Hollywood Hills and Suburban Thrills

William Beckett

I was pulling onto the interstate, my mind still reeling over what I had just done for the third time, when my cell phone vibrated in the pocket of my jeans. I dug it out, awkwardly twisting against the restraint of the seatbelt while also trying not to careen into the other lane.

"Hello?" I ask, my breathing a little heavy from having to work so hard to get my phone out. The person on the other end of the phone line laughed slightly.

"Why are you out of breath, Bill?" Gabe asks, stifling giggles. "Dani must have some serious skill if she can make a lead singer pant."

My cheeks flushed pink and I mentally thanked the heavens that I was alone in the car. "You wish," I answered slyly, trying to keep my dignity at a respectable level. God knows that if I let any real emotion slip to Gabe Saporta, I would never hear the end of it for the remainder of the tour.

Gabe laughed, mentioning what a score that would be while I just nodded and hummed in agreement. Then, he totally switched courses. "When are you guys going to be done with the new record?" he asks out of the blue.

I ran a hand over my eyes. It was supposed to be done by the end of Warped Tour, but my drive to write one more song for the album was keeping us from finishing it.

"Pretty soon," I answered with a sigh. "I just want to write one more song."

"About what?" Gabe inquires.

"I don't know," I say, and I was telling the truth.

"Don't 'I don't know' me, Bill," he says. "You're going to write it about Dani." He said her name in a high-pitched voice—one you hear on lovey-dovey teenage romance movies. I didn't even have a response for that because at the moment, that didn't seem like such a bad idea. But then, other thoughts took over in my head and I drifted off for a while. Gabe's laughs died down. "Bill, you still there?"

"Uh…yeah man. I'm gunna have to let you go. I need to focus on the traffic. It's sort of crazy." False; there were practically no cars whatsoever on the road.

"Okay…" Gabe seemed a little put off, but he didn't ask any questions and I bid him adieu.
I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat where Dani had been sitting just an hour before. My eyes lingered on it slightly before returning to the road, and that's when my mind started working.

Why wouldn't I write a song about Dani? I thought confoundedly. She's my friend and she's interesting and if anyone were to write a song about someone, I would suggest her right off the bat.

I nodded in concurrence with my thoughts, but just as always, darker thoughts came into view and began to cloud over the optimism.

But why would I write a song about her? She's just a friend. Since when do guys write songs about girls that are only their friends?

I groaned through my teeth, frustration setting in.

Why would I even consider writing a song about her? She would probably hear the song, know it was about her, and then hate me for it for whatever reason she could come up with.

Or worse—she would hear it and not figure out it was about her ever. And then if I were to ever break it to her, she would wonder why I wrote it about her in the first place. And what was I going to say? "Oh, because you're a great friend." Like she would believe that—she's smarter than that.

Then I found myself thinking of something else. Something that I would've never believed come a week ago.

What was Dani so smart enough to figure out?

The exit of Tinley Park was coming up. I slowed down and threw out signal, pulling off of the interstate and onto the off-ramp.

That the moment she walked out of the kitchen to take our orders that day at that diner was the moment that single-handedly changed my life?

I turned onto a different road—one that would lead me straight to the tour site.

That that day with her at her house when we watched The Lion King and played with Jude together was quite possibly the best day of my life up to that point?

The various stages and tour buses of the site came into view as I got closer and closer to my destination.

That I was undeniably in love with her?

My throat tightened and I found it difficult to breath for a moment as the thought crossed my mind. Then, my eyebrows furrowed.

How is that possible? I've only known her for barely a week. I must be crazy. Either that or this must not be my heart in my chest that's beating rapidly.

I parked the car in the spot that I had found it hours earlier when she and I had been getting away, but I didn't go to find my band. I didn't go to the merch booths to see my friends. Instead, I made a bee line toward my bus.

I wasn't going to waste the words of this final song on a girl. Or at least, not in the context that would be expected.

I was on my bus and I grabbed my favorite notebook and a pen and went to the back lounge, closing and locking the door behind me. And then I put the pen to paper, spilling the contents of this stranger-heart out in black ink.

And then, I was done with the last song of our new album. And ironically, the four other members of my band, as well as a few of other various ones, walked onto the bus to greet me when I walked out of the lounge.

"Hey, I'm done with this song." I tossed the notebook to Sisky and he read over the lyrics quickly, his smiling face slowly melting into one of realization and confusion.

"This is the last song?" Michael asks from behind Sisky having read the song from over his shoulder.

"Or the first. Whatever you guys want."

"Well, let's get Patrick to help us record it right here on tour. The sooner it's done the better." The Butcher smiles. "I can get the drum parts done in a day, I bet."

I smiled at him while Mike read the lyrics, nodding in contentment at them.

That stupid heart was still beating unusually fast despite the fact that I was lying down and trying to go to sleep. But only one thing was running through my mind.

I'm not in love. I can't be. That's foolish and outlandish and absolutely positively true.

My train of thought was knocked off it's tracks by a huge wrecking ball and I felt my eyes widen and go out of focus as I stared up at the ceiling of my bunk.

I'm in love.

And so I gave up.