Where'd You Go? (Track Twelve, III), chapter 17
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Wren tried to keep busy after the boys left. Living with three guys meant there was always housework to do. Normally Wren hated to do it even more than they, if such a thing was possible. Now, the more occupied her hands were, the less likely it was that her brain would get to creating all sorts of disaster scenarios. It was exceedingly difficult to keep her mind off that track entirely. Not every second could be filled with actions that required some degree of mental attentiveness. For a period stretching over two hours, she managed.
Finding an empty ice-cream pail, she stuck it under the kitchen tap and filled it before beginning to wash the floor. Mike got hit by a car when he was on the street.
She finished remaking her bed. Mike went nuts and beat the shit out of Billie Joe. Then, they all went to the hospital and Mike got sent to jail.
Wren wandered into Tré and Billie Joe's room. For once, it was fairly non-messy. The odd shirt was laying on the floor. These she gathered up and put into a pile. There was not enough to merit a full load at the laundromat. Idily, she stared down at the bare wood floor. Mike got on a bus and--SHUT UP. JUST SHUT UP. Clutching her forehead, she stumbled out of the room. Being alone was going to drive her insane.
Wren headed for her room to listen to some music. Maybe that could drown out the horrible thoughts. She had not taken one step into her room when they started again. Mike went and got a gun and--
No. NO! NO
--AND HE SHOT HIMSELF DEAD!--
SHUT UP. He's not dead!
--It's all your fault! Letting out a low moan, Wren whirled around and burst into Mike's room. It's. All. Your-- As hard as she could, she slammed the door and the horrible voice was silenced. All she could hear was the rustling of papers that had been stirred up by door-created wind. Their neat piles were now just a papery carpet that covered one corner of the room and part of his floor-bound-mattress bed. When he came back, he'd notice the mess.
Gingerly she moved to pick up the scattered sheets of loose-leaf on the floor. They held fragments of lyrics and music, obviously the songs he and Billie Joe were working on. One in particular caught her eye. As she looked it over, she noted that the second and third chords were changed.
"Hey Mike."
"Yeah?"
"That new one, that we got the bass and guitar struggling? What if we change the second and third chords to match at the intro, and move the melody a bit faster?"
This is the song that they had wanted me to listen to. Tears stung at her eyes as she read over the unfinished lyrics. It was obviously how he had originally planned to express his feelings before the rollover catastrophe. Now, all those feelings written down here, I killed them all.
Sadly, she looked around the room at the stickers, chipped paint, and half torn posters. If--no, when--the guys brought him back, she would not be welcome in here again. Her hazel eyes traveled over to the windowsill. A lone, flourishing potted plant reached out to the cloud-obscured sun. Something was shoved into its dirt. It was a name tag from the motel where he had lived/worked before moving here. Inspiration stuck like a lightning bolt.
That's where he would go!
The motel was on the extreme edge of town, a matter of hours' walk from the house. Mike had other haunts, but this one was the one that he would choose, simply because it was an old, almost forgotten, one.
Wren jogged into the bathroom and cleaned herself up. There was nothing she could do about her puffy bloodshot eyes, but at least the headache was gone. She found a phonebook and dialed the number for the motel.
"Sunrise Motel."
"Hi. Beth? It's me."
"Good to hear from you, what's up? Finally caught yourself a man, and need a place to crash?"
Wren tried to downplay just how serious this was. "Actually, I'm in the process of catching a boy. Has Mike checked in there? We're kinda playing a crazy game of hide and seek. I'm kind of worried that he's lost."
"Uh, lemme see....Yep. He's still here. Just came in about half an hour ago. He hasn't turned in his key anyhow, I guess he hasn't left." Wren's knees nearly buckled with relief. "Do you want to speak to him? Leave a message?"
"No!" With more calm, she repeated, "No. Don't say anything to him." If she did, then Mike might bolt before she could arrive. "I'll come over, see you in a bit."
Alright, now to fetch him back. For some reason, her hands were shaking like crazy as she laced up her shoes. I should really phone Billie Joe's cell but, I want to talk to Mike first.
Guilt made her quickly scribble down a note and place it on the fridge with a magnet. Gone to get Mike. Know where he is. ---Wren.
Wren hurried outside and removed the lock off of Mike's bicycle. A silent thanks was offered to her fates, that had deigned to allow this lucky twist. A girl on a bike would have more chance of catching a boy on foot than in a car or on her own two feet. The bike would lend her speed and the ability to go where engine driven vehicles could not. It was no longer a question of if she would meet up with him, but when. [i]Unless he gets in something that can go a lot faster than me. Like a bus, or a...no, we're not going to think about that, okay?i>
She hopped on and started pedaling as fast as she could. There would be no way she could find him if she did not get a move on. If her luck held she would get to the motel before he decided to leave, thus avoiding an even more tiring extended chase. She had no idea what she was going to do or say to him; she had to just find him first.
It was close to sundown as she parked the bike outside the motel's office. Dust and dry grass blew in a chilly wind caused by the vehicles on the highway. Shoes scratching and scritching on the dirty sidewalk, Wren jogged towards the motel's office. Beth, the manager/desk clerk, looked up from her computer as Wren entered.
"What kind of game are you two playing?" she demanded, waving her cigarette around. "You two have some weird ideas of fun. Seriously. Strangest pair of kids I ever met. Mike comes in here looking like something my dog would chew on. Then, you come in, looking a bit better than him--but not by much--well damn, just look at you, girl!"
Wren was too out of breath from pedaling to respond. Instead, she questioned Beth with her face.
Beth rolled her brown eyes, "Room twelve."
Wren managed to puff out a "Thank you." and headed outside. Slowly she walked to the reddish-orange door with the steel twelve nailed upon it. Managing to breathe somewhat normally, she knocked upon it.
Finding an empty ice-cream pail, she stuck it under the kitchen tap and filled it before beginning to wash the floor. Mike got hit by a car when he was on the street.
She finished remaking her bed. Mike went nuts and beat the shit out of Billie Joe. Then, they all went to the hospital and Mike got sent to jail.
Wren wandered into Tré and Billie Joe's room. For once, it was fairly non-messy. The odd shirt was laying on the floor. These she gathered up and put into a pile. There was not enough to merit a full load at the laundromat. Idily, she stared down at the bare wood floor. Mike got on a bus and--SHUT UP. JUST SHUT UP. Clutching her forehead, she stumbled out of the room. Being alone was going to drive her insane.
Wren headed for her room to listen to some music. Maybe that could drown out the horrible thoughts. She had not taken one step into her room when they started again. Mike went and got a gun and--
No. NO! NO
--AND HE SHOT HIMSELF DEAD!--
SHUT UP. He's not dead!
--It's all your fault! Letting out a low moan, Wren whirled around and burst into Mike's room. It's. All. Your-- As hard as she could, she slammed the door and the horrible voice was silenced. All she could hear was the rustling of papers that had been stirred up by door-created wind. Their neat piles were now just a papery carpet that covered one corner of the room and part of his floor-bound-mattress bed. When he came back, he'd notice the mess.
Gingerly she moved to pick up the scattered sheets of loose-leaf on the floor. They held fragments of lyrics and music, obviously the songs he and Billie Joe were working on. One in particular caught her eye. As she looked it over, she noted that the second and third chords were changed.
"Hey Mike."
"Yeah?"
"That new one, that we got the bass and guitar struggling? What if we change the second and third chords to match at the intro, and move the melody a bit faster?"
This is the song that they had wanted me to listen to. Tears stung at her eyes as she read over the unfinished lyrics. It was obviously how he had originally planned to express his feelings before the rollover catastrophe. Now, all those feelings written down here, I killed them all.
Sadly, she looked around the room at the stickers, chipped paint, and half torn posters. If--no, when--the guys brought him back, she would not be welcome in here again. Her hazel eyes traveled over to the windowsill. A lone, flourishing potted plant reached out to the cloud-obscured sun. Something was shoved into its dirt. It was a name tag from the motel where he had lived/worked before moving here. Inspiration stuck like a lightning bolt.
That's where he would go!
The motel was on the extreme edge of town, a matter of hours' walk from the house. Mike had other haunts, but this one was the one that he would choose, simply because it was an old, almost forgotten, one.
Wren jogged into the bathroom and cleaned herself up. There was nothing she could do about her puffy bloodshot eyes, but at least the headache was gone. She found a phonebook and dialed the number for the motel.
"Sunrise Motel."
"Hi. Beth? It's me."
"Good to hear from you, what's up? Finally caught yourself a man, and need a place to crash?"
Wren tried to downplay just how serious this was. "Actually, I'm in the process of catching a boy. Has Mike checked in there? We're kinda playing a crazy game of hide and seek. I'm kind of worried that he's lost."
"Uh, lemme see....Yep. He's still here. Just came in about half an hour ago. He hasn't turned in his key anyhow, I guess he hasn't left." Wren's knees nearly buckled with relief. "Do you want to speak to him? Leave a message?"
"No!" With more calm, she repeated, "No. Don't say anything to him." If she did, then Mike might bolt before she could arrive. "I'll come over, see you in a bit."
Alright, now to fetch him back. For some reason, her hands were shaking like crazy as she laced up her shoes. I should really phone Billie Joe's cell but, I want to talk to Mike first.
Guilt made her quickly scribble down a note and place it on the fridge with a magnet. Gone to get Mike. Know where he is. ---Wren.
Wren hurried outside and removed the lock off of Mike's bicycle. A silent thanks was offered to her fates, that had deigned to allow this lucky twist. A girl on a bike would have more chance of catching a boy on foot than in a car or on her own two feet. The bike would lend her speed and the ability to go where engine driven vehicles could not. It was no longer a question of if she would meet up with him, but when. [i]Unless he gets in something that can go a lot faster than me. Like a bus, or a...no, we're not going to think about that, okay?i>
She hopped on and started pedaling as fast as she could. There would be no way she could find him if she did not get a move on. If her luck held she would get to the motel before he decided to leave, thus avoiding an even more tiring extended chase. She had no idea what she was going to do or say to him; she had to just find him first.
It was close to sundown as she parked the bike outside the motel's office. Dust and dry grass blew in a chilly wind caused by the vehicles on the highway. Shoes scratching and scritching on the dirty sidewalk, Wren jogged towards the motel's office. Beth, the manager/desk clerk, looked up from her computer as Wren entered.
"What kind of game are you two playing?" she demanded, waving her cigarette around. "You two have some weird ideas of fun. Seriously. Strangest pair of kids I ever met. Mike comes in here looking like something my dog would chew on. Then, you come in, looking a bit better than him--but not by much--well damn, just look at you, girl!"
Wren was too out of breath from pedaling to respond. Instead, she questioned Beth with her face.
Beth rolled her brown eyes, "Room twelve."
Wren managed to puff out a "Thank you." and headed outside. Slowly she walked to the reddish-orange door with the steel twelve nailed upon it. Managing to breathe somewhat normally, she knocked upon it.
