Status: I haven't the heart to delete this after committing so much time to it, but I don't have the desire or time to update it either, so it will remain unfinished until further notice.
Green Day Saves the Day
A Search for Billie and for Inspiration
Billie—for the first time in a long time—found himself at a loss for words.
“Wow…that’s…Hell, that’s just fucked up. It really is. But, Robby…it’s over.”
Robb chuckled dryly. “Robby…No one’s called me that since junior high.” He turned around and looked at Billie. “It’s never over. I still have nightmares. I can’t trust anyone. Well, anyone but Dan and Micky.” He smiled briefly at the thought of his friends. “Oh shit!”
“What?”
“How long have we been gone?”
“Oh, about…Zero seconds.” Billie couldn’t help but smile at Robb’s skeptical face. “I’m telling you, being dead—undead, whatever you want to call it—really isn’t so bad. When I travel into different time periods and then go back to the present, it’s as if I never left.”
“That’s...fantastic.” Robb looked at the monkey bars and shuddered. “Do you think we could go now?”
“Oh, of course. Hold on tight!”
As Robb recovered from yet another rough landing, Billie sprinted about his great great great grandson's dressing room, pulling open drawers and flipping chairs over.
“What the hell are you doing?” Robb asked groggily. He shielded his gray-green eyes as they adjusted to the light.
“Looking for a paper and pen,” Billie replied easily as he swept a wide assortment of gels, combs, tacky hair dyes, and eyeliner pencils off of a narrow, polished table.
“Aw, c’mon! It took me forever to organize all that stuff. I—Hey! Do you really think you’re going to find what you’re looking for behind a picture frame?”
Billie carefully placed the picture back on its hook and looked at Robb mischievously. “No. It’s just fun trashing stuff.”
Robb groaned, pulled himself to his feet, and walked over to the other end of the room. He reached into a black shoulder bag and pulled out a spiral notebook and chewed-up pen. He started to hand it to Billie who crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s for you,” he said. “I need you to write a song. You know…about what happened.”
“You can’t be serious…”
***
“That’s got to be the funniest, saddest shit ever,” Tré laughed. He, Mike, and nearly a dozen other musicians watched a Beatles tribute performance with a mixture of amusement and pity. “How can they forget the words to songs that have been around for like, a century?”
His friend chuckled. “Beats me. Hey, where’s Billie? He’d get a kick out of this.”
“How the hell am I supposed to know? I’m not his mother.”
Mike sighed. “C’mon, let’s go look for him.”
“Wow…that’s…Hell, that’s just fucked up. It really is. But, Robby…it’s over.”
Robb chuckled dryly. “Robby…No one’s called me that since junior high.” He turned around and looked at Billie. “It’s never over. I still have nightmares. I can’t trust anyone. Well, anyone but Dan and Micky.” He smiled briefly at the thought of his friends. “Oh shit!”
“What?”
“How long have we been gone?”
“Oh, about…Zero seconds.” Billie couldn’t help but smile at Robb’s skeptical face. “I’m telling you, being dead—undead, whatever you want to call it—really isn’t so bad. When I travel into different time periods and then go back to the present, it’s as if I never left.”
“That’s...fantastic.” Robb looked at the monkey bars and shuddered. “Do you think we could go now?”
“Oh, of course. Hold on tight!”
As Robb recovered from yet another rough landing, Billie sprinted about his great great great grandson's dressing room, pulling open drawers and flipping chairs over.
“What the hell are you doing?” Robb asked groggily. He shielded his gray-green eyes as they adjusted to the light.
“Looking for a paper and pen,” Billie replied easily as he swept a wide assortment of gels, combs, tacky hair dyes, and eyeliner pencils off of a narrow, polished table.
“Aw, c’mon! It took me forever to organize all that stuff. I—Hey! Do you really think you’re going to find what you’re looking for behind a picture frame?”
Billie carefully placed the picture back on its hook and looked at Robb mischievously. “No. It’s just fun trashing stuff.”
Robb groaned, pulled himself to his feet, and walked over to the other end of the room. He reached into a black shoulder bag and pulled out a spiral notebook and chewed-up pen. He started to hand it to Billie who crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s for you,” he said. “I need you to write a song. You know…about what happened.”
“You can’t be serious…”
***
“That’s got to be the funniest, saddest shit ever,” Tré laughed. He, Mike, and nearly a dozen other musicians watched a Beatles tribute performance with a mixture of amusement and pity. “How can they forget the words to songs that have been around for like, a century?”
His friend chuckled. “Beats me. Hey, where’s Billie? He’d get a kick out of this.”
“How the hell am I supposed to know? I’m not his mother.”
Mike sighed. “C’mon, let’s go look for him.”