Westbound Sign ➵ Billie Joe Armstrong

Final At Bat

Collin

Erin's room smelled like hairspray and popcorn.

The kind of lazy Sunday where the windows were cracked just enough to let in cold January air and the smell of distant barbecue from her neighbor's smoker. We were both half watching MTV, the volume low - some video jockey with frosted tips interviewing Courtney Love about whether or not she'd "finally settled down." It was background noise. Comforting in a way I couldn't name.

I was curled on Erin's carpet in one of her dad's old flannels, legs tucked under me, trying to act like I wasn't still swimming somewhere between winter break and emotional paralysis. Erin was flipping through a beat up Sassy Magazine, occasionally reading out loud and mocking the horoscopes.

Both of us hadn't really payed any attention to the TV. But none of us bothered to turn it off.

The TV was still flickering in the background, a low hum of late afternoon MTV - something about the Top 20 Countdown. I wasn't watching it. I was still staring at the radio like it might say more if I just waited long enough.

Erin hadn't said anything in a while either. She was sitting cross legged on the carpet now, chewing her thumbnail, like she was afraid to look at me wrong and set me off.

Then I heard it.

That voice again.

"Green Day's tearing through the charts with their latest single from the upcoming album. We caught up with the band earlier this week at their Paris stop of the Dookie tour..."

I turned to the screen so fast I nearly knocked over the popcorn bowl.

And there they were.

Billie, Mike, Tre. Sitting on a battered green couch, Tre sipping something from a giant slurpee cup like it was his emotional support drink. Mike was still faced in a leather jacket, now sporting dark brown hair. Billie had sunglasses perched on his head, his leg bouncing like he was trying to launch himself into orbit. He had bags under his green eyes that are now dull, he looked thinner, too.

The interviewer laughed at something Tre said before turning to Billie. "So, this record feels more personal - like it's pulling from different corners of your life."

Billie just shrugged with that stupid half grin he always gave when he was downplaying something real. "Yeah, I guess I've been thinking a lot about home lately. About... people."

I leaned in, heart crawling up my throat.

"There's a song on there - it's not a single or anything - but it's about this girl," Billie said, eyes flicking toward the floor like the camera might call his bluff. "She kind of knocked me sideways for a while."

Tre grinned wide. "Hell of an arm."

I blinked.

The interviewer laughed. "An arm?"

Billie sighed. "Just, someone unexpected. She knows who she is."

Erin slapped my leg. "Holy shit. That's you."

I didn't answer. I didn't move. I just stared.

The interview rolled on - more jokes, more talk about the tour, the album. But I couldn't hear it anymore. Just the echo of that line.

She knows who she is.

It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't flashy. But it hit me harder than any grand gesture ever could've. It was quiet and real and said just enough without saying everything.

Erin got up and muted the TV again. "You okay?"

The words sat there between us, sharp and hollow. Erin didn't move at first, just glanced toward the muted TV - Billie still frozen mid laugh on the screen like some cruel, cosmic joke. I felt her shift beside me, the carpet creaking as she leaned closer.