Sequel: Dry Ice ›
Remember Me
Visiting Dad
I watched him kneel in front of the weathered marble stone. He reached out and rubbed his fingers lightly across the lettering. I heard him whispering the words.
“Andy Armstrong. Died 1982.” he murmured. Trying to reconnect with his past.
I felt terribly sympathetic as I sat down next to him. He looked at me as I reached into my purse and pull out an small flower. An pink orchid I'd picked in his front yard. I had thought it was pretty but now saw something greater for it's last use. I laid it carefully on the dirt. Slightly propped up against the cool stone. Shadowed by the tall tree above us. Tears pricked Billie's eyes as I leaned back to look at it. I leaned over without hesitation this time. And hugged him tightly. He would never have to lose anyone else.
He hugged me back tightly and helped me to my feet. As we headed for the trail, Billie turned around and whispered “Bye dad.”
I smiled sadly and wrapped an arm around his waist as we followed the trail out of the grave yard. Back to the summer street where road life was busy. Billie seemed to lighten up once we got out of there. We walked up the street to whatever place he was dragging me off too.
We passed an few shops along the way. Then Billie pointed to something in the window. I turned to look, it was an beautiful dress. Pale, light aqua color. Ankle length and strapless. It had an ruffled train that wrapped around the front. Little jewels dotted it all the way down. It shimmered like an winters snow.
Billie grinned at it and looked at me “It's pretty ain't it?” he laughed. He leaned in to read the tag. Then stepped back in awe “It's the same color as my guitar. Daphne blue.” he looked it all over agai , then switched a few quick looks at me between them. Was he trying to tell what id look like in it?
I blushed and looked away, pretending to find interest in the cars passing on the street.
Billie smirked and grabbed my hand without hesitation and we ran up the street together. Hand in hand. I couldn't tell you if you asked me a million times what love is. The real stuff and the artificial. The spanning love that defined the feelings for family and friends. And the one that pricked nervously at your knotted stomach whenever you saw them or talked to them. Making you trip over your words, in my case, my emotions. Just to get something chorhant out there. I swallowed tightly as the feeling twisted like an knife turning nervously in my stomach at the fact... It may or may not be right to my own bitter judgement. I let my mind make what it wanted with the possibility. I always have to remind myself that I never have to be embarrassed to tell myself something because I am one of the same. I cannot laugh at myself unless I agree it's truly stupid. That makes me my own built in best friend. And also my own worst enemy.
I bit my lip, I could do whatever I wanted with this thought... But it's always gonna be there to remind me who I am and what I think of Billie Joe. I felt this odd spark light in my gut when I first looked at his green eyes. Even as they were narrowed at me in an hostile glare. I felt the coldest feeling that raised the hair on my arms, the chill up my spine was for he was beautifully odd and different to me. Not understanding what I'm going through with all of this. But sure as hell trying.
It was all the bitter resentment twisting like storm clouds in my stomach. Twisting it into unmanageable knots and losing my heart so well it may never find it's way out of the maze. The foggy haze which may as well be named rage and love. The part of your heart that insisted on one emotion for one person. But you knew damn well that you felt the other. But dreaded ever wording the feeling to them in fear of breaking their fragile hearts.
It surprised me actually that I understood the course of love so well since it seemed as new at being pounded into my head as anything else I was Learning. Yet, it felt like id studied it for ages, knew it with all of my broken heart. But I think I've been spared, for God has given me another chance. The freshest unbroken heart he has, with all the knowledge of the ancients of how the emotional parts of the heart work and how to protect them.
I forced my thoughts back to the embarrassing question I was screaming at myself in my head. Almost afraid of the answer I knew I'd give for the hope of my well being. The question however was if I was or wasn't in love, for real, with Billie Joe Armstrong.
I choked back the fear and excitement as it boiled to an conclusion of an simple enough answer: I let it make it's appearance in my head, clearly, for the first time. I took an last breath as I faced it. It wasn't fake nor forced. Just lived beneath the surface of embers. Glowing brighter than ever.
Yes. Yes I was.
“Andy Armstrong. Died 1982.” he murmured. Trying to reconnect with his past.
I felt terribly sympathetic as I sat down next to him. He looked at me as I reached into my purse and pull out an small flower. An pink orchid I'd picked in his front yard. I had thought it was pretty but now saw something greater for it's last use. I laid it carefully on the dirt. Slightly propped up against the cool stone. Shadowed by the tall tree above us. Tears pricked Billie's eyes as I leaned back to look at it. I leaned over without hesitation this time. And hugged him tightly. He would never have to lose anyone else.
He hugged me back tightly and helped me to my feet. As we headed for the trail, Billie turned around and whispered “Bye dad.”
I smiled sadly and wrapped an arm around his waist as we followed the trail out of the grave yard. Back to the summer street where road life was busy. Billie seemed to lighten up once we got out of there. We walked up the street to whatever place he was dragging me off too.
We passed an few shops along the way. Then Billie pointed to something in the window. I turned to look, it was an beautiful dress. Pale, light aqua color. Ankle length and strapless. It had an ruffled train that wrapped around the front. Little jewels dotted it all the way down. It shimmered like an winters snow.
Billie grinned at it and looked at me “It's pretty ain't it?” he laughed. He leaned in to read the tag. Then stepped back in awe “It's the same color as my guitar. Daphne blue.” he looked it all over agai , then switched a few quick looks at me between them. Was he trying to tell what id look like in it?
I blushed and looked away, pretending to find interest in the cars passing on the street.
Billie smirked and grabbed my hand without hesitation and we ran up the street together. Hand in hand. I couldn't tell you if you asked me a million times what love is. The real stuff and the artificial. The spanning love that defined the feelings for family and friends. And the one that pricked nervously at your knotted stomach whenever you saw them or talked to them. Making you trip over your words, in my case, my emotions. Just to get something chorhant out there. I swallowed tightly as the feeling twisted like an knife turning nervously in my stomach at the fact... It may or may not be right to my own bitter judgement. I let my mind make what it wanted with the possibility. I always have to remind myself that I never have to be embarrassed to tell myself something because I am one of the same. I cannot laugh at myself unless I agree it's truly stupid. That makes me my own built in best friend. And also my own worst enemy.
I bit my lip, I could do whatever I wanted with this thought... But it's always gonna be there to remind me who I am and what I think of Billie Joe. I felt this odd spark light in my gut when I first looked at his green eyes. Even as they were narrowed at me in an hostile glare. I felt the coldest feeling that raised the hair on my arms, the chill up my spine was for he was beautifully odd and different to me. Not understanding what I'm going through with all of this. But sure as hell trying.
It was all the bitter resentment twisting like storm clouds in my stomach. Twisting it into unmanageable knots and losing my heart so well it may never find it's way out of the maze. The foggy haze which may as well be named rage and love. The part of your heart that insisted on one emotion for one person. But you knew damn well that you felt the other. But dreaded ever wording the feeling to them in fear of breaking their fragile hearts.
It surprised me actually that I understood the course of love so well since it seemed as new at being pounded into my head as anything else I was Learning. Yet, it felt like id studied it for ages, knew it with all of my broken heart. But I think I've been spared, for God has given me another chance. The freshest unbroken heart he has, with all the knowledge of the ancients of how the emotional parts of the heart work and how to protect them.
I forced my thoughts back to the embarrassing question I was screaming at myself in my head. Almost afraid of the answer I knew I'd give for the hope of my well being. The question however was if I was or wasn't in love, for real, with Billie Joe Armstrong.
I choked back the fear and excitement as it boiled to an conclusion of an simple enough answer: I let it make it's appearance in my head, clearly, for the first time. I took an last breath as I faced it. It wasn't fake nor forced. Just lived beneath the surface of embers. Glowing brighter than ever.
Yes. Yes I was.