The Jesus of Suburbia

Extrodinary Girl

I roll over and check the clock. It's about one in the morning and I can't sleep. There's a throbbing in my head and I just wish there was somewhere there, but there never is. Nobody ever stays.

I reach to my bedside table and feel around for the familiar cords of my headphones, then I plug them into my phone. Weirdly enough, music helps almost anything. There's always a song to go with my mood. After going through my playlist I settle with the song "Thank You For the Venom" by My Chemical Romance.

As I listen, I look through my messages. Yesterday Detroit and I had a vivid discussion on the various sexualities and the rights for them in each country. It was an interesting conversation, but it ended with a few drinks too many and a throbbing headache now.

The last message is one I haven't responded to yet. Detroit asked me why I was so interested in her sister during our last Skype session.

How exactly do I put this?

I type out "Well, I met her in Dublin" and consider sending it. Does that give everything away?

I send it.

A few minutes later I receive a response. It's about nine in the morning there. Detroit responded with, "Is that why she wasn't home that night?"

I hesitate before responding with, "Probably. Yeah..."

The next message I did not expect. "Did you use protection?" I laugh into the silence of my room and immediately respond with, "We didn't even have sex."

The conversation continued and eventually I got Charlie's number. 

I create a contact for her and send her the short message of, "Hey, it's Red."

Ten minutes later, no response.

Twenty minutes later, no response.

Eventually I set my phone aside and let sleep take over. Maybe she doesn't want to talk to me or something.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

When I come to consciousness again the room is considerably brighter and light is streaming through the beige curtains.

I groan and roll over.

Then I remember texting Charlie several hours ago and look at the clock with one eye. It's about nine so I could probably wake up.

I grab my phone and look for any new messages. There is one from Charlie, so I open it.

"And I'm green." It says.

After laughing in an embarrassing morning voice, I reply with "I hate Christmas, actually. You should pick a different color."

The response is almost immediate. "I do too, my family sucks."

"Mine does too." I reply, thinking about the family I still consider to be my real one. Dead mother, jailed father.

"Your family must be great with Billie Joe and everyone. Mine actually sucks." She says.

"I was thinking about my birth family, actually. Usually they forgot Christmas and spent the night fighting." I send the message before I can back out of sending Charlie a piece of my story.

There isn't an answer for about ten minutes.

When there is one it's just, "Oh."

Maybe I was a little sudden with that.

So, I tone it down a bit, but not much. "How much do you remember from that night?"

A few minutes later I hear a buzz and open the text. "Enough."

"What do you remember?"

"You pulled me out of a fight in the mosh pit and started flirting with me. Then you convinced me to get a drink with you after the show and you carried me out. We talked, but I don't remember much until I woke up next to you and you shooed me into your bathroom."

"You still have my Nirvana shirt."

"You still have my Rolling Stones shirt. We're even."

True, I think. I stare at the screen for a moment and imagine how she must look right now. It's probably four or five in the afternoon there.

She could be doing anything actually.

It gives me slightly uncomfortable chills thinking about it, so I stop.

I wonder how to answer since the conversation seems to have hit a wall.

"I hope you haven't completely given up on my music." I reply after five or so minutes.

"There's not much to give up on." She replies. True, I really need to upload more. At this point I'm just 'that one famous guys son who has that one song' and I wanted to be more than that.

"Yet. I'm uploading some things when the tour is done."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Ouch. Okay.

"It won't be long. Anyway, I'll talk to you later."

"Sure." She replies. I picture an eye roll.

Charlie doesn't really like me yet and I can see why. To her I'm just some famous guy's adopted son who almost slept with her and then decided to stay in contact.

Awkward, I know.

I readjust so I'm propping myself up with my elbow and set my phone down.

Eventually I get up completely and make coffee, forcing myself to eventually socially interact with real people.

Billie, Mike and Tré have another concert tonight, but I've stopped going to them. The songs are always the same at the concerts, but every so often there is an interesting story which they usually reenact for me the following afternoon. Over twenty years full of stories of idiots, fans and mistakes. Wow.

I wonder if they'll ever lose song ideas.