The Truth/Jimmy, chapter 1
Billie Joe walked slowly across the dusty road, heading towards the light and noise of an old run down bar. He dragged his feet slowly, watching small pebbles and dust particles scatter in front of him as though his feet were the wrong side of a magnet and they were being repelled away. Because of his slow going it was a good two minutes until he reached the bar; he found himself not caring, not worrying about wasting his life away. What's so precious about life anyway?
He pushed the wooden door open slowly, hearing it creak in protest. There was no break in the babble of chatter around him as he walked past; no one recognised him this time. He sat down at a bar stool, breathing in deeply at the musty smell of nicotine and that little something else that lingered in the air.
"Beer," he grunts as the barman nears him, not in the mood for light conversation. The barman nodded at him, obviously sensing the 'back the hell away from me, I'm not in the mood' vibes Billie giving off.
"There you go," he said, pushing a dusty bottle across the bar. Billie picked it up and handed some money over, briefly contemplating the fact that everything in this town seemed to be dusty and old; almost as though it was seeped in old secrets and forgotten pasts.
"Keep the change," Billie said quickly, not wanting a return visit from the old man anytime soon.
Billie sipped the liquid slowly, deep in thought. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what was wrong with him. He could blame it on the tour, on being away from friends and family for too long; but the truth was he had his friends with him, and family life wasn't all it was cracked up to be. The truth was, he probably preferred to be on tour rather than at home. On tour he was doing what he loved, and he was with his best friends. On tour, he was home. He knew it wasn't the tour that was getting him down.
Maybe it was his friends? Maybe it was Mike and Tre. Billie knew they would never intentionally hurt him, but they were hurting him then. There was a bond between the two of them. He didn't know exactly what it was that made them closer than he was; he just knew it had happened recently and he didn't like it. He almost resented them. The two of them had a close friendship, with no lies, no concealments. Billie knew that that was something he could never have, no matter how much he wanted it - how much he yearned for it.
He set the beer bottle down on the bar in front of his and leant his head tiredly in his arms. He wanted to sleep, he decided. If he was asleep he didn't have to think about any of the things running through he mind uninvited then. He sighed deeply to himself. He couldn't sleep - not just because if he fell asleep at a bar he'd probably be mugged and left for dead, but because that wasn't the answer. He stared down at the beer bottle, looking through the cloudy green glass into the liquid swirling around inside of it, almost hoping for an answer to come to him from the depths of the alcohol. He sighed once again, realising that the bottle wasn't hiding any deep concealed answer within it.
His head jolted up right then. That was it! The bottle wasn't hiding anything. That was the answer - he shouldn't hide anything either. He thought back to the people he knew, thought back to Mike and Tre.
They didn't hide anything. They didn't have any deep, dark secrets locked inside of them, gathering more dust than the old town. They weren't hiding the truth inside of them, bound by a sense of loyalty to man they hadn't seen for thirteen years. He smiled slowly then - a nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless. He knew what he had to do. He had to tell the truth. He had to let the secrets out. He picked up his drink and downed it in one, setting the empty bottle back on the bar with a loud clunk.
"Cheers," he said to the barman as he glanced around, seeking out the source of the unfamiliar, sudden sound. The barman simply nodded once more, and Billie got up. He made his way to the door in a purposeful stride, his mind made up. He'd talk to Mike and Tre. He'd let them know how he was feeling. He'd let them know why. He pulled the door open, ignoring the creak of protest once again, and made his way back down the dust covered road, walking towards the tour buses.
Walking towards the truth.
He pushed the wooden door open slowly, hearing it creak in protest. There was no break in the babble of chatter around him as he walked past; no one recognised him this time. He sat down at a bar stool, breathing in deeply at the musty smell of nicotine and that little something else that lingered in the air.
"Beer," he grunts as the barman nears him, not in the mood for light conversation. The barman nodded at him, obviously sensing the 'back the hell away from me, I'm not in the mood' vibes Billie giving off.
"There you go," he said, pushing a dusty bottle across the bar. Billie picked it up and handed some money over, briefly contemplating the fact that everything in this town seemed to be dusty and old; almost as though it was seeped in old secrets and forgotten pasts.
"Keep the change," Billie said quickly, not wanting a return visit from the old man anytime soon.
Billie sipped the liquid slowly, deep in thought. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what was wrong with him. He could blame it on the tour, on being away from friends and family for too long; but the truth was he had his friends with him, and family life wasn't all it was cracked up to be. The truth was, he probably preferred to be on tour rather than at home. On tour he was doing what he loved, and he was with his best friends. On tour, he was home. He knew it wasn't the tour that was getting him down.
Maybe it was his friends? Maybe it was Mike and Tre. Billie knew they would never intentionally hurt him, but they were hurting him then. There was a bond between the two of them. He didn't know exactly what it was that made them closer than he was; he just knew it had happened recently and he didn't like it. He almost resented them. The two of them had a close friendship, with no lies, no concealments. Billie knew that that was something he could never have, no matter how much he wanted it - how much he yearned for it.
He set the beer bottle down on the bar in front of his and leant his head tiredly in his arms. He wanted to sleep, he decided. If he was asleep he didn't have to think about any of the things running through he mind uninvited then. He sighed deeply to himself. He couldn't sleep - not just because if he fell asleep at a bar he'd probably be mugged and left for dead, but because that wasn't the answer. He stared down at the beer bottle, looking through the cloudy green glass into the liquid swirling around inside of it, almost hoping for an answer to come to him from the depths of the alcohol. He sighed once again, realising that the bottle wasn't hiding any deep concealed answer within it.
His head jolted up right then. That was it! The bottle wasn't hiding anything. That was the answer - he shouldn't hide anything either. He thought back to the people he knew, thought back to Mike and Tre.
They didn't hide anything. They didn't have any deep, dark secrets locked inside of them, gathering more dust than the old town. They weren't hiding the truth inside of them, bound by a sense of loyalty to man they hadn't seen for thirteen years. He smiled slowly then - a nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless. He knew what he had to do. He had to tell the truth. He had to let the secrets out. He picked up his drink and downed it in one, setting the empty bottle back on the bar with a loud clunk.
"Cheers," he said to the barman as he glanced around, seeking out the source of the unfamiliar, sudden sound. The barman simply nodded once more, and Billie got up. He made his way to the door in a purposeful stride, his mind made up. He'd talk to Mike and Tre. He'd let them know how he was feeling. He'd let them know why. He pulled the door open, ignoring the creak of protest once again, and made his way back down the dust covered road, walking towards the tour buses.
Walking towards the truth.
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