Adrienne's Pain - Sequel to Jamie's New Love, chapter 5
I walked in to front door to see Adrienne playing the guitar.
"She's a natural," he said, looking at me as she continually played a song.
"What song?" I asked.
"Haven't a clue," he answered.
Adrienne stopped playing. She was sweating. She must have gotten really into it.
"Adrienne, give Patrick his guitar back. I want you to come with me for a minute." I said. She handed over the guitar and followed me.
"Dad? Where are we going?" she asked.
"To the car," I answered simply.
I handed over the case.
"Wait until we get inside, I want Patrick to see your face when you open it," I said, excited on how happy she was going to be.
We got inside to see Patrick plucking 'Dance, Dance'.
"Patrick, come see what I bought for Adrienne," I said, signaling him to come over to us.
"Open it," Patrick said over my shoulder.
She opened it and her face lit up. She lifted it out of the bag a if it was going to shatter.
"Adrienne, play it. It isn't going to shatter," I said, pointing to the amp Patrick had brought from the studio.
She plugged it in and announce what she was going to play.
"Calm Before the Storm. Fall Out Boy," she announced.
She sang also.
I sat outside my front window...this story's going somewhere:
He's well hung, and I am hanging up.
Well there's a song on the radio that says:
Let's get this party started.
So let's get this party started.
What you do on your own time's just fine.
My imagination's much worse, I just never want to know.
And what meant the world had folded like legs
and fingers holding onto what escapes me;
what he has: a better kiss that never lasts.
You said, between your smiles and regrets: Don't say it's over.
Dead and gone.
Calm before the storm set it off, and the sun burnt out tonight. A reception less than warm set it off. The sun burnt out tonight.
This is me standing in the arch of the door hating
that look that's on your face that says
there's another fool like me.
There's one born every minute.
There's one born every minute.
What you do on your own time's just fine.
My imagination's much worse, I just never want to know.
What meant the world imploded, inflated then demoted all my oxygen
to product gas and suffocated my last chance.
You said, between your smiles and regrets: Don't say it's over
Dead and gone.
Calm before the storm set it off, and the sun burnt out tonight.
A reception less than warm set it off. The sun burnt out tonight.
Calm before the storm set it off, and the sun burnt out tonight.
A reception less than warm set it off. The sun burnt out tonight.
The sun burnt out tonight.
The sun burnt out tonight.
"My God. She a natural. She knows the fingering and everything," I said in amazement.
"My dad is Pete Wentz. You don't possibly think I can have a dad that is in a band and not find a song I like?" she replied.
"Well, you said you only listen to Green Day," I returned.
"I do but I hear songs of your guys on the radio," she answered, looking at her guitar.
"Okay. Time for a test," Patrick said.
She just looked at him with a glare. She was challenging him.
"Chorus of 'Dance, Dance,'" he said.
She played without skipping or missing a single note.
"Chorus of 'Grand Theft Autumn/Where is Your Boy.'" I challenged.
Again, perfect.
"Okay, you're in the band," Patrick said, giving up.
"Patrick?" I asked in confusion along with excitement.
"Pete, I give up. She's better than me," he whispered.
"She's a natural," he said, looking at me as she continually played a song.
"What song?" I asked.
"Haven't a clue," he answered.
Adrienne stopped playing. She was sweating. She must have gotten really into it.
"Adrienne, give Patrick his guitar back. I want you to come with me for a minute." I said. She handed over the guitar and followed me.
"Dad? Where are we going?" she asked.
"To the car," I answered simply.
I handed over the case.
"Wait until we get inside, I want Patrick to see your face when you open it," I said, excited on how happy she was going to be.
We got inside to see Patrick plucking 'Dance, Dance'.
"Patrick, come see what I bought for Adrienne," I said, signaling him to come over to us.
"Open it," Patrick said over my shoulder.
She opened it and her face lit up. She lifted it out of the bag a if it was going to shatter.
"Adrienne, play it. It isn't going to shatter," I said, pointing to the amp Patrick had brought from the studio.
She plugged it in and announce what she was going to play.
"Calm Before the Storm. Fall Out Boy," she announced.
She sang also.
I sat outside my front window...this story's going somewhere:
He's well hung, and I am hanging up.
Well there's a song on the radio that says:
Let's get this party started.
So let's get this party started.
What you do on your own time's just fine.
My imagination's much worse, I just never want to know.
And what meant the world had folded like legs
and fingers holding onto what escapes me;
what he has: a better kiss that never lasts.
You said, between your smiles and regrets: Don't say it's over.
Dead and gone.
Calm before the storm set it off, and the sun burnt out tonight. A reception less than warm set it off. The sun burnt out tonight.
This is me standing in the arch of the door hating
that look that's on your face that says
there's another fool like me.
There's one born every minute.
There's one born every minute.
What you do on your own time's just fine.
My imagination's much worse, I just never want to know.
What meant the world imploded, inflated then demoted all my oxygen
to product gas and suffocated my last chance.
You said, between your smiles and regrets: Don't say it's over
Dead and gone.
Calm before the storm set it off, and the sun burnt out tonight.
A reception less than warm set it off. The sun burnt out tonight.
Calm before the storm set it off, and the sun burnt out tonight.
A reception less than warm set it off. The sun burnt out tonight.
The sun burnt out tonight.
The sun burnt out tonight.
"My God. She a natural. She knows the fingering and everything," I said in amazement.
"My dad is Pete Wentz. You don't possibly think I can have a dad that is in a band and not find a song I like?" she replied.
"Well, you said you only listen to Green Day," I returned.
"I do but I hear songs of your guys on the radio," she answered, looking at her guitar.
"Okay. Time for a test," Patrick said.
She just looked at him with a glare. She was challenging him.
"Chorus of 'Dance, Dance,'" he said.
She played without skipping or missing a single note.
"Chorus of 'Grand Theft Autumn/Where is Your Boy.'" I challenged.
Again, perfect.
"Okay, you're in the band," Patrick said, giving up.
"Patrick?" I asked in confusion along with excitement.
"Pete, I give up. She's better than me," he whispered.
