Carpe Diem, chapter 1
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Hi, my name's Billee Jo Armstrong. I know what you're thinking, and no, I'm not the one in Green Day. I'm 20, black hair, green eyes, 5'7...and a certain...musical talent. This story is about me, and my life after my 14th birthday.
FLASHBACK; May 10, 2000[b]
My mom had just died and I was going to meet my dad with my child services agent. I was 14, for fuck's sake, I could deal without her. But no. I had to be toted around like a fucking four-year-old.
Ms. Annie, my child services rep, rang the doorbell to a gigantic house in Oakland, California. It was answered by a man I'd only seen in the booklets on CDs, and on the one picture Mary, my mom, although she was never a great one so she never got called one, had.
"Can I help you?" he asked, blinking against the bright sunlight while trying to take in my appearance as well as that of Ms. Annie.
"Yes, are you Billie Joe Armstrong?" she asked.
"Um, yea, why?" he said. His gaze flicked to me when I sighed quietly.
"Do you remember a woman named Mary Jenkins?"
"Sounds familiar..." Billie Joe muttered, "I think I dated her some fifteen years ago. Why?"
"Were you aware that she was pregnant at the time you separated?" Ms. Annie asked.
At this, the man, who was still standing in the open doorway, glanced behind him and stepped onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. "No," For once, he took a good long look at me, and leaned back against the door in surprise, either from the way I was scrutinizing him just as shrewdly, or from my remarkable resemblance to him; the same one my friends used to mutter about behind my back.
"Ah, well, this is the girl," Ms. Annie, her voice cold as ever, gestured to me.
"I guessed," Billie Joe said, still not taking his eyes from my face. Finally he offered his hand for me to shake. "I'm Billie Joe Armstrong."
"Me too," I answered, shaking his hand.
"Mary named you that?" he laughed, "I feel sorry for you."
"Don't," I shrugged, "It wasn't the worst she did to me."
"Um...anyway," he said, "Does Mary need money?"
"No. Billee needs a place to live," Ms. Annie mumbled, "Mary died three days ago of a cerebral hemorrhage."
"Oh, fuck," Billie said.
"Mr. Armstrong, language, if you please," Ms. Annie snapped.
"Stick a fucking sock in it," I yawned. Billie Joe burst out laughing as Ms. Annie spluttered in surprise.
"Anyways, do you wanna come in? I'll talk with Adrienne," Billie offered, pushing off the door and jerking a thumb back inside. We followed him in and sat at the kitchen table as he introduced us to his wife and then discussed what to do with me in hushed voices across the room as I sat and watched my hands. I didn't look up when they sat down across from us. "We'd like to take her, if possible. We've got an extra room she can have, and as you can see, enough money to provide for her."
Finally I cut in. "Excuse me, but don't I get any say in this whatsoever?"
"No, not really," Ms. Annie murmured, "Mary put the Armstrong's down as your legal guardians if she died."
I looked at the two people across from me. I looked at my father first; he had blond hair, but otherwise, we looked exactly the same. I turned my gaze to the pretty woman beside him; she had brown and blonde dreads and kindly brown eyes.
Twenty minutes later, Ms. Annie handed me my bag from the trunk of her car.
"Goodbye, Billee Jo, it was a pleasure working with you," she smiled, and hugged me. I didn't hug back, and she straightened up. "Here's my number if you need anything," she pressed a piece of paper into my hand and then got in her car and drove away. I stood looking after her, not because I missed her, but because I was afraid to turn around and face my new life. That is, until a black SUV came careening into the driveway and I had to jump out of the way so I wouldn't get hit.
"Oh shit," I heard Billie's voice behind me, and then he ran down to stand next to me as a man with bleached blonde hair and blue eyes fell out of the car. "Tré, what the fuck?"
"Hey, I always do that," Tré Cool defended himself, "It's not my fault some girl who doesn't know the routine got in the way."
Billie Joe's shoulders slumped and he smacked himself in the forehead. "Tré, you asshole."
"But an exceptionally sexy lady to be hanging out in a married man's driveway," Tré said, walking around me. He glanced back at Billie. "Is she legal?"
"Even if she was, I wouldn't let you touch her," Billie muttered.
"Quit talking about me like I'm an object!" I screamed, "I'm a fucking person!"
"Ooh, and feisty to boot," Tré grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. "I like feisty."
"Hey, we're talking about my daughter here," Billie practically yelled.
The smile slid from Tré's face to be replaced by an open-mouthed stare. "No," he finally said, "Not possible."
Billie Joe moved to stand beside me. "Do you really think she'd be standing in my driveway in the first place if she wasn't?"
"I dunno..." Tré hesitated, "But now you stand beside each other, I can tell. You look just like your father."
"I know," I rolled my eyes, "Don't you think people would bug me about looking like Billie Joe Armstrong? Oh, Billee, is he your dad? You look like him and he has your name..." I was imitating the bitches at my school who had somehow made the connection. Of course, it probably didn't help that I kept a picture of him in my wallet. I sighed.
[b]***Billie Joe Armstrong's POV***
Her mannerisms, her looks, her hate and ridicule of preps and populars? This girl was mine, all the way through. I bet she even liked the same music, played multiple instruments, just like me. Tré looked somewhat taken aback; I think he'd realized the similarities too.
"So...uh, do you wanna see your room?" I asked. She followed me and Tré followed her into the house.
END FLASHBACK
***Billee Jo Armstrong's POV***
So that's when I met the band, family, and way of life that would change mine forever.
Hi, my name's Billee Jo Armstrong. I know what you're thinking, and no, I'm not the one in Green Day. I'm 20, black hair, green eyes, 5'7...and a certain...musical talent. This story is about me, and my life after my 14th birthday.
FLASHBACK; May 10, 2000[b]
My mom had just died and I was going to meet my dad with my child services agent. I was 14, for fuck's sake, I could deal without her. But no. I had to be toted around like a fucking four-year-old.
Ms. Annie, my child services rep, rang the doorbell to a gigantic house in Oakland, California. It was answered by a man I'd only seen in the booklets on CDs, and on the one picture Mary, my mom, although she was never a great one so she never got called one, had.
"Can I help you?" he asked, blinking against the bright sunlight while trying to take in my appearance as well as that of Ms. Annie.
"Yes, are you Billie Joe Armstrong?" she asked.
"Um, yea, why?" he said. His gaze flicked to me when I sighed quietly.
"Do you remember a woman named Mary Jenkins?"
"Sounds familiar..." Billie Joe muttered, "I think I dated her some fifteen years ago. Why?"
"Were you aware that she was pregnant at the time you separated?" Ms. Annie asked.
At this, the man, who was still standing in the open doorway, glanced behind him and stepped onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. "No," For once, he took a good long look at me, and leaned back against the door in surprise, either from the way I was scrutinizing him just as shrewdly, or from my remarkable resemblance to him; the same one my friends used to mutter about behind my back.
"Ah, well, this is the girl," Ms. Annie, her voice cold as ever, gestured to me.
"I guessed," Billie Joe said, still not taking his eyes from my face. Finally he offered his hand for me to shake. "I'm Billie Joe Armstrong."
"Me too," I answered, shaking his hand.
"Mary named you that?" he laughed, "I feel sorry for you."
"Don't," I shrugged, "It wasn't the worst she did to me."
"Um...anyway," he said, "Does Mary need money?"
"No. Billee needs a place to live," Ms. Annie mumbled, "Mary died three days ago of a cerebral hemorrhage."
"Oh, fuck," Billie said.
"Mr. Armstrong, language, if you please," Ms. Annie snapped.
"Stick a fucking sock in it," I yawned. Billie Joe burst out laughing as Ms. Annie spluttered in surprise.
"Anyways, do you wanna come in? I'll talk with Adrienne," Billie offered, pushing off the door and jerking a thumb back inside. We followed him in and sat at the kitchen table as he introduced us to his wife and then discussed what to do with me in hushed voices across the room as I sat and watched my hands. I didn't look up when they sat down across from us. "We'd like to take her, if possible. We've got an extra room she can have, and as you can see, enough money to provide for her."
Finally I cut in. "Excuse me, but don't I get any say in this whatsoever?"
"No, not really," Ms. Annie murmured, "Mary put the Armstrong's down as your legal guardians if she died."
I looked at the two people across from me. I looked at my father first; he had blond hair, but otherwise, we looked exactly the same. I turned my gaze to the pretty woman beside him; she had brown and blonde dreads and kindly brown eyes.
Twenty minutes later, Ms. Annie handed me my bag from the trunk of her car.
"Goodbye, Billee Jo, it was a pleasure working with you," she smiled, and hugged me. I didn't hug back, and she straightened up. "Here's my number if you need anything," she pressed a piece of paper into my hand and then got in her car and drove away. I stood looking after her, not because I missed her, but because I was afraid to turn around and face my new life. That is, until a black SUV came careening into the driveway and I had to jump out of the way so I wouldn't get hit.
"Oh shit," I heard Billie's voice behind me, and then he ran down to stand next to me as a man with bleached blonde hair and blue eyes fell out of the car. "Tré, what the fuck?"
"Hey, I always do that," Tré Cool defended himself, "It's not my fault some girl who doesn't know the routine got in the way."
Billie Joe's shoulders slumped and he smacked himself in the forehead. "Tré, you asshole."
"But an exceptionally sexy lady to be hanging out in a married man's driveway," Tré said, walking around me. He glanced back at Billie. "Is she legal?"
"Even if she was, I wouldn't let you touch her," Billie muttered.
"Quit talking about me like I'm an object!" I screamed, "I'm a fucking person!"
"Ooh, and feisty to boot," Tré grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. "I like feisty."
"Hey, we're talking about my daughter here," Billie practically yelled.
The smile slid from Tré's face to be replaced by an open-mouthed stare. "No," he finally said, "Not possible."
Billie Joe moved to stand beside me. "Do you really think she'd be standing in my driveway in the first place if she wasn't?"
"I dunno..." Tré hesitated, "But now you stand beside each other, I can tell. You look just like your father."
"I know," I rolled my eyes, "Don't you think people would bug me about looking like Billie Joe Armstrong? Oh, Billee, is he your dad? You look like him and he has your name..." I was imitating the bitches at my school who had somehow made the connection. Of course, it probably didn't help that I kept a picture of him in my wallet. I sighed.
[b]***Billie Joe Armstrong's POV***
Her mannerisms, her looks, her hate and ridicule of preps and populars? This girl was mine, all the way through. I bet she even liked the same music, played multiple instruments, just like me. Tré looked somewhat taken aback; I think he'd realized the similarities too.
"So...uh, do you wanna see your room?" I asked. She followed me and Tré followed her into the house.
END FLASHBACK
***Billee Jo Armstrong's POV***
So that's when I met the band, family, and way of life that would change mine forever.
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