'Cause I'm a Million Miles Away, chapter 5
Outside Gilman
June 7, 1990
<p>After a short amount of time convincing Mike to return home, he finally gave in.<br />He put an arm around me and we walked back to the house. All the lights were out, and there was no sight or proof Billie Joe had woken up.<br />
We walked up the creaky stairs, opened the front door quietly, and walked up more creaky stairs to our bedroom. He went to his bed, I went to mine, making sure not to wake Billie Joe up, but it seemed like he was already a step ahead of us. He stirred, making Mike cringe.<br />"Hey Mike." Billie said hoarsely, rubbing his eyes as he pulled the chain on a lamp by his bedside.<br />"Hey." Mike said, sitting down on the edge of his bed.<br />"We alright?"<br />Mike hesitated, but nodded. "Just leave Sam alone, okay? She didn't do anything."<br />"Kay. Go to bed." Billie rolled back over, shutting his lamp off. Even in the dark, I could sense Mike grinning at me.</p>
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Billie Joe's House
June 8, 1990
<p>At 5 in the morning, I woke up tossing and turning, so I went downstairs only to find Billie and Mike writing songs on the notepad I had used at Mike's graduation.<br />Rubbing my eyes, I watched Billie strum his guitar and aim it at Mike as it were a gun.<br />"Good morning, sunshiiiinee... My only sunshiiiiinee..." Billie Joe said in a sing-song voice.<br />"It's you are my sunshine, my only sunshine," Mike corrected, sipping coffee.<br />"Right, whatever... Goddammit, what rhymes with 'belong'?" Billie said, tapping his nose with a piece of dark chalk.<br />"Why are you writing with chalk? Oh... And just skip the line if you have to."<br />"Where's Al?" I said, pouring myself a cup of past-date Orange Juice.<br />"That asshole QUIT." Mike said nastily, reviewing Billie Joe's writings.<br />I shook my head. "Where's the next drummer then?"
<br />Billie Joe shrugged and leaned back on the chair.<br />I took the notepad from Mike and took my turn reading it.<br /> "Whoah," I said, chewing my fingernails.<br />Now you see me, now you don't<br />Don't ask me where I'm at<br />'Cause I'm a million miles away<br />Treated like a forbidden heel
Don't say my thoughts are not for real<br />Or you won't see me again
<br />I was nearly speechless, and Mike looked away with a red face. I shook my head, giving the notepad back to the writer and giving the thumbs-up of approval.
<br />"You can fill in for John for a while, if you feel like it," Billie said, twirling the chalk, spreading pasty-pink power everywhere.<br />"Nah, I suck at it, Bill."<br />
"You learned Pasalacqua fine."<br />"That took me 5 weeks."<br />"That's usually how long it takes, Sammy," Mike stated.<br />"Well then, fine. Have it written yet?" I wasn't sure about learning this. Quickly, anyway.<br />"Nah... Still gotta write it..."</p>
<p>So the morning was spent making up parts for the song, later dubbed 'Disappearing Boy' by Billie Joe (who was looking at Mike with a sideways glance most of the morning, asking for approval on lyrics).<br />I knew Mike was writing a song about himself 'running for it' a few days ago, and that it meant a lot to him. He kept sipping coffee, even when Billie pointed out there wasn't any left in his mug, and acting all-around silly. I don't know what's been wrong with him lately.</p>
<p>I was also invited to make up a verse for the song, so I spent half an hour in silence taking everything that's been happening into deep thought and straining my brain to no end. I admit it, most of it was just to impress Mike, but a good fraction of it was to make him feel better, too.<br />Even after half an hour of smacking myself awake, I only got 3 lines. But I was content.<br />I have my doubts<br />Of where I belong<br />It's something to think about</p>
---
<p>The Billie Joe nod of approval was different than the Sam thumbs-up of approval, and I was more than proud of myself when he happily smiled and bobbed his head about ten times to get the point across.</p>
<p>I went back upstairs, feeling a bit more sleepy. I laid down on the couch and fell asleep until noon, woken up by somebody tripping on their way into the room. I forced my eyes open to see Mike laying on the floor, holding his nose, yelling swear words and bleeding all over the place. I fell off my bed and crawled over to him, ignoring the blood on the floor.<br />"Goddamn man," I said, inspecting the door block, which his sock was caught on. He must've tripped real good to break his nose like that.<br />I called out Billie's name, even if the raccous screaming wasn't obvious enough something was wrong. Billie appeared in the doorway, holding his song-writing notebook.<br />"Shit, Mike, you got blood on the floor," He grunted miserably, heading to the bathroom for bandaids. I looked Mike in the face. He looked seconds away from tearing up.<br />"Cry man," I said, holding his nose. He writhed in pain. <br />"It's broken, don't touch it," Billie said, holding a tissue on his mouth.<br />Just what we needed. More injuries. What's next, Billie jumping off the roof?</p>
---
<p>Billie Joe's Fairlane pulled into the driveway. I'd refused to go to the hospitals, admitting I hated them more than anything else in the world. Billie shrugged and grabbed a choked up Mike and dragged him out the door.<br />
Mike's face was worth a laugh, there was a cloth draped around his nose and held on with thick bandaids.<br />"Three weeks." He sniffled. "Three weeks. Do you know how happy I am to be graduated? Imagine the names."<br />
Billie Joe went upstairs right away, to clean up the mess on the floor, as Mike sat next to me and crossed his arms.<br /> "Shitfuck."<br />"Shitfuck?" I asked, leaning on him slightly.<br />"Shitfuck. Shit fucking."<br />"Fucking shit, aye?"<br />"How vulgar," Billie said, coming down the stairs, holding a lighter in one hand.<br />"Lighter...?" Mike said, lowering his eyebrows suspiciously.<br />"I'm fucking BORED, okay?" Billie Joe left the room and out the back door quickly, obviously headed for the garage.</p>
<p>I spent the rest of the morning trying not to fall asleep on a snoring Mike. I watched him, intent on yanking that annoying looking band-aid off, but I just counted how many times he snored before he woke up.<br />That wasn't a very good game either, because within time I dozed off, and we both fell over onto the arm of the couch. <br />I woke to Mike breathing on my shoulder. We were on the floor, and Billie had taken the couch and turned on the TV. His face rested in his palm, as he stared at the glass screen.<br />I shuffled out of Mike's arms and looked at Billie Joe, who was wearing a sour face.<br />"You know how annoying it is when you can't get off the couch because your best friends are sleeping together on the floor?"<br />I rubbed my eyes. "Step over us, then."
<br />I ignored his unusually puffy, red, veiny eyes as I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water.</p>
<p>When I returned to the sitting room Mike was sprawled out on the floor, stretching.<br ?>"Ahhgg," He said, yawning and bending his knees. I returned next to him on the floor, cross-legged, as Billie Joe started going on about scraping up some cash to buy an apartment.<br />"I'm getting tired of living at my mom's house." he complained, snapping his fingers repeatedly.<br />
"I've got 500 bucks from some community service I did last year," I said.
Billie raised an eyebrow.<br /> "Chip in?"<br />I shrugged. "Maybe. Sounds good, though,"<br />"I'll pitch in a hundred if I get my own room." Mike added, sitting up and holding his knees.</p>
---
<p>Things move quickly in our lives. If we want to go out for a gig, we go right then and there. If we want food, we're out of the house in 30 seconds. If we want to look for an apartment, out. <br />Our first target was a complex off 7th street.
<br />"What a shithole," Mike commented, reviewing the apartment.<br /> "I like it."<br />Billie Joe asked the owner about moving in ASAP, and he claimed, "100 dollars, 50 bucks a month. There's no heat, no air conditioning, and the plumbing's clogged. If you can fix it all, you can have the place for free."<br /> the man was more than suspicious - he wore a stained cowboy hat, blue overalls and had a piece of straw hanging out of the corner of his mouth. But nonetheless...<br />"We'll take it."<br />And that we did. We spent less than two hours running the two block length back and fourth from Billie Joe's house, rolling furniture on a piece of cardboard with wheels taped on with duct tape.<br />
"Just like home," Billie Joe said, sitting down on the floor with an empty box of pizza filled with guitar picks. He started flicking them at a target he drew on the wall with some charcoal he found in the fireplace.<br />"Yeah... And I've got my own room. AND all of my money, because the place was so damn cheap," Mike said.<br />"But it must be unhealthy..." I stated, looking at the mold growing on the walls and the musty smells emitting from the vent in the corner. There was a stain on the carpet that looked like blood. Was this the punk lifestyle Mike and Billie had been going on about for so long? I hope not. One of us was going to get cancer or something from this place. </p>
---
<p>After an angry call from Billie's mom that afternoon, we all went off for bed. I was annoyed by sleeping in my own room, because usually I slept in the same room as all of them, so I went to Mike's room and fell asleep at the foot of the bed with a drool-stained pillow.<br />We woke up to Billie screaming swear words in the living room. I jumped off the bed to a shocked Mike (not only from my presence, but because of Bill's screaming) and out to Billie, who was staring at the floor.<br />"We've been robbed."<br />That's what you get in East L.A. The slummy neighborhoods and horrid smells of growing mold on the run-down factories and abandoned parking lots. Welcome to Paradise...</p>
June 7, 1990
<p>After a short amount of time convincing Mike to return home, he finally gave in.<br />He put an arm around me and we walked back to the house. All the lights were out, and there was no sight or proof Billie Joe had woken up.<br />
We walked up the creaky stairs, opened the front door quietly, and walked up more creaky stairs to our bedroom. He went to his bed, I went to mine, making sure not to wake Billie Joe up, but it seemed like he was already a step ahead of us. He stirred, making Mike cringe.<br />"Hey Mike." Billie said hoarsely, rubbing his eyes as he pulled the chain on a lamp by his bedside.<br />"Hey." Mike said, sitting down on the edge of his bed.<br />"We alright?"<br />Mike hesitated, but nodded. "Just leave Sam alone, okay? She didn't do anything."<br />"Kay. Go to bed." Billie rolled back over, shutting his lamp off. Even in the dark, I could sense Mike grinning at me.</p>
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Billie Joe's House
June 8, 1990
<p>At 5 in the morning, I woke up tossing and turning, so I went downstairs only to find Billie and Mike writing songs on the notepad I had used at Mike's graduation.<br />Rubbing my eyes, I watched Billie strum his guitar and aim it at Mike as it were a gun.<br />"Good morning, sunshiiiinee... My only sunshiiiiinee..." Billie Joe said in a sing-song voice.<br />"It's you are my sunshine, my only sunshine," Mike corrected, sipping coffee.<br />"Right, whatever... Goddammit, what rhymes with 'belong'?" Billie said, tapping his nose with a piece of dark chalk.<br />"Why are you writing with chalk? Oh... And just skip the line if you have to."<br />"Where's Al?" I said, pouring myself a cup of past-date Orange Juice.<br />"That asshole QUIT." Mike said nastily, reviewing Billie Joe's writings.<br />I shook my head. "Where's the next drummer then?"
<br />Billie Joe shrugged and leaned back on the chair.<br />I took the notepad from Mike and took my turn reading it.<br /> "Whoah," I said, chewing my fingernails.<br />Now you see me, now you don't<br />Don't ask me where I'm at<br />'Cause I'm a million miles away<br />Treated like a forbidden heel
Don't say my thoughts are not for real<br />Or you won't see me again
<br />I was nearly speechless, and Mike looked away with a red face. I shook my head, giving the notepad back to the writer and giving the thumbs-up of approval.
<br />"You can fill in for John for a while, if you feel like it," Billie said, twirling the chalk, spreading pasty-pink power everywhere.<br />"Nah, I suck at it, Bill."<br />
"You learned Pasalacqua fine."<br />"That took me 5 weeks."<br />"That's usually how long it takes, Sammy," Mike stated.<br />"Well then, fine. Have it written yet?" I wasn't sure about learning this. Quickly, anyway.<br />"Nah... Still gotta write it..."</p>
<p>So the morning was spent making up parts for the song, later dubbed 'Disappearing Boy' by Billie Joe (who was looking at Mike with a sideways glance most of the morning, asking for approval on lyrics).<br />I knew Mike was writing a song about himself 'running for it' a few days ago, and that it meant a lot to him. He kept sipping coffee, even when Billie pointed out there wasn't any left in his mug, and acting all-around silly. I don't know what's been wrong with him lately.</p>
<p>I was also invited to make up a verse for the song, so I spent half an hour in silence taking everything that's been happening into deep thought and straining my brain to no end. I admit it, most of it was just to impress Mike, but a good fraction of it was to make him feel better, too.<br />Even after half an hour of smacking myself awake, I only got 3 lines. But I was content.<br />I have my doubts<br />Of where I belong<br />It's something to think about</p>
---
<p>The Billie Joe nod of approval was different than the Sam thumbs-up of approval, and I was more than proud of myself when he happily smiled and bobbed his head about ten times to get the point across.</p>
<p>I went back upstairs, feeling a bit more sleepy. I laid down on the couch and fell asleep until noon, woken up by somebody tripping on their way into the room. I forced my eyes open to see Mike laying on the floor, holding his nose, yelling swear words and bleeding all over the place. I fell off my bed and crawled over to him, ignoring the blood on the floor.<br />"Goddamn man," I said, inspecting the door block, which his sock was caught on. He must've tripped real good to break his nose like that.<br />I called out Billie's name, even if the raccous screaming wasn't obvious enough something was wrong. Billie appeared in the doorway, holding his song-writing notebook.<br />"Shit, Mike, you got blood on the floor," He grunted miserably, heading to the bathroom for bandaids. I looked Mike in the face. He looked seconds away from tearing up.<br />"Cry man," I said, holding his nose. He writhed in pain. <br />"It's broken, don't touch it," Billie said, holding a tissue on his mouth.<br />Just what we needed. More injuries. What's next, Billie jumping off the roof?</p>
---
<p>Billie Joe's Fairlane pulled into the driveway. I'd refused to go to the hospitals, admitting I hated them more than anything else in the world. Billie shrugged and grabbed a choked up Mike and dragged him out the door.<br />
Mike's face was worth a laugh, there was a cloth draped around his nose and held on with thick bandaids.<br />"Three weeks." He sniffled. "Three weeks. Do you know how happy I am to be graduated? Imagine the names."<br />
Billie Joe went upstairs right away, to clean up the mess on the floor, as Mike sat next to me and crossed his arms.<br /> "Shitfuck."<br />"Shitfuck?" I asked, leaning on him slightly.<br />"Shitfuck. Shit fucking."<br />"Fucking shit, aye?"<br />"How vulgar," Billie said, coming down the stairs, holding a lighter in one hand.<br />"Lighter...?" Mike said, lowering his eyebrows suspiciously.<br />"I'm fucking BORED, okay?" Billie Joe left the room and out the back door quickly, obviously headed for the garage.</p>
<p>I spent the rest of the morning trying not to fall asleep on a snoring Mike. I watched him, intent on yanking that annoying looking band-aid off, but I just counted how many times he snored before he woke up.<br />That wasn't a very good game either, because within time I dozed off, and we both fell over onto the arm of the couch. <br />I woke to Mike breathing on my shoulder. We were on the floor, and Billie had taken the couch and turned on the TV. His face rested in his palm, as he stared at the glass screen.<br />I shuffled out of Mike's arms and looked at Billie Joe, who was wearing a sour face.<br />"You know how annoying it is when you can't get off the couch because your best friends are sleeping together on the floor?"<br />I rubbed my eyes. "Step over us, then."
<br />I ignored his unusually puffy, red, veiny eyes as I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water.</p>
<p>When I returned to the sitting room Mike was sprawled out on the floor, stretching.<br ?>"Ahhgg," He said, yawning and bending his knees. I returned next to him on the floor, cross-legged, as Billie Joe started going on about scraping up some cash to buy an apartment.<br />"I'm getting tired of living at my mom's house." he complained, snapping his fingers repeatedly.<br />
"I've got 500 bucks from some community service I did last year," I said.
Billie raised an eyebrow.<br /> "Chip in?"<br />I shrugged. "Maybe. Sounds good, though,"<br />"I'll pitch in a hundred if I get my own room." Mike added, sitting up and holding his knees.</p>
---
<p>Things move quickly in our lives. If we want to go out for a gig, we go right then and there. If we want food, we're out of the house in 30 seconds. If we want to look for an apartment, out. <br />Our first target was a complex off 7th street.
<br />"What a shithole," Mike commented, reviewing the apartment.<br /> "I like it."<br />Billie Joe asked the owner about moving in ASAP, and he claimed, "100 dollars, 50 bucks a month. There's no heat, no air conditioning, and the plumbing's clogged. If you can fix it all, you can have the place for free."<br /> the man was more than suspicious - he wore a stained cowboy hat, blue overalls and had a piece of straw hanging out of the corner of his mouth. But nonetheless...<br />"We'll take it."<br />And that we did. We spent less than two hours running the two block length back and fourth from Billie Joe's house, rolling furniture on a piece of cardboard with wheels taped on with duct tape.<br />
"Just like home," Billie Joe said, sitting down on the floor with an empty box of pizza filled with guitar picks. He started flicking them at a target he drew on the wall with some charcoal he found in the fireplace.<br />"Yeah... And I've got my own room. AND all of my money, because the place was so damn cheap," Mike said.<br />"But it must be unhealthy..." I stated, looking at the mold growing on the walls and the musty smells emitting from the vent in the corner. There was a stain on the carpet that looked like blood. Was this the punk lifestyle Mike and Billie had been going on about for so long? I hope not. One of us was going to get cancer or something from this place. </p>
---
<p>After an angry call from Billie's mom that afternoon, we all went off for bed. I was annoyed by sleeping in my own room, because usually I slept in the same room as all of them, so I went to Mike's room and fell asleep at the foot of the bed with a drool-stained pillow.<br />We woke up to Billie screaming swear words in the living room. I jumped off the bed to a shocked Mike (not only from my presence, but because of Bill's screaming) and out to Billie, who was staring at the floor.<br />"We've been robbed."<br />That's what you get in East L.A. The slummy neighborhoods and horrid smells of growing mold on the run-down factories and abandoned parking lots. Welcome to Paradise...</p>
