Beyond Paradise

It occurred to Billie as he was tightening the last nut on the rear wheel of his son's bicycle that he hardly knew his hands anymore.

The strings on his guitar had been silent for--well, it must have been the better part of two years now, he reckoned, and every time he felt the urge to pick it up lately, an icy sliver of fear pierced his brain and stopped him in his tracks. It was easier to make excuses to Adie, to Mike and Tre, to the fans, than to admit that he had forgotten how to do the one thing that had always come easier to him than breathing.

Truth was, Billie Joe Armstrong had lost his music.

Slowly, he lowered the wrench to the floor, watching his sinewy fingers as though they belonged to someone else. He had made love to Adie just last night, going through the familiar motions that had become second nature to both of them. When they had finished, she rolled over on her side, resting her head on his belly, and he felt a warm trickle against his side.

Her brimming eyes had lifted to his, and she whispered, "Who is she, Billie? I just need to know if you love her, because wherever your heart is, it isn't here with me."

Deeply wounded, he responded in anger, the only emotion he seemed to know anymore. "Can you at least wait for the sweat to dry before you lay into me, Adrienne? You're obsessed with this idea that there's some other woman out there, trying to steal me away from you, and you can't even stop thinking about it when we're in bed!"

"That's when it shows," she said, sobbing softly as she pulled away and sat up. "You don't even look at me anymore--you look past me at someone I can't even compete with."

When she turned on the bathroom light and closed the door behind her, the man that he had once been urged him to follow her, to comfort and reassure her with everything he had to give. Instead, this Billie, the one who had lost himself somewhere along the way, turned over and pretended to go back to sleep.

This morning they had tried to keep normalcy between them, but he knew that Joey had picked up on the coolness in their voices and the brevity of their kiss. Jakob was still too young to notice these things, and went about the business of being an eight year old boy with his usual gusto. But there was a quietness about Joey that concerned him, and so after breakfast he had taken his son out to the garage to work on the BMX bike that had occupied most of his waking hours last summer.

Conversation between them was light as they worked, skirting delicately around any topic that might take them onto emotional thin ice. Short sentences, requesting tools or offering help, filled the silence that would have been deafening otherwise. Finally they stood back, admiring their work, and nodding their mutual approval. Billie looped an affectionate arm around the boy's broadening shoulders. He was growing up so fast, so fast....

"Take 'er out for a ride and see how she does." He hoped his voice carried with it the pride and love he felt, because the words came so hard these days for him.

"Sure thing, Dad. Be back after lunch, okay?" Joey took his helmet down from the hook beside the garage door.

"Sounds good. Be careful on the ramps." Watching his son pedal down the driveway and onto the street, legs pumping faster and faster, it occurred to him how quickly time was slipping away. How would it be when they both were grown and gone, leaving him and Adie alone together in an empty house that was little more than a tomb for the love they had once shared?

The worry and frustration were mounting in him, leaving him feeling like a ticking time bomb. It was all too familiar to him. In years past, he would have hermited himself in the basement studio, not sleeping, barely eating, channeling all the emotion into his music and lyrics and turning out some of his best songs in the process. Days later, he would emerge, unshaven and eyes dark-circled, but with a cathartic calm that would spread through the house like a warm blanket.

But no more. His one refuge, his port in all storms, had abandoned him and he had no outlet, no vent to release the pent-up rage that never quite cooled below a slow simmer inside him. Without that, he knew it was only a matter of time before he would explode into a full meltdown, taking his family down with him. And that was unthinkable.

He did the only thing he could think of. Shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets, Billie Joe began to walk, first to the end of the driveway, and then left, going to no place in particular. Head down in deep concentration, he was oblivious to the cars that passed by, the noises of the city around him, the sun that beat down on his tired head.

His mind worked furiously, willing the creative juices to flow again, but some vital part of him seemed to have died. The harder he tried, the deeper he slid into despair, until at last he looked up to find himself in a part of the city couldn't remember ever seeing before.

Billie Joe was lost, in more ways than one.

His hand dipped reflexively into his pocket, fingers feeling for the flat case of his cell phone, but found nothing. "Shit!" he muttered, "I must have left it in the charger."

It wasn't unheard of for him to wander this far away. More than once he had called Adie, giving her the names of cross streets and waiting in some bar or restaurant for her to drive out and give him a ride home before darkness fell. But usually he could find at least some landmark, some familiar marker, even if only the Golden Gate in the distance, so he could give her an idea where to look for him. This time, he was surprised to find nothing that he could recognize at all.

From behind him, he heard snuffling, and the rhythmic click of a dog's toenails on the sidewalk. Before he could turn around, the cold, wet nose had nuzzled against the calf of his right leg, and a pair of eyes, one brown and one a light blue, stared up at him curiously.

"Hiya, boy!," he said, bending to rub the furry head. The dog was a mutt, part Shepherd and part beagle, from the looks of him, and judging from his corrugated sides, it had been a while since he had last eaten. There was no collar, no tags, but he was a friendly devil, and in spite of the situation he found himself in, Billie couldn't help smiling. "Where'd you come from?"

The dog's tail wagged happily, his tongue lolling out and a thin rope of drool dangling toward the pavement.

Billie straightened and looked around to see if a likely owner was anywhere to be found. Besides himself and the dog, the street was quiet.

"Well, buddy, I hate to tell you this, but you've got the wrong guy if you're looking for a handout. I'm kind of a bum right now myself." He scanned the stores along the block, hoping for a restaurant or some other establishment where he might use a telephone. Several of the storefronts were boarded over, and there were bars were over many of the doors. It wasn't a good omen.

Best to head back the way he'd come until he came to a better area, he thought, and as he turned back toward home, the dog loped along beside him patiently. It was comforting to have the company, and he knew it would discourage anyone who might think about approaching him with ill intent.

He had backtracked about three blocks when he stopped abruptly, scratching his head in confusion. Just ahead of him was an area where the road widened, and gave way to what looked like a town square, with people milling about.

And it damn sure hadn't been there a few minutes ago.