Not In This Lifetime

you can't put your arms around a memory ~ johnny thunders

I almost drop my phone. The box is full of pictures, polaroids with names and dates written on them. It's not the fact that my mom has a box full of pictures that's the issue. It's who the pictures are of that shocks me.

      I grab the box, CDs forgotten, and shoot back upstairs. My mind can't process what it's seeing as I dump Mom's box out on my bed. I pick up photo after photo, reading the names and dates, eyes widening as I realize everything Mom's kept from me.

      Frankie and Sebastian, 1983

      Frankie and Rachel, 1987

      Snake and Frankie, 1986
     
      Skid Row, 1988
 
      Axl and Sebastian, 1987

      Nikki and Frankie, 1989

      Izzy and Tommy, 1988

      Slash, Steven, and Frankie, 1988

      Rachel, Sebastian, and Frankie, 1987

      Guns N'Roses, 1987

      Axl and Frankie, 1989

      Duff and Frankie, 1990

      The list goes on. My hands are shaking as I try to comprehend what I'm seeing. I remember what Sebastian said, asking if my mom's name is Frankie. Maybe she changed it, because the girl in these pictures is definitely a younger version of my mother. I pick up my phone to dial Sebastian's number and see if he can give any explanation, but something's wrong. I don't have service. In the place that usually reads "Verizon LTE", it now says "no SIM."

      I can't call. I can't text. And I don't have wifi or an email account.

      Fuck. I have no way to get in touch with anyone. I don't know where Willow lives. Ace and my former band members are out of the question. I have no other friends. And Mom is certainly not an option.

      I'm alone in this mess.

      "Okay." I say out loud. "I'm starting to think that Sebastian was right." I look in the mirror and make a face. My brown hair is looking choppy and short and punky, from when I cut it last week, the eyeliner is still visible, my neck is kinda long, and pair that with my height and outfit...I can see that resemblance between me and Duff McKagan. Who I'm starting to believe might be my father.

      There's only one way to find out. I dig my old suitcase out from underneath my bed and start to throw stuff inside.

      "More band shirts than necessary? Check. Jeans with so many holes they could pass for lace? Check. Underwear? Check. Socks? Check. Boots? Check. Sneakers? Check. Bandana? Check. Jacket? Check." I'm about to slam it shut when I remember one more thing.

      "Bible?" I grab my well-worn copy of The Dirt and chuck it in. "Check."

      "I'm making one hell of a bad choice." I say to my fish, Angus. "But it's worth it."

      I grab my suitcase and fly downstairs. I gotta get gone before Mom comes back. I swipe my keys off the counter and toss my suitcase in the car.

      I left my dysfunctional phone in my room. Don't need it, don't want it. I can use a payphone if I need to call anyone. Which I do, actually. I pull into the nearest gas station and dig a quarter out of my pocket. I dial Willow's number, and she picks up on the first ring.

      "Hello?"

      "Willow, it's Hudson. I just found out some crazy shit and basically I packed my stuff and I'm driving to Seattle to find my dad and I'm leaving right now and my phone's broken and I just wanted to let you know."

      "What?"

      "Basically I think Duff McKagan is my dad and I'm driving to Seattle to find him."

      "I'm coming too."

      "What?"

      "Meet me at my house, the address is 326 Forest Lake Drive."

      "Okay?"

      "I'm packing my shit now."

      "See ya in like, twenty minutes?"

      "Yep." And she hangs up.

      What the fuck is going on? I ask myself. In just about 6 hours, my entire life turned itself upside down. And I'm about to drive across the country with a girl I met 4 hours ago.

      Rip logic. It's such a reckless thing...a bad idea...a recipe for disaster. And the worst part? I'm not scared, or worried. I'm excited, filled with a sense of adventure. I'm ready for this shit.

      I pull up in front of Willow's house, and she comes running outside.

      "Go. Now. Before my parents realize I'm gone."

      "Shit!" I floor the accelerator and fishtail out of the driveway. I drive fast, enjoying the adrenaline rush of almost getting caught and of speed in general. Willow rolls the windows down and pops a tape in the player.

      "Good choice." I say as Mötley Crüe's Kickstart My Heart fills the air. "Why'd you decide to come with me? I could be a serial killer, for all you know."

      "I dunno. Living on the edge, I guess. And you seem cool. And it's a terrible idea to set off across America by yourself."

      "Thanks, I guess."

      "So what's the deal? We think Duff's your dad?"

      "Yeah, look at these." I hand her the shoebox. "And think about how much I look like Duff."

      "It lines up..."

      "Exactly. How? I don't know. There's definitely pieces missing. Like why Mom suddenly hates rock n' roll. In those pictures...look at her shirts. Alice Cooper, Mötley Crüe, Metallica, AC/DC, The Sex Pistols. And she was apparently friends with Skid Row and Guns N'Roses. I wanna know what happened to cause her to hate the bands she once loved.

      "I wonder...look. In most of these, she's with Rachel. Look at this one, they're kissing. And in this one, he has his hand in her back pocket. And here they have their arms around each other. I would guess that she and Rachel were a couple at some point." Willow says. "And look. Here's one that's older, 1983. Back when Sebastian woulda been in highschool, and I think your mom too. I would guess that they were school friends."

      "Wow. Yeah, that all makes sense. But how does that add up to Duff being my dad?"

      "Exactly. It doesn't."