Beer and Tre, to Keep Me Insane, chapter 3
Recap: "Tre. Tre?" He didn't reply. I shook him, and he just moaned. "Tre! You okay?" He just looked at me, confuzed.
"Where the hell am I?"
"Tre, buddy. You're at Mike's. Um, Mike got hurt and he's gonna go to the hospital. Do you want to come?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess. Billie, what happened to your face?" he asked. I didn't want to lie to him, but I didn't want to make him feel bad.
"Oh, I fell. It's nothing."
"Billie! Don't fucking lie to me," he said, grabbing my collar yet agian. His total behavior had changed.
"Tre! Get the fuck off me! What is your problem?" I yelled into his face.
"You're my problem, Billie fucking Joe Armstrong. Nobody cares about me or Mike. It's all about you."
"Tre, you know that's not true."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, Tre. I care about you. If I didn't I wouldn't have called 9-1-1 for Mike and I wouldn't have come back to get you."
"Stop it Billie. The only reason Mike wanted you to come over is to beat the shit out of you later."
"Beat the shit out of me? Why?" I was so confuzed. I thought he wanted me to come over here to help him move.
"Because you only care about yourself! That's why." I punched him. He was drunk, still, so I thought. He'd been sober a while ago. I was just too caught up in what was happening with Mike, I didn't realized two hours had passed.
"What the fuck was that for?" he yelled.
"I don't know."
"What do you fuckin' mean 'you don't know'?" he let me out of his grip, I think because he saw the tears running down my face. I ran out to my car, and turned the engine on. I sped off, and Randy was trying to chase after me.
"I'm not a bad person. I want the best for my friends." I repeated over and over to myself.
My cell phone rang. I looked at the caller I.D. It was Tre. I set the phone back down as soon as it stopped ringing, but it just rang agian. I ignored it until it rang a third time.
"What do you want, Tre?!" I yelled into the phone.
"Billie, I want you to come back." Tre said sympithetically into the phone.
"I'm not coming back, Tre and you can't make me." I know I was acting childish, but I didn't care.
"Then tell me where you're going."
"Why do you need to know. I thought I only cared about myself."
"Billie, come back, please. Mike wants to talk to you. We're at the hospital."
"I'm going home. I might come over later." Tre said nothing. "Is that okay, Tre?"
"Yeah. That's fine. I guess I'll, uh, see you later."
"Bye Tre." I hung up the phone, not giving him a chance to say goodbye. I headed toward Pier 39 in San Francisco. I parked the car on the side of the street and got out. I walked toward a kid sitting on a big fountian. He had a Green Day t-shirt on, and was singing 'Rotting'. He looked to be about Joey's age.
"Hey," I said to him. He didn't turn around. "So, you like Green Day?" I asked him.
"Yeah, they're the best band in the world."
"Yeah, they are." I said, laughing to myself.
"Why do you ask?"
"I just noticed you had a Green Day shirt on. I know the guys pretty well."
"That's pretty cool."
"So what's your favorite record?" I asked him.
"Shenanigans. I'm surpised it didn't get much publicity."
"Yeah me, too. So what are you doing here by the fountain?"
"I, um, ran away from the hospital. I couldn't take the shit anymore."
"So what were you in for?"
"A brain tumor. It's gone now, but they were being jackasses and kept me on chemo," he said, taking off his Ramones hat. His head shined in the sunlight.
"Oh. My dad had cancer. He was on chemo for a while."
"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically.
"I'm okay with it now. It was just hard when I was younger."
"I bet. So, I haven't asked your name."
"I'm Jimmy. What's your name?" he said, reaching out his hand. He still hadn't looked up.
"I'm Billie. Hey, I was heading over to Emeryville to get something to eat. You want to come with me?" He finally looked at me, but hadn't recongnized me, probably because of my sunglasses.
"Um," he thought about for a moment," Yeah, sure. It couldn't hurt." He said, standing up. We headed for the car.
"So Jimmy, how old are you?" I asked him.
"I'll be twelve this month," he said as he smiled.
"Really? I have a son who's about your age."
"Cool. What's his name?"
"Joey."
"That's cool. I have a friend named Joey back at the hospital." He paused for a minute. "You know, Billie. Something seems awfully farmiliar about you. Where do I know you from?" he asked me.
"Whisper 'are you dying' in my ear," I sang. His jaw dropped as he looked up at me.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Nope, Jimmy. I'm Billie Joe, the real one." I said. I pulled a silver Sharpie out of my pocket, and wrote, 'I hope you have the time of your life, Jimmy! Billie Joe Armstrong.' on the hat he held in his hand.
"Thanks, Billie." he said as we approched the car. "And by the way, nice car," he said. I laughed as I opened up the door for him.
"Thanks."
"Yeah. So where are we going?" he asked.
"How about Rudy's Can't Fail?"
"I read about that somewhere. Isn't it Mike's cafe?"
"Yeah."
"Do you think he'll be there?"
"Well, actually, he got into an accident today. I came down to the pier to take a load off."
"Oh. Well, don't you want to go see him?" I paused. Don't I want to go see him? I asked myself.
"Where the hell am I?"
"Tre, buddy. You're at Mike's. Um, Mike got hurt and he's gonna go to the hospital. Do you want to come?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess. Billie, what happened to your face?" he asked. I didn't want to lie to him, but I didn't want to make him feel bad.
"Oh, I fell. It's nothing."
"Billie! Don't fucking lie to me," he said, grabbing my collar yet agian. His total behavior had changed.
"Tre! Get the fuck off me! What is your problem?" I yelled into his face.
"You're my problem, Billie fucking Joe Armstrong. Nobody cares about me or Mike. It's all about you."
"Tre, you know that's not true."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, Tre. I care about you. If I didn't I wouldn't have called 9-1-1 for Mike and I wouldn't have come back to get you."
"Stop it Billie. The only reason Mike wanted you to come over is to beat the shit out of you later."
"Beat the shit out of me? Why?" I was so confuzed. I thought he wanted me to come over here to help him move.
"Because you only care about yourself! That's why." I punched him. He was drunk, still, so I thought. He'd been sober a while ago. I was just too caught up in what was happening with Mike, I didn't realized two hours had passed.
"What the fuck was that for?" he yelled.
"I don't know."
"What do you fuckin' mean 'you don't know'?" he let me out of his grip, I think because he saw the tears running down my face. I ran out to my car, and turned the engine on. I sped off, and Randy was trying to chase after me.
"I'm not a bad person. I want the best for my friends." I repeated over and over to myself.
My cell phone rang. I looked at the caller I.D. It was Tre. I set the phone back down as soon as it stopped ringing, but it just rang agian. I ignored it until it rang a third time.
"What do you want, Tre?!" I yelled into the phone.
"Billie, I want you to come back." Tre said sympithetically into the phone.
"I'm not coming back, Tre and you can't make me." I know I was acting childish, but I didn't care.
"Then tell me where you're going."
"Why do you need to know. I thought I only cared about myself."
"Billie, come back, please. Mike wants to talk to you. We're at the hospital."
"I'm going home. I might come over later." Tre said nothing. "Is that okay, Tre?"
"Yeah. That's fine. I guess I'll, uh, see you later."
"Bye Tre." I hung up the phone, not giving him a chance to say goodbye. I headed toward Pier 39 in San Francisco. I parked the car on the side of the street and got out. I walked toward a kid sitting on a big fountian. He had a Green Day t-shirt on, and was singing 'Rotting'. He looked to be about Joey's age.
"Hey," I said to him. He didn't turn around. "So, you like Green Day?" I asked him.
"Yeah, they're the best band in the world."
"Yeah, they are." I said, laughing to myself.
"Why do you ask?"
"I just noticed you had a Green Day shirt on. I know the guys pretty well."
"That's pretty cool."
"So what's your favorite record?" I asked him.
"Shenanigans. I'm surpised it didn't get much publicity."
"Yeah me, too. So what are you doing here by the fountain?"
"I, um, ran away from the hospital. I couldn't take the shit anymore."
"So what were you in for?"
"A brain tumor. It's gone now, but they were being jackasses and kept me on chemo," he said, taking off his Ramones hat. His head shined in the sunlight.
"Oh. My dad had cancer. He was on chemo for a while."
"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically.
"I'm okay with it now. It was just hard when I was younger."
"I bet. So, I haven't asked your name."
"I'm Jimmy. What's your name?" he said, reaching out his hand. He still hadn't looked up.
"I'm Billie. Hey, I was heading over to Emeryville to get something to eat. You want to come with me?" He finally looked at me, but hadn't recongnized me, probably because of my sunglasses.
"Um," he thought about for a moment," Yeah, sure. It couldn't hurt." He said, standing up. We headed for the car.
"So Jimmy, how old are you?" I asked him.
"I'll be twelve this month," he said as he smiled.
"Really? I have a son who's about your age."
"Cool. What's his name?"
"Joey."
"That's cool. I have a friend named Joey back at the hospital." He paused for a minute. "You know, Billie. Something seems awfully farmiliar about you. Where do I know you from?" he asked me.
"Whisper 'are you dying' in my ear," I sang. His jaw dropped as he looked up at me.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Nope, Jimmy. I'm Billie Joe, the real one." I said. I pulled a silver Sharpie out of my pocket, and wrote, 'I hope you have the time of your life, Jimmy! Billie Joe Armstrong.' on the hat he held in his hand.
"Thanks, Billie." he said as we approched the car. "And by the way, nice car," he said. I laughed as I opened up the door for him.
"Thanks."
"Yeah. So where are we going?" he asked.
"How about Rudy's Can't Fail?"
"I read about that somewhere. Isn't it Mike's cafe?"
"Yeah."
"Do you think he'll be there?"
"Well, actually, he got into an accident today. I came down to the pier to take a load off."
"Oh. Well, don't you want to go see him?" I paused. Don't I want to go see him? I asked myself.
Previous | Page 3/3
