Where'd You Go? (Track Twelve, III), chapter 8
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The next morning, as soon as they both woke up, Billie Joe took Mike home. Wren was content to stay and halfway doze in the hospital room. Unfortunately, Billie Joe returned shortly.
"I think you better take Mike home. The car's out front. Here's some coffee." He passed over a Styrofoam cup. He looked to be in a bit of a bad mood. His rumpled clothing did not improve the effect. "Don't come back right away. I'll call you if Tré wakes up." He patted his pockets and frowned.
"Oh, yeah." Wren passed over the cell phone. Privately she hoped that she hadn't slept on it and wrecked it. Feeling extremely tired, but beginning to re-energize on the rather crappy coffee, she trudged out to the car.
*Mike*
She didn't say anything when she got into the car. It made Mike wonder what Billie Joe had told her, if anything at all. Of course, if they were going out, then they should theoretically tell each other everything.
But Billie Joe had said.... Mike just stared out the window of the car. As the road flashed by, he was assaulted by memories.
The truck, my truck, roared powerfully as we went down the street. Tré was laughing and drumming on the steering wheel. He was still doing it as he sharply palmed the wheel around a corner. The world tilted with a God-awful smash. The truck screeched on its side; I could see the sparks fly. I tried to brace my hands on the dash as I was thrown forward. There was sickeningly violent lurch and then everything was darkness and pain.
"I keep seeing it," he said to her. "The crash." She nodded and kept driving. When she pulled into the driveway, he heard her unbuckle her seatbelt.
"You know," Mike said as he turned the key, "You should put the belt on. I know how you drive."
"Nah, we'll be fine. It's only a 15 minute drive. But I could make it five if I tried. Got two bucks says I can do it."
"Fine. You're on"
Mike shook his head, "I told Tré to put on the belt. Dumbshit never listened."
*Wren*
She watched as he rested his battered head against the headrest.
She let him sit for a bit before prodding. "Are you gonna get out, or am I going to have to carry you?"
He smiled and sighed. "That, I'd like to see."
Anything to keep him from silently beating himself up.
"Yeah, I'd probably get about four steps and drop you. You're all arms and legs. I bet I could carry Billie Joe farther. We should do that, have a contest. The one who I can carry the farthest wins, then switch it around and see who could carry me the farthest." Really, all she was doing was shooting her mouth off and weird ideas were popping out.
It's still better than nothing at all.
Mike nodded. "Then you could add the two scores for each person and find the average to get final rankings." He winced, "I did not just say that."
"As Billie Joe says, you get really smart when you're wasted."
Mike gave a tight smile. "Never been this kind of wasted. So," He hesitated, "What were you and Billie Joe doing that probably saved your life?"
"Chatting about how you're the brain."
And it looks like we're heading right back to the rollover topic.
Tactfully, Wren changed the subject, "What did you say to him anyway? He looked a bit grumpy when he came and got me to drive."
Mike got out of the car, carefully. Wren got out as well.
"We were arguing about which of us was an asshole and which one was dumbass." Now his blue eyes twinkled with some of his old temperament, "I won. I'm both."
Wren led the way into the house. "That gives me a dilemma: should I call you dumbass or asshole? They both apply." She shut the door for him. Reaching way up, she put an arm around his shoulders in a comradely way. It pleased her that he did not shift away this time. "Or I could run it all together. Dumbasshole. Why don't you pick?"
When I get tired, I get really stupid when I try to be witty.
The intoxicating rush of her affection was soon diluted. She was more concerned by the way he stooped like a beaten dog than what he thought of her bad jokes. There had to be a way to take his mind off things.
"I think I like Mike best." He turned and looked at her in a strange way. "Do you really love Billie Joe like you said?" Wren frowned as she tried to recall when on earth she said that. "You know, at the gig."
"Oh that. Hell yeah. He's the reason I have a house. He's great and he's got great friends. He's like my brother. We hang out, if you didn't notice."
"Yeah, I wondered," Mike said absently and wandered away into the kitchen.
For crying out loud! Why does he keep brushing me off? Did I not just tell him I wasn't hunting after Billie Joe? Do I need to go make myself a sign and wear it? But, I don't want to come on too strong. All this thinking! I just wanna go sleep. But, I gotta wait for Billie Joe to call. So, why not do something to keep awake?
"I think you better take Mike home. The car's out front. Here's some coffee." He passed over a Styrofoam cup. He looked to be in a bit of a bad mood. His rumpled clothing did not improve the effect. "Don't come back right away. I'll call you if Tré wakes up." He patted his pockets and frowned.
"Oh, yeah." Wren passed over the cell phone. Privately she hoped that she hadn't slept on it and wrecked it. Feeling extremely tired, but beginning to re-energize on the rather crappy coffee, she trudged out to the car.
*Mike*
She didn't say anything when she got into the car. It made Mike wonder what Billie Joe had told her, if anything at all. Of course, if they were going out, then they should theoretically tell each other everything.
But Billie Joe had said.... Mike just stared out the window of the car. As the road flashed by, he was assaulted by memories.
The truck, my truck, roared powerfully as we went down the street. Tré was laughing and drumming on the steering wheel. He was still doing it as he sharply palmed the wheel around a corner. The world tilted with a God-awful smash. The truck screeched on its side; I could see the sparks fly. I tried to brace my hands on the dash as I was thrown forward. There was sickeningly violent lurch and then everything was darkness and pain.
"I keep seeing it," he said to her. "The crash." She nodded and kept driving. When she pulled into the driveway, he heard her unbuckle her seatbelt.
"You know," Mike said as he turned the key, "You should put the belt on. I know how you drive."
"Nah, we'll be fine. It's only a 15 minute drive. But I could make it five if I tried. Got two bucks says I can do it."
"Fine. You're on"
Mike shook his head, "I told Tré to put on the belt. Dumbshit never listened."
*Wren*
She watched as he rested his battered head against the headrest.
She let him sit for a bit before prodding. "Are you gonna get out, or am I going to have to carry you?"
He smiled and sighed. "That, I'd like to see."
Anything to keep him from silently beating himself up.
"Yeah, I'd probably get about four steps and drop you. You're all arms and legs. I bet I could carry Billie Joe farther. We should do that, have a contest. The one who I can carry the farthest wins, then switch it around and see who could carry me the farthest." Really, all she was doing was shooting her mouth off and weird ideas were popping out.
It's still better than nothing at all.
Mike nodded. "Then you could add the two scores for each person and find the average to get final rankings." He winced, "I did not just say that."
"As Billie Joe says, you get really smart when you're wasted."
Mike gave a tight smile. "Never been this kind of wasted. So," He hesitated, "What were you and Billie Joe doing that probably saved your life?"
"Chatting about how you're the brain."
And it looks like we're heading right back to the rollover topic.
Tactfully, Wren changed the subject, "What did you say to him anyway? He looked a bit grumpy when he came and got me to drive."
Mike got out of the car, carefully. Wren got out as well.
"We were arguing about which of us was an asshole and which one was dumbass." Now his blue eyes twinkled with some of his old temperament, "I won. I'm both."
Wren led the way into the house. "That gives me a dilemma: should I call you dumbass or asshole? They both apply." She shut the door for him. Reaching way up, she put an arm around his shoulders in a comradely way. It pleased her that he did not shift away this time. "Or I could run it all together. Dumbasshole. Why don't you pick?"
When I get tired, I get really stupid when I try to be witty.
The intoxicating rush of her affection was soon diluted. She was more concerned by the way he stooped like a beaten dog than what he thought of her bad jokes. There had to be a way to take his mind off things.
"I think I like Mike best." He turned and looked at her in a strange way. "Do you really love Billie Joe like you said?" Wren frowned as she tried to recall when on earth she said that. "You know, at the gig."
"Oh that. Hell yeah. He's the reason I have a house. He's great and he's got great friends. He's like my brother. We hang out, if you didn't notice."
"Yeah, I wondered," Mike said absently and wandered away into the kitchen.
For crying out loud! Why does he keep brushing me off? Did I not just tell him I wasn't hunting after Billie Joe? Do I need to go make myself a sign and wear it? But, I don't want to come on too strong. All this thinking! I just wanna go sleep. But, I gotta wait for Billie Joe to call. So, why not do something to keep awake?
