The Jesus of Suburbia

She

I take a deep breath and touch the record button. The timer flashes red once, twice, three times, four, five as I back up and sit on the bed, adjusting my guitar on my lap.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.. Nine... Ten.

It beeps and I give the camera a close-lipped smile.

"Hey, I'm Red Dexter. This is the demo of the song Cotton Candy is a Stupid Idea."

I look down at my guitar and adjust my left hand to press down the strings on the fifth fret.

"pink hair across a pillow,

memories come flooding back,

dumbass choices that I know

will change the way I see the run and go.

and she doesn't understand

that I would do anything to feel

her cotton candy hair..."

In the back of my mind I could still see tired Charlie, not quite comprehending why I was forcing her into the hotel bathroom. It made me smile a bit as the vocals paused.

Then before I could quite realize time was passing, the song was done.

With a click I stopped the recording then set the guitar aside and lay on my bed. I grabbed black encased pillow on the floor and gripped it tightly between my arms, propping my chin on it.

For a moment I just lay there, thinking and cursing in my head. I had to get her out, this wasn't natural.

One night.

It was only one slightly drunk that was causing weeks of thought.

I took my phone out of my pocket and went to Charlie's messages, a virtual path I knew well though she hadn't texted me in three days.

I sent her a quick "Hi" and then stared at the screen for a response, a coma, anything. After a couple minutes the screen light up with a reply.

"Hey Red."

I'm not sure how I knew through a simple, overused text, but I could sort of tell she was in a good mood. Maybe I was just in a good mood and assumed she was based off my own emotions, I didn't know.

"What's up?" I ask.

A couple minutes pass before she responds with, "I don't see why my life in Ireland is your buisness Dexter."

It takes me a couple seconds to fully regester that. She's obviously annoyed that I asked, but I can't really read girls. They're so confusing. I weighed my options and then replied.

"I realize it's not, but I'd like to think at one point it could be." Before I stare at the text too long and decide not to send it, I press send. It was probably much to early in the conversation, in our nearly non existent relationship, to flirt so I was taking a chance that I might regret later.

"Fuck off Red. I have a boyfriend." She replies.

Oh. I groan and stuff my face into the pillow for a few seconds, breathing through the fabric. I'm such an idiot. After a few seconds I get over my miniture crisis and respond with, "Timothy?"

As I wait I tap my phone against the matress impatiently. If she's already dating someone then I really have to back off. I'm probably annoying her already, but if she had a boyfriend I would be seriously pissing her off to continue texting her across the ocean.

My phone beeps and I glance at the screen. "Oh my god, no. Haha Timothy is my cat. How'd you know about him?"

I laugh nervously to myself and let out a relieved sigh. Timothy was a cat. Just a cat.

"Honestly, you mumbled something about him in your sleep."

"Oh... Well no, his name is Jared. He's a couple years older than me."

Jared. That's a stupid name.

Realistically thinking, it wasn't the name that was horrible but rather my bitter and jealous American soul that thirsted for his social position. I took a minute or two to think of the nicest possible response before typing, "Do you two have similar music taste?"

She told me that he liked Green Day as she did among other bands and I began to think. I asked for his last name which she gave with slight hesitation and inquiry and then I nodded to myself. After making an excuse that I had to leave I clicked the power button on my phone and stood up, grabbing my room key and heading down the hall.

"Billie?" I ask, knocking on his hotel door. "Do you think we can go back to Ireland sometime? I have a friend there and he'd -uh- really like to meet you guys."

"What?" He asks as he opens the door. "Not now, but maybe with the next album, I guess. Is this about that girl again?"