even try. Exit out the back, and never show your head around again. Purchase your ticket, and quickly take the last train out of town. So stand aside and let the next one pass, don't let the door kick you in the ass. There is no return from 86. There is no return from 86. There is no return from 86. There is no return from 86. Don't even try.”

I opened my eyes, saddened by the fact it fit far too well... I glanced at the clock “Going to be late...” I murmured to myself. Grabbing my jacket. But if I was being honest with myself at all, I'd be far too early. And it would disappoint me. I'm just happy they cremated him. A bullet to the head surely wouldn't have made dressing him a very pretty sight.
I had helped his mother make the bural arraignments. And today was Sunday again. The day of rest, but no. And I and his mother both knew already his favorite places. So they would be perfect. His ash was split into three small containers. One was actually medium sized, a vase that was black as night, with St. Jimmy, the Jesus of Suburbia written in red cursive on it. That held the most ash and would be buried. The other two containers were actually two whisky bottles. One bottle's contents would be spread at the underground, the other in the endless green field behind the 7-11. Because they wouldn't let us through ash in their parking lot (jerks...)

I smiled to myself and imagined doing that, throwing ash all over the parking lot. I'd be a lot happier if J was there to do it all with me.

I sighed and hurried out to my car. Getting in, I could see through the windshield it was a cold, breezy, overcast day. The perfect day to be spending in the cemetery grieving. I sighed and back out. Going to see the last march of Saint Jimmy.