Cut Up Angels, chapter 7
*2 1/2 years later - 1992*
THUD!
"Oww..." I groan, laying face-down on the cold floor. With one speed-bump I'd ended up from my bunk to the floor. My head pounds from a hangover with the rhythm of each bump and clang of the Bookmobile.
Tre's head pops out from his top bunk above me, sending me down a cocky grin. "Good morning, gorgeous," He says. He jumps from the bed, his feet landing mere inches from my face, and steps over me in nothing but his boxers to wake Mike up.
My heart suddenly pounds almost as hard as my head. What was that? Tre suddenly looks...different...
I'm still lying on the floor, somewhat in shock, while the guys pull on some clothes. It takes me a minute to realize that the bus isn't moving. I lift my head slightly- "Where are we?"
Mike flicks up a blind on the small window in our "bedroom". "Some arena," He says. Before I ask why we're here I remember.
Yesterday was the anniversary of your dad's death. On this day--and for the whole night--every year, you go out for the night, usually to some nearby show, then catch up with us again.
I slowly lift my aching body from the floor and don't bother changing my clothes. By the time I stumble out of the room, Mike's cooking something on the little portable stove-top that we use to make food. That is, if we DO make food. Mike's the only one of us who can actually cook something that's edible.
As we begin to dig into our paper plates of eggs and bacon-- with a side of cold coffee -- you open the door to the Bookmobile and saunter in.
You've got a drained smile on your face as you stumble in, nearly tripping over your feet and falling into our breakfast.
"Had a little too much to drink? ...or smoke?" Tre asks as he helps you get into a chair. You loll your head a little, still grinning a mile wide.
"Naw, I didn't have nothing last night," You say.
Mike scoffs. "Yeah. And Laura can cook."
"Hey!" I say, punching him in the arm.
You laugh a little, then sit up straight, looking like you just woke up from a deep sleep. "No, I'm serious, guys. I didn't have anything."
He's so serious that we stop and stare at him. Mike's spatula even slips out of his hand.
"Wait...if you didn't...all night...how...what'd you do!?" I ask in shock.
You laugh sweetly. "Met the most amazing girl in the world."
Mike glances around the small van. "Where'd you hide her?" He jokes. I'm equally surprised-- we know that when you meet a girl, you bring her home, and she's usually gone by the next morning.
"Nah. She went home." You say. I would think this would be dissapointing but your smile is still from ear-to-ear.
"Umm..." Tre began, wanting to ask what we were all thinking, but at the same time not wanting to say anything.
You laugh for the third time in 5 minutes (another surprise). "We ended up talking the whole night. God, she's amazing. She's got an amazing personality, she's amazingly beautiful, she's...seriously, she's just..."
"...amazing?" Mike finishes. You smirk and tilt back in the chair.
"Look, Billie, as great and...um...strange as this all is, you know we're headed to a show in Michigan tomorrow, right? That's like, halfway around the country...where does this girl even live?"
"Oh, that's the best part. She lives in the Bay area-- I'm not kidding. It's great."
I'm surprised but glad for your good fortune. You'd had to take anti-depressents for a while after the whole Frank-abusing-you ordeal, which was a painful year or so, but we stuck it out. Actually, come to think of it, the last three years had been grueling. When something good happened, something bad followed. Like when we finally got our first record deal for 1,039 Smoothed Out Slappy Hours, and my parents bitched at me about going to college. And though I couldn't be happier for you, I felt like something bad was going to happen like it usually does.
"So, what's this girl's name, anyways?" Tre asks.
Your head is still facing the cieling, but your eyes look as if you're looking past it, up into the sky.
"Her name's Adrienne."
THUD!
"Oww..." I groan, laying face-down on the cold floor. With one speed-bump I'd ended up from my bunk to the floor. My head pounds from a hangover with the rhythm of each bump and clang of the Bookmobile.
Tre's head pops out from his top bunk above me, sending me down a cocky grin. "Good morning, gorgeous," He says. He jumps from the bed, his feet landing mere inches from my face, and steps over me in nothing but his boxers to wake Mike up.
My heart suddenly pounds almost as hard as my head. What was that? Tre suddenly looks...different...
I'm still lying on the floor, somewhat in shock, while the guys pull on some clothes. It takes me a minute to realize that the bus isn't moving. I lift my head slightly- "Where are we?"
Mike flicks up a blind on the small window in our "bedroom". "Some arena," He says. Before I ask why we're here I remember.
Yesterday was the anniversary of your dad's death. On this day--and for the whole night--every year, you go out for the night, usually to some nearby show, then catch up with us again.
I slowly lift my aching body from the floor and don't bother changing my clothes. By the time I stumble out of the room, Mike's cooking something on the little portable stove-top that we use to make food. That is, if we DO make food. Mike's the only one of us who can actually cook something that's edible.
As we begin to dig into our paper plates of eggs and bacon-- with a side of cold coffee -- you open the door to the Bookmobile and saunter in.
You've got a drained smile on your face as you stumble in, nearly tripping over your feet and falling into our breakfast.
"Had a little too much to drink? ...or smoke?" Tre asks as he helps you get into a chair. You loll your head a little, still grinning a mile wide.
"Naw, I didn't have nothing last night," You say.
Mike scoffs. "Yeah. And Laura can cook."
"Hey!" I say, punching him in the arm.
You laugh a little, then sit up straight, looking like you just woke up from a deep sleep. "No, I'm serious, guys. I didn't have anything."
He's so serious that we stop and stare at him. Mike's spatula even slips out of his hand.
"Wait...if you didn't...all night...how...what'd you do!?" I ask in shock.
You laugh sweetly. "Met the most amazing girl in the world."
Mike glances around the small van. "Where'd you hide her?" He jokes. I'm equally surprised-- we know that when you meet a girl, you bring her home, and she's usually gone by the next morning.
"Nah. She went home." You say. I would think this would be dissapointing but your smile is still from ear-to-ear.
"Umm..." Tre began, wanting to ask what we were all thinking, but at the same time not wanting to say anything.
You laugh for the third time in 5 minutes (another surprise). "We ended up talking the whole night. God, she's amazing. She's got an amazing personality, she's amazingly beautiful, she's...seriously, she's just..."
"...amazing?" Mike finishes. You smirk and tilt back in the chair.
"Look, Billie, as great and...um...strange as this all is, you know we're headed to a show in Michigan tomorrow, right? That's like, halfway around the country...where does this girl even live?"
"Oh, that's the best part. She lives in the Bay area-- I'm not kidding. It's great."
I'm surprised but glad for your good fortune. You'd had to take anti-depressents for a while after the whole Frank-abusing-you ordeal, which was a painful year or so, but we stuck it out. Actually, come to think of it, the last three years had been grueling. When something good happened, something bad followed. Like when we finally got our first record deal for 1,039 Smoothed Out Slappy Hours, and my parents bitched at me about going to college. And though I couldn't be happier for you, I felt like something bad was going to happen like it usually does.
"So, what's this girl's name, anyways?" Tre asks.
Your head is still facing the cieling, but your eyes look as if you're looking past it, up into the sky.
"Her name's Adrienne."
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