The Jesus of Suburbia

The Static Age

I was surrounded by paper and that's about all I could clarify. To my left was a napkin with some lyrics hastily written down, in front of me was a receipt with a rhythm sketched on the back. A title for an album was on the back of a Green Day ticket and a composition notebook was full of lyrics and chord progressions to my right.

Around that was a moat of paper and I sat in the middle of my thoughts. At the moment I was figuring out how to smooth a certain chord progression for my new song "Forgetting is the Easiest Part." which is exactly what it sounds like.

It was some tune I'd written in the middle of the night with lyrics that I'd been thinking over for a few weeks. Gradually it turned into a song and I was rather proud of it.

I grabbed the red pick from its position between my lips and strummed a G seventh chord. Sounded pretty, too pretty. I stuck the pick between my lips again and grabbed a pencil to scratch out the G seventh chord. G augmented?

That sounded a lot better.

So, I wrote that down and strummed the chords I already had for the verse. It was pretty smooth. Amazing what three hours, a few lines of coke and some coffee can do.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock behind me.

Did I mention? We are in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

I set down my papers hastily and take out the pick. "Hello?"

"Hey!" Billie's voice answers and another knock. "Can I come in?"

"I guess. You have a key? I can't exactly get up right now."

"What do you mean 'you can't get up right now'?"

"I mean I have a guitar on my lap and I'm surrounded with papers." I groan and begin to stand up, but there's a click and Billie walks in.

"Hey, it's been a while since I saw you at breakfast, so I thought I'd stop in."

I sit back down and set my guitar aside for the moment. Billie picks up a sheet of paper and sits down in its place. As he's about to read the contents, I grab it and put it on the other side of the bed. "No reading until its final."

He pouts and crosses his arms in a teenage diva way. "But I'm-"

Before he could even say it, I interrupt. "No, you're not. You're not my dad, even if you have the legal title now."

Billie stops and uncrosses his arms. "I wasn't going to say that, actually."

Oh.

"I was going to say that I was a songwriter too so I could give you feedback." He finishes quietly with a small shrug.

Well, it usually never hurts to listen. I get the memo.

I pick a wrinkled piece of blue-lined notebook paper out of the stack and look over it. It's lyrics I'd written last night when I couldn't fall asleep.

The title was odd, but the song was good. So, I handed it to Billie who smoothed it out and began to read.

He snorted.

"What?" I ask, worried.

"No, no. Don't worry. It's just the title." Billie laughs. "'Cotton Candy is a Stupid Idea.'"

I laugh a little too and then reach over to the end table where my coffee was. "There's a story."

"Clearly." He says in a more serious tone before continuing to read in his head.

A few uneventful and tense moments pass before he looks up and runs a hand through his black hair. "This is pretty good. What's the story?"

There wasn't anything accusing in the way he looked at me, but it wasn't exactly a dull expression either. He probably wouldn't get mad at me if I told him, but he'd probably care.

"It's a girl." I admitted, looking down at my jeans and pulling at the rips.

"A girl from Minneapolis?" He asks.

I shake my head and break a thread across a tear in my jeans. "No. Ireland."

Billie shifts on the bed, but I don't look up. "A girl from Ireland? The one who was in your bathroom?"

I look up quickly and meet his eyes. "How did you know?"

He laughs and grins a little. "I've had experience in this stuff, you know." He sets down the sheet of paper and crosses his legs as he does often. "I know exactly how to make sure someone isn't seen. There was no way I could ignore what you were doing."

All in all, he seemed to think it was funny instead of bad.

To be honest, I was shocked. I thought he'd get mad at me or something.

"Oh." I say simply. There wasn't much I could say to that.

"Obviously by the lyrics of this song, you actually care about her. Remembering her is half the battle, but thinking about her is a good sign that you should contact her again." He shrugs and picks up another sheet of paper, which I don't take away.

"Cotton candy hair and chocolate eyes, don't know it I'm hungry but these thoughts are my demise.

I can't get her out of my mind, it's a foggy memory that I can't quite place. Cotton candy hair and an even sweeter taste." Billie read aloud, nodding. "It's good."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. He liked it. It seemed as though he actually liked it. Was it wishful thinking?

"Thanks. One of those middle of the night songs."

He nods. "American Idiot was like that." Then he stands up and hands me my sloppily written lyrics. "Good luck. I'll see you at lunch, right?"

"Yeah. Where are we going?"

"Some organic place a few blocks away. Spoonriver or something." He gives me a smile and heads towards the door. "I hope you got her number." The last part was clearly an afterthought and it was delivered with a serious expression.

I shrug and and glance at my phone across the room. "I don't think I have hers, but I have her sisters."

Billie gives me a weird look.

"Don't worry. Her sister was a fan that I gave my number to-"

He interrupts, shooing my words away with his hand. "You gave your number to a fan?"

I groan and shake my head, closing my eyes in irritation. "No, it's not like that. I mean, yes I did but it's not a problem."

I can feel his stare digging into my back, but he says nothing. Eventually I just pick up my guitar again and begin to play the chords I have written down.

His stare fades and I hear him begin to walk away.

"Well, don't be stupid." He says, as he opens the door and leaves me alone with my tangled thoughts and unrecorded music.