Pothead Poltergeists
Wake Up
I wake up. I’m lying on a couch, and I remember everything that has happened after a scary instant of no recollection. But now I remember, and it occurs to me whose couch I am on. Holy shit!
I shoot up looking around frantically at what seems to be a completely normal living room. There are a few old comfy looking couches – very comfy, and I know, I fell asleep last night the second my head hit this one – a flat screened TV and some random things atop the shelves and coffee table. A Green Day lunch box in one corner.
Someone’s coming downstairs. I dash over to the corner as someone walks by the opening in the hallway towards the kitchen. It’s Billie Joe again. I guess this is really happening. It’s still not settling quite right in my head, but then again, none of this strange experience should. Billie stops in front of me and scans the room suddenly like he had seen something. He looks straight at my face and I freeze. I can hardly breathe for some reason as my heart skips a beat. But then he shrugs and continues walking, leaving me to reflect on what the hell just happened right there.
Had he seen something of me? No, he can’t. Did he hear me? I don’t really want him too. Yes, you are right; I will follow him around in his own house and watch him like a hawk, but I am afraid to let him see me. Put yourself in my place then for a minute if you are skeptical. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Unfortunately, that’s what our president seems to think about the American people. Wait, that analogy makes me sad. I can’t be like the president, can I? No, I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid. I’ll just stick with you on this one.
I follow Billie into the kitchen to find him turning on the coffee maker. If you are wondering, the 409 is under the kitchen cabinet – I saw him just open the door – and no where near the coffee maker. To my surprise there is another person next to him. It’s none other than Adrienne Armstrong, and I nearly fall over again. I love Adrienne. I really do. She’s so smart, beautiful and independent. Mushy huh?
But really, she can hold her own just fine. She’s raised a family and designs clothes while working on Adeline Records. Did I mention I am bi? Kidding…halfway. She’s always been Billie’s Adie, before their success too, and I hope she will be for the rest of his life. I also must mention she is married to my idea of the perfect guy.
Billie walks over and smiles giving her a morning kiss. By “morning”, I mean it’s eleven o’clock. This is my kind of morning. I guess that means I would be in my third period class right now. I miss my friends terribly, yes, but right now I’m doing more of a victory dance. If I ever make it back, no one will ever believe this shit.
Actually, if I ever got back to tell anyone, the majority of people wouldn’t really care even if they did believe it. But then a few would fall over and die. My Mom would; that’s for sure.
Then, I see Billie Joe come back out of the kitchen and head back upstairs. I tiptoe after him and peer around the corner of his door as he is pulling on a pair of pants – some old looking jeans if you were wondering – and a black and white striped shirt. He says he is still wearing pants he had in high school…and those could very well be the ones.
I run after him out the door and into the back seat of his car, coffee in hand, as he backs out of the driveway. I look to Billie Joe driving again, out the window to the streets and rundown shops, but my gaze always finds its way back to him; like I still can’t believe this shit.
He flips through the useless radio stations for awhile finding nothing good on, and by the time he finds Midnight Oil’s “Beds Are Burning” we are parked outside a station. But he is too into the song at the moment and sits singing along to its last thirty seconds while drumming on the wheel of the car.
Just as the song ends, he turns around and reaches a hand toward the back seat but stops and jumps like something just scared him. Again, he is looking right at the space where I am; it unnerves me.
“I’m fucking going crazy. Stupid spider something,” he says out loud and reaches down taking hold of the handle on his guitar case. I had not even seen the case. So that’s what he was doing. But what did he jump at? I hadn’t even moved. Wait, a spider! Did he really see a spider? Ahh! Fuck! I hate spiders!
As he locked the car doors I slipped out quickly through solid back door, I am getting used to this now, and I smooth myself out before following after Billie Joe. He gets to the door, turns around and glances around confused before shrugging angrily and walking through. I slip through the pane of glass on the side of the door, and it occurs to me where we are. This is studio 880. This is where all of the magic happens, and I almost drop dead as I realize who else will be here. Well, not literally drop dead…you know what I mean.
Sure enough, I walk through the second studio doors to find Mike already strumming away on a stool in jeans and a white shirt. Mike Dirnt. Imagine that. His jeans look pretty new by the way; just thought I would keep this consistent. I slink over to take a look at Mike while trying desperately not to knock something over as I look around the whole place. Then, wouldn’t you know it, another god walks in through the shinny glass doors. It’s none other than theTre Cool.
I can not believe this. I am in the presence of the best fucking bassist, drummer and guitarist/singer that ever lived as far as I am concerned. I keep looking around like it isn’t real. Tre bounds over with a frothy looking coffee thing in hand shouting, “Orange mocha frapachino!” and almost lands on top of Billie Joe. Billie starts laughing on the ground and Mike shouts at them, “Guys, dude, come on. I was here like an hour ago, I wanna start!”
“Fine,” Billie opens his case and brings out a gorgeous looking guitar. I am not sure which one it is, but I know it’s a Les Paul. And Billie usually plays Juniors. This has one pickup so it must be a Junior. Tre jumps to the back and behind his drum set. Mike already has instrument in hand. Tre taps the drum sticks three times, and they start a song. I can’t say what it is. I have never heard the tune before.
I shoot up looking around frantically at what seems to be a completely normal living room. There are a few old comfy looking couches – very comfy, and I know, I fell asleep last night the second my head hit this one – a flat screened TV and some random things atop the shelves and coffee table. A Green Day lunch box in one corner.
Someone’s coming downstairs. I dash over to the corner as someone walks by the opening in the hallway towards the kitchen. It’s Billie Joe again. I guess this is really happening. It’s still not settling quite right in my head, but then again, none of this strange experience should. Billie stops in front of me and scans the room suddenly like he had seen something. He looks straight at my face and I freeze. I can hardly breathe for some reason as my heart skips a beat. But then he shrugs and continues walking, leaving me to reflect on what the hell just happened right there.
Had he seen something of me? No, he can’t. Did he hear me? I don’t really want him too. Yes, you are right; I will follow him around in his own house and watch him like a hawk, but I am afraid to let him see me. Put yourself in my place then for a minute if you are skeptical. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Unfortunately, that’s what our president seems to think about the American people. Wait, that analogy makes me sad. I can’t be like the president, can I? No, I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid. I’ll just stick with you on this one.
I follow Billie into the kitchen to find him turning on the coffee maker. If you are wondering, the 409 is under the kitchen cabinet – I saw him just open the door – and no where near the coffee maker. To my surprise there is another person next to him. It’s none other than Adrienne Armstrong, and I nearly fall over again. I love Adrienne. I really do. She’s so smart, beautiful and independent. Mushy huh?
But really, she can hold her own just fine. She’s raised a family and designs clothes while working on Adeline Records. Did I mention I am bi? Kidding…halfway. She’s always been Billie’s Adie, before their success too, and I hope she will be for the rest of his life. I also must mention she is married to my idea of the perfect guy.
Billie walks over and smiles giving her a morning kiss. By “morning”, I mean it’s eleven o’clock. This is my kind of morning. I guess that means I would be in my third period class right now. I miss my friends terribly, yes, but right now I’m doing more of a victory dance. If I ever make it back, no one will ever believe this shit.
Actually, if I ever got back to tell anyone, the majority of people wouldn’t really care even if they did believe it. But then a few would fall over and die. My Mom would; that’s for sure.
Then, I see Billie Joe come back out of the kitchen and head back upstairs. I tiptoe after him and peer around the corner of his door as he is pulling on a pair of pants – some old looking jeans if you were wondering – and a black and white striped shirt. He says he is still wearing pants he had in high school…and those could very well be the ones.
I run after him out the door and into the back seat of his car, coffee in hand, as he backs out of the driveway. I look to Billie Joe driving again, out the window to the streets and rundown shops, but my gaze always finds its way back to him; like I still can’t believe this shit.
He flips through the useless radio stations for awhile finding nothing good on, and by the time he finds Midnight Oil’s “Beds Are Burning” we are parked outside a station. But he is too into the song at the moment and sits singing along to its last thirty seconds while drumming on the wheel of the car.
Just as the song ends, he turns around and reaches a hand toward the back seat but stops and jumps like something just scared him. Again, he is looking right at the space where I am; it unnerves me.
“I’m fucking going crazy. Stupid spider something,” he says out loud and reaches down taking hold of the handle on his guitar case. I had not even seen the case. So that’s what he was doing. But what did he jump at? I hadn’t even moved. Wait, a spider! Did he really see a spider? Ahh! Fuck! I hate spiders!
As he locked the car doors I slipped out quickly through solid back door, I am getting used to this now, and I smooth myself out before following after Billie Joe. He gets to the door, turns around and glances around confused before shrugging angrily and walking through. I slip through the pane of glass on the side of the door, and it occurs to me where we are. This is studio 880. This is where all of the magic happens, and I almost drop dead as I realize who else will be here. Well, not literally drop dead…you know what I mean.
Sure enough, I walk through the second studio doors to find Mike already strumming away on a stool in jeans and a white shirt. Mike Dirnt. Imagine that. His jeans look pretty new by the way; just thought I would keep this consistent. I slink over to take a look at Mike while trying desperately not to knock something over as I look around the whole place. Then, wouldn’t you know it, another god walks in through the shinny glass doors. It’s none other than theTre Cool.
I can not believe this. I am in the presence of the best fucking bassist, drummer and guitarist/singer that ever lived as far as I am concerned. I keep looking around like it isn’t real. Tre bounds over with a frothy looking coffee thing in hand shouting, “Orange mocha frapachino!” and almost lands on top of Billie Joe. Billie starts laughing on the ground and Mike shouts at them, “Guys, dude, come on. I was here like an hour ago, I wanna start!”
“Fine,” Billie opens his case and brings out a gorgeous looking guitar. I am not sure which one it is, but I know it’s a Les Paul. And Billie usually plays Juniors. This has one pickup so it must be a Junior. Tre jumps to the back and behind his drum set. Mike already has instrument in hand. Tre taps the drum sticks three times, and they start a song. I can’t say what it is. I have never heard the tune before.