The Waiting UnKnown, chapter 6
Leaving Billie's that night, Mike was exhausted but his mind was going 80 miles an hour. He was thinking about, well a little bit of everything, but especially Stella, his "Hero". She was staying with him for a while while he was off the road. He'd toasted her very sincerly that night. He loved his little girl so much. Sometimes he lost sight of just how much.
Arriving home, he payed the babysitter, a young teenage girl, 16 tops, who was star-struck, who kept insisting that "I'd have done this for an autograph, Mr. Dirnt.", pulling out her copy of American Idiot. Mike signed the cover and payed her anyway.
He went upstairs and checked on his daughter. Sound asleep. Mike's eyes stung with tears as he watched his daughter sleep. He missed so much on the road.
"G'night, my little Hero. I love you," He stroked her smooth hair as he bent down to give her a kiss.
"Love you too, daddy," a sleepy voice murmered in the darkness. Mike smiled as he turned off the light and went downstairs. Turning on the coffee pot, he went and sat in the den, waiting while it brewed.
He looked at the clock. "Damn it." 1 o'clock in the morning. And here he was getting ready to drink coffee. Oh well, it wasn't like he planned to sleep any that night. The way his mind was racing, it would be downright impossible.
He flipped on the TV, no plans to watch it, just plans to use it as background noise. A commercial came on for "Monster Ballads". He found himself singing along with every snippet they played, as he looked through the drawers under the entertainment center, trying to find a notebook he left there. Song lyrics, random thoughts, all jotted down. He didn't call it a journal, he hardly ever wrote in it, but tonight, he had a lot on his mind. Stuff that had been nagging at the back of his mind since that day at the hospital.
He hated how it took something like that to make him slow down. Here he was, thirty three. It was time to take a look at who he was, when he wasn't Mike Dirnt, bassist for one of the most legendary bands in the world, when he was just Michael Ryan Pritchard.
He caught sight of a picture of Stella, a school picture. He loved that little girl so much. He went back to the kitchen, the coffee was almost done. When it was ready, he poured himself a cup, taken it black and strong, grabbed a pen that had been left on top of the microwave for some reason, he wasn't sure why, and headed for the den. He flopped down in the big chair, legs flung over the left arm, and began to jot down some thoughts.
I'm gonna sound horrible here, but I'm almost glad that Jakob got sick. I like having time away from the road.
Okay, that looks even worse in written form. But the truth is, we'd have kept touring like mad men otherwise. I miss my little girl so much when I'm on the road. I swear, someone once told me there is nothing like a father's love for his little girl. I gue...
Mike stopped writing mid word when a tiny, frightened,voice from upstairs called, "Daddy, I had a bad dream."
Mike put down the pen. "Coming Stella," he called, as he proceeded up the stairs, to be the dad he hardly got to be.
Arriving home, he payed the babysitter, a young teenage girl, 16 tops, who was star-struck, who kept insisting that "I'd have done this for an autograph, Mr. Dirnt.", pulling out her copy of American Idiot. Mike signed the cover and payed her anyway.
He went upstairs and checked on his daughter. Sound asleep. Mike's eyes stung with tears as he watched his daughter sleep. He missed so much on the road.
"G'night, my little Hero. I love you," He stroked her smooth hair as he bent down to give her a kiss.
"Love you too, daddy," a sleepy voice murmered in the darkness. Mike smiled as he turned off the light and went downstairs. Turning on the coffee pot, he went and sat in the den, waiting while it brewed.
He looked at the clock. "Damn it." 1 o'clock in the morning. And here he was getting ready to drink coffee. Oh well, it wasn't like he planned to sleep any that night. The way his mind was racing, it would be downright impossible.
He flipped on the TV, no plans to watch it, just plans to use it as background noise. A commercial came on for "Monster Ballads". He found himself singing along with every snippet they played, as he looked through the drawers under the entertainment center, trying to find a notebook he left there. Song lyrics, random thoughts, all jotted down. He didn't call it a journal, he hardly ever wrote in it, but tonight, he had a lot on his mind. Stuff that had been nagging at the back of his mind since that day at the hospital.
He hated how it took something like that to make him slow down. Here he was, thirty three. It was time to take a look at who he was, when he wasn't Mike Dirnt, bassist for one of the most legendary bands in the world, when he was just Michael Ryan Pritchard.
He caught sight of a picture of Stella, a school picture. He loved that little girl so much. He went back to the kitchen, the coffee was almost done. When it was ready, he poured himself a cup, taken it black and strong, grabbed a pen that had been left on top of the microwave for some reason, he wasn't sure why, and headed for the den. He flopped down in the big chair, legs flung over the left arm, and began to jot down some thoughts.
I'm gonna sound horrible here, but I'm almost glad that Jakob got sick. I like having time away from the road.
Okay, that looks even worse in written form. But the truth is, we'd have kept touring like mad men otherwise. I miss my little girl so much when I'm on the road. I swear, someone once told me there is nothing like a father's love for his little girl. I gue...
Mike stopped writing mid word when a tiny, frightened,voice from upstairs called, "Daddy, I had a bad dream."
Mike put down the pen. "Coming Stella," he called, as he proceeded up the stairs, to be the dad he hardly got to be.
