Communion

After having used his masterful chef skills to make his daughter and himself some Easy Mac, Tre and Michelle lapped up the sunshine together on one of the three downstairs verandas.

Tre felt a bit distant from the young girl, and could sense she was having feelings much the same. There was an unwanted silence as Michelle quietly played with some Barbie dolls on a beach chair, whilst Tre casually rocked himself back and forth on the swinging bench.

As the sun beated down on him and raced across the sky like a ticking clock, he became lost in his thoughts. Remembering pleasant and unpleasant times of the past. Namely, the not so distant past.

Life in North Kern State Prison.

* * *

"Hey, what's up rock star?" asked an untrustworthy member of North Kern's lineup of convicts.

"What the fuck do you want?" Tre roared as he buried his face in a book on the bottom bunk of his open-doored cell. Nothing peculiar or odd for mid-day in this cellblock of this God-forsaken place.

"You better watch your fucking mouth Cool. I don't appreciate being talked to like I'm an animal. And in case you've forgotten...this is prison. The doghouse! The slammer! The fucking inside! You're not fucking famous or important in here. So cut your 'I'm better than everyone else' attitude," the sour convict retorted as he stood in the midst of the cell with a scowl upon his face.

Tre rolled over on his side to face the wall and once again buried his face in this book he was trying to lose reality in. He sighed and impatiently waited for the man known as Gary to leave his cell.

"Fuck you Cool. Come 'ere," Gary responded to Tre's ignorance, and he came up behind the drummer and grabbed his buttocks with rough force.

"Fuck off!" Tre shouted as he swung his elbow back and backhanded his fellow inmate in the face.

Gary stumbled back and grabbed his face. "Oh...oh boy..." The inmate sighed with a shocked scowl that quickly transformed to a sadistic smirk. "You just made your biggest and worst mistake, Cool. I'm going to fuck you up so bad for that! I promise you!"

Tre rested his head back on his single pillow and flitted his eyelashes before closing his eyes and dropping his book on the bed beside him. Gary exited the claustrophobia generating cell in a huff.

Tre woke up some hours later to the sound of that awful buzzer that would always ring in his head incessantly. That alarm that now ruled his life. It told him when to wake up, go to bed, have breakfast, lunch, dinner and even shit.

"Shower time..." Clive said as he jumped off the top bunk and turned around to look at his cellmate, laying drowsy on the bottom bunk. Clive had obviously reentered the cell whilst Tre was in his dreamland oasis.

A dreamland where he lived in harmony with his wife and daughter at home, with his lavish life and cushy rewarding job.

"You gonna get up?"

"Hmm...yeah. Fuck I hate answering to that thing..." Tre groaned, referring to that awful buzzer that never seemed to quit.

"Yeah, must be really bad for you living in this place. I mean, with being a rock star and everything..." Clive replied as he scratched his underarm, which was adorned with an unaccountable amount of tattoos.

"I'm not a rock star," Tre replied as he sat up partial way on the bed and raised his head to look at Clive. "I was a rock star..."

"You're still a rock star man. I'm honored to know you. I've never been friends with a rock star before. Wow...imagine if I'd been friends with Johnny Cash..." Clive said with a smile on his face as he fantasized it.

"Yeah, dream on. I'd like to be at a golf tournament with Johnny Ramone right now, with my wife and daughter cheering me on from the sidelines...ain't happenin'" Tre laughed as he rolled his eyes. "Fuck...what guard is on right now in the downstairs?"

"Hah, our favourite..." Clive started before getting cut off by Tre.

"Johnson..."

Tre sauntered into the shower room quietly minutes later next to his bigger friend. He bowed his head as he took off his clothing and stepped under a running faucet that no where near steeped with any sort of heat. It was as cold as the stone walls surrounding him.

Tre shivered as he ran his hand through his thinning head of hair and glanced up at the group of naked men standing around him. He was quite comfortable showing off his sculpted body and being nude in general, but sometimes the preyful stares from other inmates made his flesh crawl. These stares were not only preyful, but stares in general. All due to his history as one of punk rock's most infamous drummers.

Tre lathered up some soap between his hands; worn-skinned from so many years of beating up drum sets with his Zildjian sticks.

"Fucking hell. Can't we get some heat in this joint!?" one of the inmates piped up. Johnson, the guard in the corner was looking on at all the inmates, obviously getting a perverted rise out of watching them degrade themselves.

"Shut the fuck up dog!" the abusive guard responded as he snapped a baton he held in one hand against the other.

"Fuck you..." the inmate replied as he turned around and continued bathing himself.

Tre closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He let the cool water beat down on his face like a fine mist drifting off of Niagara Falls. He became almost a master at disassociating himself whilst living here. He was disassociating himself again, right now, but cut it short when that commanding alarm went off and rang in his ears once again.

"Bed time dogs!" Johnson directed as he stood up from his seated area and motioned his baton to the inmates and then the door. "Get the fuck up stairs before I have fun giving you all your own two weeks in solitary!"

Tre turned his faucet off and let his eyes open. He looked at his friend, whom rolled his eyes and started singing as he walked out of the shower room without a towel. "Give my love to Rose please won't you mister? / Take her all my money, tell her to buy some pretty clothes. / Tell my boy his daddy's so proud of him! / And don't forget to give my love to Rose..."

"Shut the fuck up kiddy rapist! Upstairs!" Johnson shouted as he slashed Clive across the back with his baton.

"Uhh fuck!" Clive roared as he squinted his eyes shut and kept walking. Tre froze in his tracks and looked on at the sadistic guard laugh as he kept tapping inmates harassingly on the ass with his baton.

"Fuck you..." Tre said in a deep voice as he narrowed his eyes threateningly. He stood his distance from the guard as all the other inmates scurried out of the shower room.

"What was that?" the guard questioned the drummer with barely a whisper. He began to slowly bring forth himself to Tre. His shoes tapped the tiled floor; adding the most frightening sound effect to a moment that was already all too intense.

"I said fuck you..." Tre repeated as he remained with his head bowed; gazing up at the guard with rolled eyes through his lashes.

The guard said nothing and menacingly began to walk and repeat a small circle around Tre. Tre just stood there, listening to the hypnotizing sound of the guard's shoes, with the most cross look you could ever imagine on anyone's face.

The guard brushed his baton gently over the blue-eyed man's back. He began to caressingly make patterns and circular motions with it on the drummer's bare skin. Tre held his breath the entire time Johnson stood behind him and finally released it once he felt the small wooden bat lift from his form.

A relief that was short lived when he was quickly brought down hard upon his knees. "Uhhh fuck!" Tre gasped a scream, feeling immense pain in the back of his legs, from obviously having been struck mercilessly. This pain did not discontinue or even have a chance to subside, when he was kicked extremely hard in the upper back and fell flat on the floor.

"Shut the fuck up, killer wannabe!" Johnson screeched, as he threw his baton from his grasp and it went bouncing across the wet tiled floor. The sadistic guard looked towards the door when another inmate reentered the room.

Tre gazed upwards and gasped as he tried to help himself up, using the strength of his chiseled arms. His face winced in pain as he hazily saw this other inmate approach him without a care. "Johnson my man, hold him fucking down. This is will be fun, I've never fucked a rock star before."

"You deserve this Gary. You've been loyal to me for a long time. Think of it as my little gift to you," Johnson replied with a grin of devils.

"I told you I was going to fuck you up bad, Cool...I promised you..."

"NO!"

* * *

Tre jolted and suddenly opened his eyes to a blinding sun. Gazing around him, he rediscovered his original spot on the swinging bench of his veranda at home. He let out a sigh of relief, as he looked over at his daughter; still playing Barbies on her favourite pink beach chair.

"Wha' wong?" Michelle asked as she noticed her father stir with suddeness.

"Oh...uhh...nothing Michelle. I just- don't you worry about it sweetie," Tre replied as he gave his daughter a friendly loving smile. He watched her for a moment and tilted his head towards the house, as the sound of a ringing phone came pulsating out onto the veranda. He lept up quickly in reaction and made through the French patio doors that lead back into the house.

Running through the house hurridly, he eventually found one of the cordless' sitting on its base on the kitchen counter. He snatched it up eagerly and quickly replied as though he'd miss whomever was on the other end. "H-hello?!"

"Uhh...hey Tre."

"Bill?"

"Uhh...yeah."

"What's up? How's the protest thing going?" Tre asked enthusiastically as he tapped his short fingernails on a glass cutting board and caught his breath.

"Look man...I don't-"

"Whoa...what the fuck is going on man? I don't like or trust your tone," Tre said as he wiped his perspiration greased forehead.

"Man, Rose ran off..." Billie gasped before he went as silent as an east London night of the 1800's.

Tre took a deep breath as he placed his hand on his chest. His heart had already been beating rapidly from his dream and now he felt his body reacting even harsher. "Wha'. Bill I- what the fuck do you mean she ran off?" Tre questioned suddenly as he raised his fine faded eyebrows above his fading sapphire eyes.

"Look, I can't explain to you..." Billie Joe replied defensively, sounding like that of a man with a guilty conscience.

Tre gasped, "Where the fuck are you?"

"Sitting in my car, on the side of the road, in Redwood National Park," Billie Joe managed to breathe out.

"Okay man...I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but someone had better tell me. And it better be fucking soon, or I might just fucking lose it," Tre choked at his smaller friend threateningly into the reciever.

"Man, calm down. I'm sure she's not far from here," Billie Joe laughed nervously; pinching his shirt and lifting it away from his chest to allow the air conditioner to fan under his sweat absorbed clothing.

"What the fuck happened?! I thought you said this was a good idea?!" Tre reminded Green Day's frontman as he began to raise his voice.

"There she is..." Billie Joe said suddenly as he dropped his phone on the center console and jumped out of his car. He made up the road a few yards and saw Rose sauntering back down towards the car with her head bowed in shame. "Rose?! Where the fuck did you go?!" Billie Joe ranted and raved like a concerned family member.

Rose said nothing and took to walking around to the passenger's side of Billie Joe's Toyota, Camry. Billie sighed and gazed his emerald eyes up at the white clouded sky for a brief moment and mouthed 'thank you'.

He got back in the car and unlocked Rose's side. She got back in without argument and fixated her gaze down at the floor of the vehicle. Embarrassed, sad, angry or not; she could not deny the pleasures of the air conditioner.

"Rose, say something..." Billie Joe pleaded as he rested his elbow on the steering wheel and looked at her with worrisome eyes.

There were moments when the only sound to be heard was the air conditioner and the odd car driving by. Rose rested her elbow on her armrest as she began to dig her opposite hand into her knee, nerve-rackingly.

"Are-" Billie Joe began.

"You have no idea how much I fucking hate you right now," Rose spoke with a low coarse toned voice, cutting her older cousin off in mid-sentence. "Do you have any idea what you've just done to me?"

"I'm sorry...but no..." Billie Joe commented nervously as he swallowed back a lump in his throat. With a displeased grin he held his face that was slowly bruising from the clean-cut beating Rose had given him in front of five thousand people.

"You thought I was lonely before? You think I'm lonely still?" Rose questioned with an ulterior motive.

"You are..."

"Shut the fuck up Armstrong," Rose retorted coldly. Billie Joe straightened his posture in his seat, in complete shock to the way she referred to him as simply "Armstrong". "I am not crazy. I have my problems...of course I do, but I can assure you: they all come with reasons and they all come with faults." Rose raised her head from the direction of the floor and turned her gaze to her cousin as she emphasized the word 'faults'.

Billie Joe rolled his eyes and shook his head. "What the fuck is this about Rose? Is it me? Can you not handle fucking life, because of me? Do you think it's all my fault, really?" Billie started up again before he began to shout at his cousin, throwing her off-guard. "Are you ashamed to know me, just because of my past and who I am?! Is that fucking it?! Are you so fucking ashamed of being fucking related to me?! ME?! FUCKING BILLIE JOE FUCKING ARMSTRONG, FROM THAT GOD FOR-FUCKING-SAKEN BAND, GREEN DAY?!! IT MUST BE SO FUCKING SHITTY ASS HARD FOR YOU!! MUSTN'T IT?!!"

Rose squinted her eyes shut as she began to cry again. She shook her head irratically as if to answer no to every one of her cousin's valid questions. She could barely catch a breath to speak but somehow managed to anyways. "No Billie...I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. It's not you, it's Frank."

Billie Joe took in a greedy gasp of the vehicles fresh oxygen, to try and clear his thoughts. As his heart rate came down and his breathing returned to normal he found it in himself to reply his cousin. "T-Tre?"

"Frank, Billie. He's ashamed of me. I'm such an embarrassment to him, I know it. Oh God, I don't even know what I'm fucking doing here...California. WHY AM I HERE!?" Rose gasped as she tried to wipe her never ending tears from her undereyes.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you Rose, I lost my temper. What do you mean 'why are you here'?" Billie Joe begged to know, as he brushed his hand through his raven hair and sighed.

"You were fucking right in a way Billie. But it's not just you. It's Frank, it's Green Day. And it's Mike! God damn fucking Mike Dirnt! Why the fuck did he have to go and fucking wreck my fucking stupid fucking life?! Err...God! It's fucking everyone!I just want this to end...I want it to all stop. It's suffocating me...I need everything to be normal!"

"Rose, forget the Mike thing...I know what this about now," Billie Joe said as he placed his hand up on the dashboard and picked up an old cup of coffee out of his cupholder. He took a swig of it and winced at its cold bitter taste. "You're still trapped in this little fucking dillusion that I'm better than you because I'm famous. You think Mike and your own husband are fucking better than you too! Well stop it! It's not fucking true! We're a band Rose, not fucking Saints!" Billie Joe exclaimed with logic, that any band admirer could and should consider taking into account.

"I'm sorry! Stop fucking yelling at me! I don't think you're Saints! Fuck...just I can't fucking help it. I'm used to ignorance and negligence from others. I'm sorry if your perfect reality is not perfect for me..." Rose hissed as she looked up and out the windshield. "Let's go..."

"Ignorance and negligence? Do you remotely remember how long I supported your ass when your mom kicked you out of your house?! Hell! Do you know how long Tre's been supporting your fucking ass for?!" Billie Joe started a new argument without reason.

"He should fucking support me! I mean...I only gave birth to his fucking daughter!" Rose screamed as the first of the large group of people could be seen coming down the road.

"Okay! I'm sorry, calm down! But perfect reality? Have you been here the last seven years or have you been here the last seven years?" Billie Joe asked sarcastically. "Rose! Think about what's happened to me over that period of time! Look what's happened to Tre! To you! To Mike..."

"Mike? Nothing's happened to fucking Mike! He got what he fucking wanted and now he has a fucking son...deal with it," Rose retorted with a slip of the tongue.

"What did you just say?" Billie choked as his jaw dropped halfway to the floor.

"Uh..that's not what I meant..." Rose cooed as she bowed her head and her face turned red with humilty.

Just then a beeping sound went off as the guitarist looked about himself for its source, before gazing down at his cellphone, tossed down on the center console carelessly. It read 'Low Battery'. Billie Joe gasped as he came to a realization and picked the phone up and held it to his ear.

"You still there? Uh...Tre?"

A breath was picked up faintly in the reciever, and then a familiar yet peculiar voice that came just as faint. "In your words Bill: 'Is she ultraviolent? Is she disturbed?'"

"Huh? What man?"

"In my words: 'you better tell her that I love her...'"