In The Rough, chapter 2
"Tre'! Tre', you forgot... Tre'?"
That bartender stood out in front of the bar holding Tre's wallet. "Tre'?" she repeated. She walked around to the side of the building and saw him walking. "Tre'!"
He turned around and looked at her. "Hello?"
"Tre'. you forgot your wallet at the counter. Here."
He took it from her. His fingers ran over her soft hand and they both smiled. "Thanks," he whispered, as small puffs of smoke came from his mouth. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Tre's face became contorted when the fabric touching his hand didn't feel like the smooth cold feeiling of his leather wallet. He flipped it over and saw a folded napkin. He unfolded it and it simply contained a number. He looked but Anna was no longer there. "Hello?" he asked the air. "Bartender lady? Hello?"
There was no answer. So he decided to just retrieve himself back to his house and dial this number.
Once he was home, he removed his jacket and hung it on the caot hanger. He shuffled his conversed feet to teh kitchen, where he punched the on button of his coffee maker. Traveling upstairs, he passed the bedroom of his 5 year old son. Then the bedroom of his ex-wife Claudia. Then came to his.
He removed his shoes and placed them in the closet. Then just fell into the floor. She let a few more tears roll down his cheeks and onto the floor. He curled into a fetal position and squeezed his eyes closed. "why?" he muttered. "Why did they..." he broke off and cried.
He thought of the 17 years the band was together. When Kerlplunk...Dookie, Insomniac, Nimrod, Warning... getting excited that they could actually put out a greatest hits album- International Superhits-... Shenanigans, and one of thier biggest CDs, American Idiot. He'd miss the touring. He'd miss the recording. He'd miss the fans. He'd miss the photoshoots and interviews, even though deep down he hated them, even though he got to show off his hyper antics. He'd miss the junk food on the tour bus. He'd miss the tiny bunks he;d have to sleep in. But most of all, he'd miss his friendship.
The friendship he had on the raod with Billie and Mike were different than the one he had at home. He couldn't really pick out the difference or what made it different he just knew something was diffrent, and he'd miss that most of all.
He heard quiet footsteps coming up from the hallway and stopped at his room. "Daddy?" Frankito's little voice asked. "Daddy... are you okay?"
Tre' sat up and looked at his son. "Yes, son. I'm fine."
Frankito nodded.
"Come here son." Tre' commanded in a quiet tone. Frankito's socked feet carried his spiderman-ed pajama-ed body over to his father and he sat in his lap. "Can I tell you something Frankie?"
"Mmhmm..."
"Daddy's band broke up tonight. And Daddy's sad, okay? But don't let mommy know. She's get anal with me and... just don't tell her."
"Okay, daddy."
"Let's go back to bed, yes?"
"Okay."
Frankito stood and led his father to his room for a proper "tucking in." Frankito crawled into bed and pulled the covers over himself. He hugged his teddy bear closly to his chest and stared up at his father. "Good night, daddy."
"Good night, son. I lvoe you."
"Love you... too," he said with a yawn. Tre' kissed him on the forehead then sent him off to sleep.
He quietly walked back to his bedroom, careful not to wake Claudia like he did his son. He walked back into his room and sat on his bed. He looked around and saw his awards. Grammy's, MTV's, Vh1, etc... This again gave him the chocked feeling in his throat. He promised himself no more crying- not tonight atleast. In the morning, he'd call Mike, who'd also shed a few tears. Billie, who was comforted by his wife, Adrienne, all night, also not a macho freak and shed some feelings. Then he'd call that girl. The bartender. He hadn't even gotten her name. How stupid of him...
He stripped down to his boxers, then changed them, and soonly climbing into bed, resting his tired achy body under the sheets, and awaited the next motivating day.
He sighed and fell asleep.
That bartender stood out in front of the bar holding Tre's wallet. "Tre'?" she repeated. She walked around to the side of the building and saw him walking. "Tre'!"
He turned around and looked at her. "Hello?"
"Tre'. you forgot your wallet at the counter. Here."
He took it from her. His fingers ran over her soft hand and they both smiled. "Thanks," he whispered, as small puffs of smoke came from his mouth. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Tre's face became contorted when the fabric touching his hand didn't feel like the smooth cold feeiling of his leather wallet. He flipped it over and saw a folded napkin. He unfolded it and it simply contained a number. He looked but Anna was no longer there. "Hello?" he asked the air. "Bartender lady? Hello?"
There was no answer. So he decided to just retrieve himself back to his house and dial this number.
Once he was home, he removed his jacket and hung it on the caot hanger. He shuffled his conversed feet to teh kitchen, where he punched the on button of his coffee maker. Traveling upstairs, he passed the bedroom of his 5 year old son. Then the bedroom of his ex-wife Claudia. Then came to his.
He removed his shoes and placed them in the closet. Then just fell into the floor. She let a few more tears roll down his cheeks and onto the floor. He curled into a fetal position and squeezed his eyes closed. "why?" he muttered. "Why did they..." he broke off and cried.
He thought of the 17 years the band was together. When Kerlplunk...Dookie, Insomniac, Nimrod, Warning... getting excited that they could actually put out a greatest hits album- International Superhits-... Shenanigans, and one of thier biggest CDs, American Idiot. He'd miss the touring. He'd miss the recording. He'd miss the fans. He'd miss the photoshoots and interviews, even though deep down he hated them, even though he got to show off his hyper antics. He'd miss the junk food on the tour bus. He'd miss the tiny bunks he;d have to sleep in. But most of all, he'd miss his friendship.
The friendship he had on the raod with Billie and Mike were different than the one he had at home. He couldn't really pick out the difference or what made it different he just knew something was diffrent, and he'd miss that most of all.
He heard quiet footsteps coming up from the hallway and stopped at his room. "Daddy?" Frankito's little voice asked. "Daddy... are you okay?"
Tre' sat up and looked at his son. "Yes, son. I'm fine."
Frankito nodded.
"Come here son." Tre' commanded in a quiet tone. Frankito's socked feet carried his spiderman-ed pajama-ed body over to his father and he sat in his lap. "Can I tell you something Frankie?"
"Mmhmm..."
"Daddy's band broke up tonight. And Daddy's sad, okay? But don't let mommy know. She's get anal with me and... just don't tell her."
"Okay, daddy."
"Let's go back to bed, yes?"
"Okay."
Frankito stood and led his father to his room for a proper "tucking in." Frankito crawled into bed and pulled the covers over himself. He hugged his teddy bear closly to his chest and stared up at his father. "Good night, daddy."
"Good night, son. I lvoe you."
"Love you... too," he said with a yawn. Tre' kissed him on the forehead then sent him off to sleep.
He quietly walked back to his bedroom, careful not to wake Claudia like he did his son. He walked back into his room and sat on his bed. He looked around and saw his awards. Grammy's, MTV's, Vh1, etc... This again gave him the chocked feeling in his throat. He promised himself no more crying- not tonight atleast. In the morning, he'd call Mike, who'd also shed a few tears. Billie, who was comforted by his wife, Adrienne, all night, also not a macho freak and shed some feelings. Then he'd call that girl. The bartender. He hadn't even gotten her name. How stupid of him...
He stripped down to his boxers, then changed them, and soonly climbing into bed, resting his tired achy body under the sheets, and awaited the next motivating day.
He sighed and fell asleep.
