AMERICAN IDIOT tm

june first, five years ago. i can see everythin just as it was all that time ago. crystallized in the very soul of my brain, forever tattooed there. i will never forget just how hot it was that day. it was record high, i think. somewhere between two hundred and a hundred and fifty. one of those days where no matter what you do or where you go, it's going to suck majorly.
summer is the time of morons. they love weather, cause tehy can get outside and show off just how much of a dumbass they really are to the whole neighborhood. jumping into kiddy pools off of garage roof tops, holding on to the bumper of a speeding car as you ride your skate board down a hill, pulling pranks on old people. before that summer, i'd never given these kinda people second thought. not till the day one landed on my doorstep. quit literally.
a guy, bout round my age. maybe seventeen or eightteen. i'd seen him at school, but never looked at him too closely. he wasn't the type of person you'd want to get close enough to check out that well. he was tall, nearly six ten in height, with shaggy dirt brown hair and arms like tree trunks. his tee shirts always had pit stains that could be smelled in China and grease spatters from both his junker of a car and his meals. His name was Jimmy. I never bothered to learn his last name, and now it is far too late.
Now, Jimmy wasn’t very bright, though he’d made it to the eleventh grade and managed to get dressed every morning. So, it wasn’t a big surprise to find him flying off his skate board, through the air, and landing head first on my Anywhere Suburbia style porch.
I walked out to see what had hit my mom’s favorite oak door, wearing nothing but a pair of basket ball shorts. When I swung the door open, Jimmy’s head smacked the ground, hard. He didn’t move and I started to freak. What if I had just killed him? Would I go to jail, even though I had no idea he had been there? As I began to panic more and more, he woke up and spoke to me. “Hey….” His voice weak and pained. I can still hear it in my dreams to this day.
I crouched down next to his hulking body. His watery blue eyes were only small slits in his face. I could see death in them instead of my reflection. Jimmy opened his mouth, then closed it, then spoke again. “Hey, kid. I need you to do something for me.” He crocked. I nodded. “What is it, Jimmy?”
“In…in my pocket, there’s a black book titled “none of the above”. Take it.” I did as he said and pulled out the well worn black leather book. On what I took as the front, where cloth letters that had been glued on and were now peeling off at the corners. “What is this?” I asked aloud.
“The bible….the bible of “none of the above”. You have to take it. Take it and be the new Jesus of Suburbia.” I blinked. The Jesus of Suburbia? What the hell kind of joke was this? A little more than just a ding-dong ditch. “You’ve lost it, Jimmy. You need a doctor.” As I stood to get one, his massive hand reached out and grabbed my skinny arm. He yanked me back down.
His eyes were wide now, full of what I guessed to be fear but now know to be only the look of one at the end of their life. “I mean it. Take on the book, take the name and become a better ruler than me. You have to,”
“I can’t. I mean, what am I supposed to rule over?” I was close to hysterics. Jimmy gripped arm, keeping me from toppling over. “Read the book, it will tell you all you need to know, St. Jimmy.” Then it happened. Jimmy’s body slowly, before my eyes, became dirt. It floated on the dry summer air. Carrying bits of Jimmy to the rest of Suburbia.

It was at lest a week or so before I even touched the bible of “none of the above” again. I was scared of what I would find in there. I mean, I’d just seen a guy turn to dust and fly away. Not your everyday type of experience. I held onto the book, more out of forgetting it was in my head when I ran inside.
I remember the feeling I’d got from opening the bible of “none of the above” for the first time. Electric. Like a surge of power running up my finger tips, down to my toes and back up to my brain where it all collected and buzzed around.
The first page is nothing special. Just states that this is the bible of “none of the above” and belongs to St. Jimmy, the Jesus of Suburbia. The same name Jimmy had called me by. But the next few pages are like nothing I’d ever seen before. All hand written. The yellowed paged had to be hundreds of years old. At the back was the list of everyone who was ever St. Jimmy. Above the list is the contract. All it stated was that by taking on ownership of the bible of “none of the above” and the name St. Jimmy, the Jesus of Suburbia, that you are now responsible for the Land of MakeBelieve.
I read this over and over before deciding it couldn’t hurt to play St. Jimmy for awhile. I pressed the black click pen, I’d found within the leather book, to the page just below Jimmy’s true name. As I began to ink my name under the others, a sharp pain rose up my arm. I tried to pull my arm away, but was glued to the page, still writing.
The moment I finished, the pain ceased. Only to be replaced with a new, stronger pain as the ink from my name climbed off the page and snaked it’s way up my forearm to just an inch below my shoulder. Once there it started to swirl and take on the form of a cross. Underneath, the name St. Jimmy took shape and turned blood red.
At the moment I was far more concerned with weather my mom would freak at the sight of my new tattoo. It took awhile before it sunk in. I was now somebody. But I didn’t realize just how important I would be to those in the Land of MakeBelieve. Man, if I had, I don’t think I would have taken on the title.

INTRO

I am the Jesus of Suburbia. i rule over these cookie-cutter houses, these sparkling mini vans, these perfectly cut yet unnaturally green lawn. this house is my temple and castle. i am forgiving and yet forgetting. i know all and yet know nothing. i love to hate, and hate the loved. i am the one and only. this is my story of one long summer. a summer that changed everything, the world, my life, and the lives of those involed. and now, after this ordeal, i can truly say; i am St. Jimmy, the jesus of suburbia.