Green Day Saves the Day

The day dragged on mercilessly for everyone in the band, but no one was taking it harder than Minty. He was stuck at the condo answering phone calls all day and all the while, he only had her on his mind. Joan—with her dazzling eyes and shamrock tattoo and sweet, citrus scent—was a part of his every thought. Every time the phone would ring, a tiny, desperate shred of his brain would think that maybe, just maybe, she had gotten a hold of his number and was calling him to tell him that she thought of him the way he thought of her and that the paparazzi wasn’t enough to keep them apart; but every time it would just be another tabloid reporter, or some long-lost friend or family member who was suddenly interested in his wellbeing now that he was internationally known. Every time the phone would ring, he’d find himself giving out a default answer like “Yeah, me and Robb are still friends” or “No, she’s not my girlfriend. I just met her that night” or, for the truly persistent tabloid reporter, the click of the phone as it was slammed down on the cradle followed by a dial tone.

Though Dré didn’t have to deal with the pain of lost love and heartache, he did have to deal with the pain of a concussion, a broken arm, a few fractured ribs, and several bruises the size of pancakes. The hospital where he was staying was a reasonable walking distance from the condo, so Robb and Minty, as well as Billie, Tré, and Mike—whenever they could manage to avoid Robb who had given them strict instructions to “Leave Dré alone, or so help me God…”—visited him on a regular basis. Robb was on one such visit and was trying to make the best of his limited time with his injured friend.

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Fine, now that I’m pumped full of the best pain killers money can buy,” Dré replied with a weak smile. “I know you’re not just here to see how I’m doing. Those tabloids are bugging you, aren’t they?”

Robb sighed and bowed his head to avoid his friend’s steady gaze. “Yeah, they are,” he mumbled. Looking up, he said, “We’ve got to clear our names, Mick. This isn’t going to blow over on its own. I mean, it’s not like there are any other celebrities out there to take the spotlight off of us. The world has us under a fucking magnifying glass and I don’t know if I can take it anymore…”

About a half mile from the hospital, unaware of Robb’s sudden change of heart, Minty lay on the couch with his cell phone clutched in his fist and his eyes glued to the slightly faded digits on his arm. He had long ago thrown the house phone out the window to the sand below and had been laying in this position, with his knuckles white, his heart pounding, and his forehead beaded with sweat, for ten minutes. It had taken a good half hour and an insane amount of courage just to get to this point, and it was going to take even more time and courage to relax his death grip, turn on the phone, and dial the twelve digits that could spell relief or heartbreak. Taking a deep breath, he hoisted himself into an upright position and began dialing.

“Robb, we can’t just call it quits now,” Dré said, trying his best to put on his serious face. His lips which naturally curled upward and his dimples that appeared whenever his mouth stretched made that impossible. “We’ve gotten to a point where there’s no turning back.”

“Says who?” Robb demanded, suddenly angry. “Who says we can’t just go back to the way things used to be? I’d go back to being nobody and eating crap and driving crappy cars if it meant I could just walk down the street without someone taking a goddamn picture of me.”

“This isn’t about you anymore, and it’s not about Minty or me either. Can’t you see that?”

“Yeah, Mick? Then who the hell is this about, huh? Who?!”

Dré, naïve little Dré who hardly ever lost his temper, felt something in the pit of his stomach. He felt hot and outraged. He didn’t know if it was because of the drugs or because he’d been stuck in that damn bed for an eternity, and he didn’t care. All that he knew was that at that moment in time, he despised his best friend.

He carefully pulled himself up and adjusted his pillows. “It’s about your dead grandpa—” he began, dangerously calm.

“I don’t give a fuck if he—“

“Does it sound like I’m fucking finished?!” Dré screamed.

Robb’s mouth clamped shut and his eyes widened in shock. It was then that he understood what his friend was capable of.

The volume of Dré’s voice dropped, but the sheer intensity of it did not. He wanted to make sure his point got across the first time, and that it hit hard. “It’s not just about doing Billie a favor. It’s about all those kids out there that are finally picking up guitars and playing around on drums. It’s about them, and all the musicians that were killed because they couldn’t do what we’re doing. It’s about changing the fucking world, Robby. It’s not about us anymore.”

Robb turned his back on Dré to hide his tears. His feelings weren’t hurt easily for he was used to harsh words and angry tones. It was something else that had drilled a hole through the thick wall that protected his emotions and made his eyes burn with frustrated and sad tears. It was the frightening realization that everyone and everything had changed. This journey had made him more aware of his past and his buried pain than he’d ever wanted to be. This journey was breaking him down, and it was changing his best friend’s nature. This journey was unpredictable and arduous and there was nothing he could do but continue on with it for the sake of…everyone.

Quickly wiping his eyes away, Robb turned back around to look at the man who stared at him from a hospital bed.

“You’re right, Dré. You’re right; we’ve got to keep going.”

Dré’s harsh mask melted away as suddenly as it had appeared. He smiled warmly at his friend and said, “I’m sorry I got so mad. It’s just…this is way too important for any of us to be having second thoughts about it. We’ve got to put everything we’ve got into our music.”

“Yeah, yeah we do,” Robb replied. Just then, the automatic door to the room slid open slowly. A bulky, metal figure stood in the doorway, its position stiff and unnatural.

“Your visiting time is over, Mr. Armstrong,” the robotic nurse chimed. “I will escort you out.”

Robb sighed. “All right, I’m leaving,” he said. Turning to Dré, he said, “Thanks—I needed to hear that.”

“No problem,” Dré replied as the other man turned and walked out the door. “No problem.”

Meanwhile, Minty stood by the window with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Each ring, each moment that passed without Joan picking up made him more and more anxious. Finally, he heard the voice he had been dying to hear.

“Hello, Joan speaking. Who’s this?”

It’s not too late to just hang up. She doesn’t even have to know who it is. Just hang— “Hey, it’s Minty.” Idiot.

“Oh. I’m kind of busy so you can just call me back later,” Joan said hurriedly.

Fine, let her hang up. Just say, “OK”. “Joan, wait. Just hear me out.” You never learn your lesson, do you Danny? “I know you’ve probably seen the tabloids and everything…”

“It’s hard not to see them when they’re everywhere I go,” Joan snapped bitterly.

“I know, and I just wanted to call to apologize and see if maybe we could pick up where we left off, you know before the accident and everything, and see if things work out between us,” he said without taking breath.

The woman sighed deeply and did not speak for a few seconds. “Look, you seem like a really great guy…” she began.

Oh boy, here comes the heartbreaker. You should’ve listened when I told you to hang up the damn phone.

“…and I know being with you isn’t going to be easy, but I think you’re well worth the risk. I’m willing to give you one chance to show me I’m not making a big mistake.”

Minty’s heart felt as if it would simply burst with ecstasy. He tried his best to thank her without sounding too pathetic before arranging a second date with her the next week on Wednesday. For the first time since that performance in New Orleans, Daniel Minty Malvez truly felt like he could conquer the world.

The next day dawned cool and overcast and Robb and Minty decided to visit Dré. After bribing the human nurses with free tickets to their next concert, they snuck into Dré’s hospital room where they found he was being entertained by whom else but Billie, Mike, and Tré. At first Robb protested Green Day’s presence, but then decided they might come in handy with coming up with a solution to The New’s problem: their soiled reputation. The six of them intently discussed different options.

“There’s that one radio station…you know, the one with whatshisface. He interviews actors and all that and does a rumor control thing,” Billie suggested.

“Radios are too expensive nowadays with all the shit they do; holograms and voice-activated controls and all that crap. A lot of people don’t have them ‘cause they can’t afford them,” Robb said.

“How about that one show, Stars Exposed?” Dré added.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead on there,” Minty and Robb said simultaneously.

“Why not just go on the news?” Mike said annoyed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh yeah…” the rest of the room chimed.

“News conference it is, then,” Robb declared.

“Great, can we leave now? I’m starting to feel all claustrophobic in this little room,” Tré said.

“Fine,” Billie sighed. “Hope you feel better soon,” he said, addressing Dré. Looking in Robb and Minty’s direction he added, “See you guys back at the condo!” He clapped twice and the three men once known as Green Day vanished, just like that.

Robb and Minty bade their friend good-bye before heading off as well. When they got home, Robb called the local news station to arrange a press conference. He was granted with a small time slot on the following Wednesday. “This betta not be a waste o’ time, you hear me? We gots a lotta news to cover,” were the last words he heard from the station manager before he was hung up on with a sharp click.