Westbound Sign ➵ Billie Joe Armstrong

Postcards

Collin

The next morning, I slept in.

Dad didn't wake me for anything, which meant nothing big was going on at the store. Mom was already at the hospital, probably halfway through her shift and three coffees deep. The house was still and warm, the way it gets when summer's at its peak, and everything feels kind of suspended. Like the world's waiting for something to start.

I rolled over, face buried in my pillow, when the phone started ringing.

I ignored it. Figured it was for my dad, or maybe a neighbor needing a ride. But then I heard the beep of the answering machine, followed by a voice that made me bolt upright.

"Hey...uh. I guess you're not there."

Billie.

His voice sounded scratchy, low. Like he was trying to talk quietly, maybe not wake someone. He cleared his throat.

"It's me. Billie. From, y'know... not calling from Plymouth Rock but from West Virginia."

I blinked, heart jumping somewhere around my ribs.

"I don't know if this is weird, probably is - but I found a way to escape Dave's grip for five minutes. He's been stuck to us like glue since the whole... hotel thing. We kinda deserve it." A pause. "Just annoying as hell. Anyway, I ducked into the motel room while Tre and Mike passed out in the other ones. And I figured, what the hell, let's see if she answers the phone."

There was a faint hum of static in the background. I could hear something clattering faintly - maybe pipes, or a vending machine in the hallway.

"I wanted to ask if you got the postcard. I didn't really expect a reply since I don't have a return address or anything and I get that, by the way. Kinda sucks. But I dunno." Another pause, this one longer. "I guess I just wanted to talk."

His voice shifted slightly, softer now. "Kinda bummed you didn't pick up, though."

I snapped out of it, slamming the phone off the nightstand and pressing it to my ear.

"Bummed about what?" I asked.

There was a silence on the line, followed by a stunned breath.

"No way," Billie said. "You caught me just before I hung up."

"Lucky timing," I said, trying to steady the flutter in my chest. "Also, yes. I got the postcard. Very vintage of you."

He laughed, quiet and tired. "Yeah, well, it was that or a snow globe. And I didn't think you were the snow globe type."

"You'd be right."

There was a beat of silence, comfortable, but a little charged. Like we were both circling around something we weren't quite ready to touch.

"I didn't think I'd actually catch you," he said finally. "Didn't think this number would still work."

"You've got great timing. I was just lying in bed doing absolutely nothing." I lied.

He snorted. "Perfect. That's what rockstars are good for, interrupting naps."

"Interrupting existential crises," I corrected. "You called right in the middle of mine."

Another laugh, this one edged with something quieter. "Guess I've got a habit of doing that."

"Yeah," I said softly. "You kind of do."

I shifted the phone to my other ear and leaned back against the headboard, trying to sound casual. "So... how's tour?"

He groaned dramatically. "Same ol', same ol'. Busy, busy, busy. We're in Ohio tomorrow, I think. Or maybe Pennsylvania? I don't even know anymore."