'Cause I'm a Million Miles Away, chapter 7
July 3, 1990
It's been a week since we hit the road...
Tre convinced his dad that he could drive the van, too. The morning we left, he walked up to his dad with 500 dollars and said simply, "Van?"
So far it'd been pretty hopeless getting a show. We managed to take a small show at an unpopular bar, but it was bogus when two people showed up - both of them bums.
After five hours of walking the street, offering a show for a mere FIVE DOLLARS, Billie Joe started swearing and kicked a big dent in the side of the van.
"We're going fucking home."
In the van, Mike sat next to me while Tre and Billie yelled about reading the map.
"This is such shit..." he said miserably, hanging his head.
"You just need to network a bit," I said, forcing a hurt smile as Mike chewed his thumbnail. "Go home, record a record and sell them here later."
We were in Fresno, the town Kain of the Lookouts! moved to shortly before the breakup. Tre, the drummer of that band, is now our full time drummer. The only thing wrong with him is that we spend half the money the band receives to buy him porn.
Mike put an arm around me and we had a short moment together, at least until Tre turned around and smacked his head, clashing our teeth.
I pulled away as Mike violently turned around and began beating Tre with a stolen Hustler magazine. The van swerved around the highway, sending me face first into the back door.
"Fucker..." Mike grumbled.
"Mike, beating me? Wow, how mean! But with a porno? Thanks man," Tre said, grasping the magazine. "I think I'll use this..."
Billie Joe sniggered and whacked him with a canvas bag full of guitar picks. "No fucking off in your dad's van!"
Mike looked at me and sighed hopelessly. "We'll be home tonight, right?"
"Yeah," Billie Joe said.
"Great... It's the fourth tomorrow, you know that, right?" I said.
Billie recollected his thoughts for a moment. "Oh my god, she's right."
"Let's blow shit up, aye?" Tre said, teetering in his chair.
Mike continued to look at me. I smiled, turning it into a staring contest. I brought my finger up to his eye.
"Hah! You blinked."
"TRE! I SAID NO FUCKING OFF IN THE VAN!" There was a sickening sound of skin hitting skin at full force, then a zipper going up again.
Mike and I were cracking up in the back, but Tre was whimpering as Billie threw the magazine out the window.
"I almost got caught stealing that..." he cried.
"You've got fifty more of them at home," Billie said bitterly. "You can even have the bathroom for the night."
Tre celebrated silently by raising a fist.
I smirked at Mike who imitated Tre with the magazines. I suppressed laughter until Tre turned around and whacked him again.
"Knock it the FUCK off!" Billie screamed, slamming on the break.
"Okay, if you don't stop being an ass, you'll be out of this band and on the street again, okay?!"
We all stared at the fuming guitarist. He sighed.
"I need a goddamn smoke... Sorry." Mike patted him on the shoulder sullenly.
"S'okay. We've all been there."
July 4, 1990
We woke up on the fourth of July to firecrackers going off outside. We were parked in the parking lot of an empty truck stop. Mike didn't awake, though. All I could feel was his breath on my neck until Tre smacked him awake.
"FUCKER!" Mike screamed, chasing Tre out the back of the van as I got out and stretched, watching the two scamper around the building at big speed.
Billie yawned. "Who's got the gunpowder?"
We looked over at three punks standing by the building, smoking joints and burning things with lighters. One had green liberty spikes, a leather vest and chainy pants, who was the first to greet us.
"We saw your van," he said. "Autograph?"
Billie's mouth dropped, and Tre and Mike stopped in their tracks.
"A... Autograph?"
We were ALL dumbstruck, to tell you the truth. He stared.
"Yeah... Sign, name, there." He pointed at the tree on the 1,039 CD, nodding.
"We're... We've never gotten an autograph request before," Billie said, taking the Sharpie in his right hand and scribbling. Mike pushed Tre into the van on his way to the van.
"ALL RIGHT!" Billie said, jumping up and down with the band.
One of the others walked up to me. "With all due respect..." he said, smiling at me suggestively. I backed up a little.
"Who's the chick, Tre? Groupie?"
I could hear the imaginary record scratching as the band stopped galloping on the asphalt.
"Excuse me?" Billie Joe said, stepping towards us, sneering. "Did you just call her a groupie?"
Mike and Tre looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "Groupie...?"
"Like I said, with all do respect." This time he winked at me. I clenched my fists and before I knew it, the boy was on the ground with an enraged blonde and a green haired maniac on top of him.
"FUCK!" Billie said, running to the van and putting the keys in the ignition before the other two could get to him.
"Oh yeah -" Tre said, spitting on the boy as Mike ran to the van, grabbing my hand and throwing me in the back of the van. "IF it was worth knowing... What's your name?"
"Pinhead," he said, blood pouring out of a cut on his forehead.
Pulling Tre in the passenger seat, we floored it out of the parking lot, sporting an autographed 1,039 CD.
"Okay... Let's review," Mike said, walking up the front sidewalk to Billie Joe's house with the CD. We dropped Tre and his van off at his house before walking home. "We beat the shit out of a city punk with a crush on you," he gestured to me. "And we have no money."
"Never mess with a bassist's girl," Billie said, smiling with gritted teeth. Mike ignored it.
"And we're finally home. Oh gee!"
"And it's the fourth," I pointed out. We dug in a box with a padlock on it behind Billie's house, retrieving a huge circle made completely out of firecrackers - hooked together.
"Made to last 20 minutes," Mike read off the warning label. "Shit, this thing's illegal."
"Oh well," Billie said, flicking a lighter open. We walked to the front of the house, lighting the firecrackers and climbing up the banisters to the balcony by our room. We sat up there, grinning as every house's curtains opened revealing a disturbed elderly face.
It's been a week since we hit the road...
Tre convinced his dad that he could drive the van, too. The morning we left, he walked up to his dad with 500 dollars and said simply, "Van?"
So far it'd been pretty hopeless getting a show. We managed to take a small show at an unpopular bar, but it was bogus when two people showed up - both of them bums.
After five hours of walking the street, offering a show for a mere FIVE DOLLARS, Billie Joe started swearing and kicked a big dent in the side of the van.
"We're going fucking home."
In the van, Mike sat next to me while Tre and Billie yelled about reading the map.
"This is such shit..." he said miserably, hanging his head.
"You just need to network a bit," I said, forcing a hurt smile as Mike chewed his thumbnail. "Go home, record a record and sell them here later."
We were in Fresno, the town Kain of the Lookouts! moved to shortly before the breakup. Tre, the drummer of that band, is now our full time drummer. The only thing wrong with him is that we spend half the money the band receives to buy him porn.
Mike put an arm around me and we had a short moment together, at least until Tre turned around and smacked his head, clashing our teeth.
I pulled away as Mike violently turned around and began beating Tre with a stolen Hustler magazine. The van swerved around the highway, sending me face first into the back door.
"Fucker..." Mike grumbled.
"Mike, beating me? Wow, how mean! But with a porno? Thanks man," Tre said, grasping the magazine. "I think I'll use this..."
Billie Joe sniggered and whacked him with a canvas bag full of guitar picks. "No fucking off in your dad's van!"
Mike looked at me and sighed hopelessly. "We'll be home tonight, right?"
"Yeah," Billie Joe said.
"Great... It's the fourth tomorrow, you know that, right?" I said.
Billie recollected his thoughts for a moment. "Oh my god, she's right."
"Let's blow shit up, aye?" Tre said, teetering in his chair.
Mike continued to look at me. I smiled, turning it into a staring contest. I brought my finger up to his eye.
"Hah! You blinked."
"TRE! I SAID NO FUCKING OFF IN THE VAN!" There was a sickening sound of skin hitting skin at full force, then a zipper going up again.
Mike and I were cracking up in the back, but Tre was whimpering as Billie threw the magazine out the window.
"I almost got caught stealing that..." he cried.
"You've got fifty more of them at home," Billie said bitterly. "You can even have the bathroom for the night."
Tre celebrated silently by raising a fist.
I smirked at Mike who imitated Tre with the magazines. I suppressed laughter until Tre turned around and whacked him again.
"Knock it the FUCK off!" Billie screamed, slamming on the break.
"Okay, if you don't stop being an ass, you'll be out of this band and on the street again, okay?!"
We all stared at the fuming guitarist. He sighed.
"I need a goddamn smoke... Sorry." Mike patted him on the shoulder sullenly.
"S'okay. We've all been there."
July 4, 1990
We woke up on the fourth of July to firecrackers going off outside. We were parked in the parking lot of an empty truck stop. Mike didn't awake, though. All I could feel was his breath on my neck until Tre smacked him awake.
"FUCKER!" Mike screamed, chasing Tre out the back of the van as I got out and stretched, watching the two scamper around the building at big speed.
Billie yawned. "Who's got the gunpowder?"
We looked over at three punks standing by the building, smoking joints and burning things with lighters. One had green liberty spikes, a leather vest and chainy pants, who was the first to greet us.
"We saw your van," he said. "Autograph?"
Billie's mouth dropped, and Tre and Mike stopped in their tracks.
"A... Autograph?"
We were ALL dumbstruck, to tell you the truth. He stared.
"Yeah... Sign, name, there." He pointed at the tree on the 1,039 CD, nodding.
"We're... We've never gotten an autograph request before," Billie said, taking the Sharpie in his right hand and scribbling. Mike pushed Tre into the van on his way to the van.
"ALL RIGHT!" Billie said, jumping up and down with the band.
One of the others walked up to me. "With all due respect..." he said, smiling at me suggestively. I backed up a little.
"Who's the chick, Tre? Groupie?"
I could hear the imaginary record scratching as the band stopped galloping on the asphalt.
"Excuse me?" Billie Joe said, stepping towards us, sneering. "Did you just call her a groupie?"
Mike and Tre looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "Groupie...?"
"Like I said, with all do respect." This time he winked at me. I clenched my fists and before I knew it, the boy was on the ground with an enraged blonde and a green haired maniac on top of him.
"FUCK!" Billie said, running to the van and putting the keys in the ignition before the other two could get to him.
"Oh yeah -" Tre said, spitting on the boy as Mike ran to the van, grabbing my hand and throwing me in the back of the van. "IF it was worth knowing... What's your name?"
"Pinhead," he said, blood pouring out of a cut on his forehead.
Pulling Tre in the passenger seat, we floored it out of the parking lot, sporting an autographed 1,039 CD.
"Okay... Let's review," Mike said, walking up the front sidewalk to Billie Joe's house with the CD. We dropped Tre and his van off at his house before walking home. "We beat the shit out of a city punk with a crush on you," he gestured to me. "And we have no money."
"Never mess with a bassist's girl," Billie said, smiling with gritted teeth. Mike ignored it.
"And we're finally home. Oh gee!"
"And it's the fourth," I pointed out. We dug in a box with a padlock on it behind Billie's house, retrieving a huge circle made completely out of firecrackers - hooked together.
"Made to last 20 minutes," Mike read off the warning label. "Shit, this thing's illegal."
"Oh well," Billie said, flicking a lighter open. We walked to the front of the house, lighting the firecrackers and climbing up the banisters to the balcony by our room. We sat up there, grinning as every house's curtains opened revealing a disturbed elderly face.
