‹ Prequel: Union
Communion
The Journal
How do major secrets go unobserved and unnoticed for such long periods of time? It's the one whom wields the key to the treasure chest of secrecy whom controls other's knowledge. The beholder of the secret almost becomes a master of disguise at whatever it is they are trying to enclose from the people surrounding them.
These people can be their co-workers, acquaintances, friends, secondary family members or even the closest of family members. Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, cousins, wives, husbands...the list goes on.
Some secrets are better left secrets though. Others, they are just plain bellowing out cries for attention. Someone to care. Someone to take notice that something isn't right. Something isn't the way it's supposed to be...
Perhaps Mr. Mike Dirnt had made the most selfish of all decisions that one day, when he had promised to shadow Rose's dark secret. But he couldn't exactly speak or do anything with out knowing more about the situation first. But that is not to say he didn't have the intent of helping Tre's wife with her appalling issues.
In fact, he had every intent.
In Mike's mind, he felt if Rose could view him as her savior, perhaps there was a chance she'd realize she was in love with him. Not just "you're a good friend Mike Dirnt" love.
Real ol' fashioned love.
What Mike failed to hypothesize and remember, is that Rose already viewed him as her savior. Right along with Billie Joe and her own husband.
Green Day.
And in retrospect to events of the unforgotten past to many, why shouldn't she?
Mike knew he was getting in over his head being in love with one of his best friend's wife. But something literally killed the man inside to watch Rose and Tre have each other, whilst he could never find satisfaction or happiness with any woman. Something about the way Tre touched Rose; it was so pure and tempting to his middle age eagerness to settle down with a family of his own.
I mean after all, he was forty years old now.
A forty year old man living on his own and caring for a child who would eventually grow to wonder whom his mother's identity was. The situation really was quite an ironic and chaotic one.
What would happen, time could only tell...
* * *
A week after their wedding anniversary, Rose sat quietly on the dining room floor at home, picking through and sorting out a clutter of papers that had been thrown into the bottom drawer of a china cabinet and left to accumalate over the years.
She knew Frank was off in Billie's basement studio collaberating with them all their newest material, before they had plans to launch there next album in the fall of the next year. That knowledge brought her much contentment.
She sighed and was wide-eyed with insomnia, even after hardly any sleep the previous night. There were many enveloped papers, old bills, receipts and pictures strewn across the floor. Rose began to make piles, pairing individual papers, and then digging deeper and deeper into the drawer for more exciting clutter. Scooping up another handful of clutterous notes, she placed them all down on the floor in front of her; tilting her head to the side as she examined a hard covered book sitting on the very top of the pile.
Picking the dated book up, she observed it closely. It was a frozen moment in time; when she was once victimized into a state of being a near permanant invalid. What time exactly; a day after she was released from a hospital with critical head injuries and a ravaged spirit.
A journal Frank had kindly bought her in a gift shop at Oakland Hospital; for therapeutic use.
She stared at it blankly for a moment. She had always wondered what had become of this book and had little memory of the things she once wrote in it.
If she even wrote in it at all.
Rose lowered her lashes over her jade pupils with a new expression of curiousity. She cleared flem from her silenced vocal chords, before slowly attempting to pull the book's cover up and view the contents of its pages.
August 3rd, 2008
I'm writing in a journal, first time in forever. In fact, until I got home yesterday I hadn't even opened this journal which Frank bought me in the hospital gift shop.
So, here I am AGAIN, just laying in a bed trying to recover, once AGAIN.
Frank is actually worried about me. He thinks I am acting strangely unaffected by what happened the other day.
What can I say? Besides the physical pain, I feel nothing.
Frank has been drunk twice in the last three days. He promised me he's quit, but that's what he's doing instead of sharing his feelings with me. He'll come around though.
I'm not mad, I kind of understand.
On another note, he has been waiting on me hand and foot. I don't feel it is necessary, especially since he is supposed to be doing publicity for the new album. But I guess I don't mind that much...
An amazing thing happened while I was in the hospital. Frank and I decided on a date to take our trip to Germany. August 20th, that is the day we decided upon.
Frankfurt and Berlin are the first European tour dates, and we plan on enjoying ourselves as much as we can while we're there.
Ouch, my body hurts so badly right now. Fuck, the police still haven't caught those assholes. It actually quite surprises me. Their fingerprints would have been everywhere. Plus they were caught on camera jumping the gate.
I can't concentrate on that right now. Come on Rose, no thoughts...no thoughts...
Whoo, that's better.
Oh what was that? I think Frank is coming back upstairs to check on me. I better hide my journal, before he decides to read it.
Rose began to cry as she recalled that day when everything really started. The day she had always thought of as 'the beginning of the end'. Her world came tumbling down: she was raped, her husband an alcoholic.
And Green Day...had just cancelled their world tour and were on the brink of a breakup.
But things weren't like that anymore. She had little thoughts like that. In fact, she now felt her life with her husband to be half content for the first time in the last four years. Because, the first two years of her marriage had been great. Wonderful. Some how Rose felt like she were a newlywed again.
Rose gazed back down at the journal; her tears falling upon it, warping and running the ink of pages that had obviously already been damaged in that manner.
Still August 18th, 2008
Fuck, I just got into a fight with Adrienne. I wish I hadn't of done that. I know she just cares about me.
But anyways she just left; after I screamed at her to get the fuck out. What? She was telling me I need serious help. I'm sorry, it reminds me of how my mom use to call me an institution case all the time.
Wow, am I crying right now? God, what the fuck is with me?! Sometimes I cry, sometimes I forget even how.
'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.'
Well, even under all this stress, I've been sober since I said I wouldn't drink anymore. Yeah, I'm really proud of myself, and what a time to quit, eh?
Fuck, I'm warping the paper with my tears. But whatever, I can look back at this distorted water damaged paper and think of how my life was once sad. Yeah, 'once'...life will get better. I know it will.
God, I should be the happiest woman alive. I mean look who I'm fucking married to, and the beautiful house we have.
Well, I found out the life of 'Tre Cool' is not what I had thought it was. Or at least it was what I thought it was, until I waltzed into his life and wrecked it. Fuck, I'm such bad luck for everyone around me, even to myself. It makes me feel superstitious.
I'm really surprised the cops never bothered Frank and I over the video footage of us in the club. It makes me curious as to why. I mean, the evidence was right there. I don't know, time will tell I guess.
Oh look at that, I'm not crying again. Bone dry.
Frank mentioned being really upset about his wedding band being stolen. I could try and replace the ring for him I guess...it's an irreplacible sort of thing though.
He was drunk when he told me that though. He shares his feelings more when he drinks. But one thing I notice is he gets really angry when he's sobering up, or hasn't drunk for awhile. And his shaking, he even shakes in his sleep. It's like sleeping with someone who is having seizures.
Speaking of 'sleeping with'; Frank and I haven't since the rape. I don't know, I think he's too uncomfortable, and I'm getting horrible flashbacks. I think having sex might make me lose it.
Well, I haven't really been out of the house in a little less than a month. And to put it bluntly, I haven't really left our bedroom. 'The downstairs foyer,' I find going down there too hard.
Yep that's right, I'm becoming a recluse again. I thought my social woes had been fixed since moving out here. But nope, I've shut myself off from the world again.
Well, most people hadn't really seen much of me until the footage on television last month. Meaning, they had no idea what I looked like, since I usually exclude myself from publicity events.
Billie told me they now have this stupid 'couple scandal' thing in all the tabloids. They've called us drug addicts and everything else. And they even went as far out as calling me 'Billie Joe's ugly cousin.'
Where the fuck did they get that info anyways?
They said I'm not hot, then cut a picture of Frank and I in half, and paired him up with a model. I think they think it's unnecessary to make fun of him. They think they are already destroying his career.
I think they think I'm fat or something. They're so sexist; have they checked out the baggage Frank is carrying on him? No...they wouldn't want to point that out.
Okay, I said I was proud of quitting drinking. And I am, I'm very proud. But this whole public, 'make fun of Tre Cool's wife' thing has upsetted me a lot more then I will admit to anyone.
I don't even think I'll write it down in here. It's just something I did as a teenager because I felt bad about my body; I'm starting to do it again...
Rose discontinued reading that journal entry and turned the page. She took in a deep breath of stale room temperatured air and ran her hand through her hair before reading another journal entry...
September 15, 2008
So anyways, I haven't written anything in here for like a month or something. I figured I should. So yeah, it's September 15th and Billie hasn't called me. I think he just gets super upset on this day, with his Father's death anniiversary and all. Poor Billie. I'm super upset right now too; but I wish he would come over so I could give him a hug.
I can't exactly leave the house to give him one myself.
Anyways, here's a poem I wrote about nothing.
I hope nobody reads it...
Elbows on the throne,
I'm here on the floor,
I'm crouched all alone,
My feet block the door,
I plague my own mind,
Obsessed with my skull,
Like Billie's white line,
There's no self-control,
Accepted when I'm bone,
My stomach is sore,
Abused with Her tone,
"I'm just a fat whore",
Burning in my throat,
Eating me alive,
I love my husband,
It's off him I still thrive,
Hidden in my bathroom,
A sanction with care,
Frank's my best friend,
But he's unaware,
I am adrifting,
I float on the air,
Grace of a feather,
New with a tear,
Fans can be cruel,
And I'm too weak to fight,
Toilets are holy, they cleanse all my smite,
Today's the last time,
I promise to Frank,
Though he knows not,
It's he I shall thank,
I heard what they said,
And I care not for wealth,
It's not in my head,
I puke for myself,
He and I are one,
No more will they laugh,
I know that I'm shunned,
But torment shall pass,
They'll love me like 80,
I'll be perfect like her,
They will not hate me,
My husband will concur,
I know he's ashamed,
I'd be of me too,
Perfect, loved and famed,
Idolized he is too,
I'll be less an eyesore,
To stand by his side,
To walk out the door,
In the view of the publics pry,
Fans can be cruel,
And I'm too weak to fight,
Toilets are holy, they cleanse all my smite...
As Rose reread every entry of this book of self-bellowing, she began to wonder how it possibly got down in the dining room. She knew she wouldn't have simply just left it laying around for her husband to read. In fact, she could even remember now, where she had originally hid it and left it. In her night table under her stack of Guitar World magazines. She knew Frank didn't care for Guitar World magazines enough to go in there. That's why she had decided to hide it there in the first place. This left Rose pondering, 'someone knows and someone's been reading my journal...'
'...but who?'
These people can be their co-workers, acquaintances, friends, secondary family members or even the closest of family members. Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, cousins, wives, husbands...the list goes on.
Some secrets are better left secrets though. Others, they are just plain bellowing out cries for attention. Someone to care. Someone to take notice that something isn't right. Something isn't the way it's supposed to be...
Perhaps Mr. Mike Dirnt had made the most selfish of all decisions that one day, when he had promised to shadow Rose's dark secret. But he couldn't exactly speak or do anything with out knowing more about the situation first. But that is not to say he didn't have the intent of helping Tre's wife with her appalling issues.
In fact, he had every intent.
In Mike's mind, he felt if Rose could view him as her savior, perhaps there was a chance she'd realize she was in love with him. Not just "you're a good friend Mike Dirnt" love.
Real ol' fashioned love.
What Mike failed to hypothesize and remember, is that Rose already viewed him as her savior. Right along with Billie Joe and her own husband.
Green Day.
And in retrospect to events of the unforgotten past to many, why shouldn't she?
Mike knew he was getting in over his head being in love with one of his best friend's wife. But something literally killed the man inside to watch Rose and Tre have each other, whilst he could never find satisfaction or happiness with any woman. Something about the way Tre touched Rose; it was so pure and tempting to his middle age eagerness to settle down with a family of his own.
I mean after all, he was forty years old now.
A forty year old man living on his own and caring for a child who would eventually grow to wonder whom his mother's identity was. The situation really was quite an ironic and chaotic one.
What would happen, time could only tell...
* * *
A week after their wedding anniversary, Rose sat quietly on the dining room floor at home, picking through and sorting out a clutter of papers that had been thrown into the bottom drawer of a china cabinet and left to accumalate over the years.
She knew Frank was off in Billie's basement studio collaberating with them all their newest material, before they had plans to launch there next album in the fall of the next year. That knowledge brought her much contentment.
She sighed and was wide-eyed with insomnia, even after hardly any sleep the previous night. There were many enveloped papers, old bills, receipts and pictures strewn across the floor. Rose began to make piles, pairing individual papers, and then digging deeper and deeper into the drawer for more exciting clutter. Scooping up another handful of clutterous notes, she placed them all down on the floor in front of her; tilting her head to the side as she examined a hard covered book sitting on the very top of the pile.
Picking the dated book up, she observed it closely. It was a frozen moment in time; when she was once victimized into a state of being a near permanant invalid. What time exactly; a day after she was released from a hospital with critical head injuries and a ravaged spirit.
A journal Frank had kindly bought her in a gift shop at Oakland Hospital; for therapeutic use.
She stared at it blankly for a moment. She had always wondered what had become of this book and had little memory of the things she once wrote in it.
If she even wrote in it at all.
Rose lowered her lashes over her jade pupils with a new expression of curiousity. She cleared flem from her silenced vocal chords, before slowly attempting to pull the book's cover up and view the contents of its pages.
August 3rd, 2008
I'm writing in a journal, first time in forever. In fact, until I got home yesterday I hadn't even opened this journal which Frank bought me in the hospital gift shop.
So, here I am AGAIN, just laying in a bed trying to recover, once AGAIN.
Frank is actually worried about me. He thinks I am acting strangely unaffected by what happened the other day.
What can I say? Besides the physical pain, I feel nothing.
Frank has been drunk twice in the last three days. He promised me he's quit, but that's what he's doing instead of sharing his feelings with me. He'll come around though.
I'm not mad, I kind of understand.
On another note, he has been waiting on me hand and foot. I don't feel it is necessary, especially since he is supposed to be doing publicity for the new album. But I guess I don't mind that much...
An amazing thing happened while I was in the hospital. Frank and I decided on a date to take our trip to Germany. August 20th, that is the day we decided upon.
Frankfurt and Berlin are the first European tour dates, and we plan on enjoying ourselves as much as we can while we're there.
Ouch, my body hurts so badly right now. Fuck, the police still haven't caught those assholes. It actually quite surprises me. Their fingerprints would have been everywhere. Plus they were caught on camera jumping the gate.
I can't concentrate on that right now. Come on Rose, no thoughts...no thoughts...
Whoo, that's better.
Oh what was that? I think Frank is coming back upstairs to check on me. I better hide my journal, before he decides to read it.
Rose began to cry as she recalled that day when everything really started. The day she had always thought of as 'the beginning of the end'. Her world came tumbling down: she was raped, her husband an alcoholic.
And Green Day...had just cancelled their world tour and were on the brink of a breakup.
But things weren't like that anymore. She had little thoughts like that. In fact, she now felt her life with her husband to be half content for the first time in the last four years. Because, the first two years of her marriage had been great. Wonderful. Some how Rose felt like she were a newlywed again.
Rose gazed back down at the journal; her tears falling upon it, warping and running the ink of pages that had obviously already been damaged in that manner.
Still August 18th, 2008
Fuck, I just got into a fight with Adrienne. I wish I hadn't of done that. I know she just cares about me.
But anyways she just left; after I screamed at her to get the fuck out. What? She was telling me I need serious help. I'm sorry, it reminds me of how my mom use to call me an institution case all the time.
Wow, am I crying right now? God, what the fuck is with me?! Sometimes I cry, sometimes I forget even how.
'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.'
Well, even under all this stress, I've been sober since I said I wouldn't drink anymore. Yeah, I'm really proud of myself, and what a time to quit, eh?
Fuck, I'm warping the paper with my tears. But whatever, I can look back at this distorted water damaged paper and think of how my life was once sad. Yeah, 'once'...life will get better. I know it will.
God, I should be the happiest woman alive. I mean look who I'm fucking married to, and the beautiful house we have.
Well, I found out the life of 'Tre Cool' is not what I had thought it was. Or at least it was what I thought it was, until I waltzed into his life and wrecked it. Fuck, I'm such bad luck for everyone around me, even to myself. It makes me feel superstitious.
I'm really surprised the cops never bothered Frank and I over the video footage of us in the club. It makes me curious as to why. I mean, the evidence was right there. I don't know, time will tell I guess.
Oh look at that, I'm not crying again. Bone dry.
Frank mentioned being really upset about his wedding band being stolen. I could try and replace the ring for him I guess...it's an irreplacible sort of thing though.
He was drunk when he told me that though. He shares his feelings more when he drinks. But one thing I notice is he gets really angry when he's sobering up, or hasn't drunk for awhile. And his shaking, he even shakes in his sleep. It's like sleeping with someone who is having seizures.
Speaking of 'sleeping with'; Frank and I haven't since the rape. I don't know, I think he's too uncomfortable, and I'm getting horrible flashbacks. I think having sex might make me lose it.
Well, I haven't really been out of the house in a little less than a month. And to put it bluntly, I haven't really left our bedroom. 'The downstairs foyer,' I find going down there too hard.
Yep that's right, I'm becoming a recluse again. I thought my social woes had been fixed since moving out here. But nope, I've shut myself off from the world again.
Well, most people hadn't really seen much of me until the footage on television last month. Meaning, they had no idea what I looked like, since I usually exclude myself from publicity events.
Billie told me they now have this stupid 'couple scandal' thing in all the tabloids. They've called us drug addicts and everything else. And they even went as far out as calling me 'Billie Joe's ugly cousin.'
Where the fuck did they get that info anyways?
They said I'm not hot, then cut a picture of Frank and I in half, and paired him up with a model. I think they think it's unnecessary to make fun of him. They think they are already destroying his career.
I think they think I'm fat or something. They're so sexist; have they checked out the baggage Frank is carrying on him? No...they wouldn't want to point that out.
Okay, I said I was proud of quitting drinking. And I am, I'm very proud. But this whole public, 'make fun of Tre Cool's wife' thing has upsetted me a lot more then I will admit to anyone.
I don't even think I'll write it down in here. It's just something I did as a teenager because I felt bad about my body; I'm starting to do it again...
Rose discontinued reading that journal entry and turned the page. She took in a deep breath of stale room temperatured air and ran her hand through her hair before reading another journal entry...
September 15, 2008
So anyways, I haven't written anything in here for like a month or something. I figured I should. So yeah, it's September 15th and Billie hasn't called me. I think he just gets super upset on this day, with his Father's death anniiversary and all. Poor Billie. I'm super upset right now too; but I wish he would come over so I could give him a hug.
I can't exactly leave the house to give him one myself.
Anyways, here's a poem I wrote about nothing.
I hope nobody reads it...
Elbows on the throne,
I'm here on the floor,
I'm crouched all alone,
My feet block the door,
I plague my own mind,
Obsessed with my skull,
Like Billie's white line,
There's no self-control,
Accepted when I'm bone,
My stomach is sore,
Abused with Her tone,
"I'm just a fat whore",
Burning in my throat,
Eating me alive,
I love my husband,
It's off him I still thrive,
Hidden in my bathroom,
A sanction with care,
Frank's my best friend,
But he's unaware,
I am adrifting,
I float on the air,
Grace of a feather,
New with a tear,
Fans can be cruel,
And I'm too weak to fight,
Toilets are holy, they cleanse all my smite,
Today's the last time,
I promise to Frank,
Though he knows not,
It's he I shall thank,
I heard what they said,
And I care not for wealth,
It's not in my head,
I puke for myself,
He and I are one,
No more will they laugh,
I know that I'm shunned,
But torment shall pass,
They'll love me like 80,
I'll be perfect like her,
They will not hate me,
My husband will concur,
I know he's ashamed,
I'd be of me too,
Perfect, loved and famed,
Idolized he is too,
I'll be less an eyesore,
To stand by his side,
To walk out the door,
In the view of the publics pry,
Fans can be cruel,
And I'm too weak to fight,
Toilets are holy, they cleanse all my smite...
As Rose reread every entry of this book of self-bellowing, she began to wonder how it possibly got down in the dining room. She knew she wouldn't have simply just left it laying around for her husband to read. In fact, she could even remember now, where she had originally hid it and left it. In her night table under her stack of Guitar World magazines. She knew Frank didn't care for Guitar World magazines enough to go in there. That's why she had decided to hide it there in the first place. This left Rose pondering, 'someone knows and someone's been reading my journal...'
'...but who?'