Westbound Sign ➵ Billie Joe Armstrong

Under the Oak Tree

Collin

The room was quiet now.

Not the kind of quiet that made you feel alone, but the kind that made you feel like something was about to happen. Like a held breath just before the first note of a favorite song.

My lipstick was still fresh, thanks to Erin. She had gone to get ready right after dabbing my cheeks and whispering, "You look like the ending of a movie." Her dress was hanging on the back of the door, but she'd thrown it on in record time. She never did like fussing, but she had fussed over me. A lot. Just like Mom did when she clipped that little brooch into my hair, the one that came with the dress. Said it made me look like something out of a dream.

And Billie...

God.

He'd snuck into the room like a boy climbing into a treehouse, breaking every Southern wedding superstition my mother held dear and I didn't care. I'd seen the way he looked at me. Like I was something sacred. Like he couldn't wait another second to be near me.

The scent of brisket wafted faintly through the window, mixing with summer grass and flowers and something that felt like memory. I was still standing at the mirror, earrings in, palms a little clammy.

My reflection looked calm. Poised, even. But inside, everything was fluttering, nervous, happy, overwhelmed.

There was a knock on the door. Soft. Not Billie again, I could tell by the weight of it.

''Kid?" It was my dad.

"Come in," I called, smoothing my satin one last time.

He stepped inside and stopped dead in his tracks. Like he was seeing me for the first time.

His eyes blinked a little too fast. "Well, I'll be damned."

I laughed softly. "Don't cry, Daddy. You already saw me."

"That was after I was ordered like I was back in 'Nam to check the smoker... and I'm not," he said quickly, clearing his throat. "Just... didn't know a little girl could grow up this fast."

He looked around the room. Half of it was already packed into boxes. The posters on the wall, the books on the shelf, even the postcards, all still there, but waiting. Like the room was holding its breath too.

"What did you take with you?" he asked, gesturing to the half empty walls.

"Some of it. The important stuff."

He nodded. "You sure you're ready?"

I looked down, twisting the ring on my finger, not the wedding band yet, but the promise that came before it. "Yeah. I think I am."

He stepped forward, slow and unsure, like he was crossing some invisible line. Then he reached out, his rough hands cradling my shoulders.

"I keep thinking about when you were ten," he said. "Tried to pack a suitcase and run away 'cause I told you we couldn't go to the movies."

I laughed through my nose. "I made it to the end of the driveway."

"And sat there for two hours with a backpack full of peanut butter crackers and cassette tapes."

"You remember what I said?"

He nodded. "'I'm gonna go where people get me.'" His voice cracked a little at the end. "I guess you found someone who does."

I swallowed hard. "Yeah. I did."

He smiled, and then, just for a second... he looked away, blinking back the emotion rising in his eyes. "Just promise me something."