The next morning I woke to the sound of someone pounding on the door to my home away from home. My head throbbed and ached from the sound. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed. Carefully getting to my feet, I made my way across the wooden floor to the carved red wood door.
I flung the door open and glared at the intruder. It was Brother Gregen. His eyes set firmly in his thick skull. They pierced my soul with a chilling coolness of a murderer. He grunted before speaking to me. “I came to see it you were awake, Milord. It is time for more training.” He made a sweeping bow like motion that meant I should leave the house as I was to go and train again.
I looked down at what I was wearing. No shirt, no pants. Only boxers and socks. I shook my head and turned back into the house. Gregen reached out and gripped my arm. He yanked me back to the front door to face him for a second time.
I glared at him wishing that St. Jimmy had the power to strangle people with his mind, like Darth Vader. No luck. Gregen stood, breathing in my face. Hot, stinky breath that filled my lungs and made me gag. He let me down to stand on my own in the door way. “What?” I snapped once I was breathing fresh, clean air once more.
“You must come train with us, Milord. We require your assistance.” He gave me another hard look that could have been him trying to plead with me. I didn’t care. I knew the songs just fine. Besides, I would be leaving them soon to fight Whatsername by myself. They didn’t need to learn these songs. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and worry about my friends and family and the girl of my dreams.
“You don’t need me. You’re fine on your own. I need some time….to you know, just be alone and….I don’t know, think bout all this. You understand?” I shuffled my feet over the rug and looked back up into his face. It had softened and looked sad. He nodded and left me alone.
No one came to bother me the rest of the day. I sat on the bed, curtains drawn close, and stared at the clock on the wall. I’d give this place one more day. After that, I would leave. I would take on Whatsername alone. I had already hurt so many people. I didn’t want to risk others lives. No, I had to do this on my own.
Time seems to go by so slowly when you’re watching the clock. You start to feel like time isn’t moving at all and it’s just a trick of the light playing off the clocks glossy cover. I watched the minutes become nothing but faded memories of the lost time. Tick, tick, tick. It seemed to go on forever. Unceasing. At some point, the ticking became my heart beat. Thump, thump, thump. Blood rushed about my body, keeping me alive. Alive. I was still alive while everyone I ever cared about was lying dead somewhere. And I was still alive.
My head buzzed with this new realization. I was alive. I had always been alive, but this time it meant something. How could I live while they suffered and died? What kind of person could?
I couldn’t live. I had to die. Right then and there. Anything, I needed something to kill myself with. A knife, a rope, rat poison, something! I raced about the small house, opening cabinets and flinging the contents to the floor.
I stood before the last cabinet. My hands trembled as it creaked open. The sound echoed thru the whole house. An eerie, ghost of a sound that chilled me to the bone. Inside was a loaf of bread, cheese, and a box of crackers. I turned all of my attention to the bread. Sticking out of the middle of the loaf of bread was a knife. The rotting wooden handle jutted out at an angle.
I reached in and slid the knife carefully out. I held it out before me, inspecting the blade. The silver metal glittered in the late day sun that poured in thru an opening in the curtains. I saw my own eyes reflected back in the shinny metal as it winked at me. I held my breath and posed the tip of the knife on my heart.
Tick, thump, tick, thump, tick…… I waited. But my hands remained glued in midair. They refused to move even an inch. My heart wanted nothing more than to die. But my head knew I shouldn’t. If I died now, what would happen to my world and the Land of MakeBelieve? Would Whatsername kill everyone? I couldn’t let more people down, could I? I was St. Jimmy, the Jesus of Suburbia. I would stop Whatsername. I would live, no matter what.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
St. Jimmy
The next morning came far too soon. The sun peeked in thru the weak curtains in the room I slept in. The golden light filled the room with warmth and a sense of good feeling. Anyone looking in on this scene wouldn’t think that in only a matter of hours, we would be preparing to fight a shadow beast.
I stood on the training grounds, watching as my people worked effortlessly on what I knew as fighting techniques. If any normal person was to see what we in the Land of MakeBelieve thought of as training for battle, they would think we were insane. Drum kits, amps, mics, and guitar stands cluttered the grass land. People stood about tuning their instruments and warming up their vocals. In the Land of MakeBelieve, we fight with music, not weapons.
I couldn’t help laugh at the thought of all of us walking up to Whatsername and play her something like “Mary had a Little Lamb”. The idea of it was ridiculous. All I could think of to combat this was the saying, music soothes the savage beast.
The training lasted from dawn to dusk. We ran thru song after song. None of which I had ever heard of till then. Each was vastly different in both style and idea. It took me the longest to get a hang of each one. Brother Gregen tried to explain the meaning of the songs to me, but none of it truly sank in.
As the sun set in the Land of MakeBelieve, I looked thru the door to the other side, my side. I watched as time ticked off only another few minutes since I’d left. Time moved far faster in the Land of MakeBelieve than in my world. I sighed and got ready for the next feast in the town square.
I was lying awake in the unfamiliar bed I had slept in the night before without any concerns, wondering. Had my mom realized I’d left our world? Was she okay out there on sea while Whatsername sucked all the music and happiness out of the world? Had Brad finally been done in? And most importantly, where was Mary Jane and did she maybe like me back?
I watched the ceiling, searching for some kind of an answer. Nothing. The universe was leaving me hanging without anything to hang on to. A bone. Something, anything, I just needed to know that someone out there wanted me and was looking for me. At this point, I would have been happy if it had been the police looking for me.
The silence in the tiny room was suffocating. I could feel it pressing in on me like a living being. No birds, no music, nothing but the dead quiet that comes with the darkness of the night. I hadn’t noticed the night before. I was far too worried about the future instead of the present.
It was this same worry that had kept me from thinking of my friends or family until it was too late to see if they were all right. At this moment they could be hurt and dying. Or worse. They could already be dead and I’d never get to see them again. To tell they how much they meant to me, or how I loved them, or how I was sorry.
I lay very still in the dark. I wished it would come and suck me up whole. The world meant nothing to me without mom, the guys, or Mary Jane. I wanted to die. I should have died. I was a bad person. A bad son, a bad friend, and bad to the only girl I had ever loved.
I stood on the training grounds, watching as my people worked effortlessly on what I knew as fighting techniques. If any normal person was to see what we in the Land of MakeBelieve thought of as training for battle, they would think we were insane. Drum kits, amps, mics, and guitar stands cluttered the grass land. People stood about tuning their instruments and warming up their vocals. In the Land of MakeBelieve, we fight with music, not weapons.
I couldn’t help laugh at the thought of all of us walking up to Whatsername and play her something like “Mary had a Little Lamb”. The idea of it was ridiculous. All I could think of to combat this was the saying, music soothes the savage beast.
The training lasted from dawn to dusk. We ran thru song after song. None of which I had ever heard of till then. Each was vastly different in both style and idea. It took me the longest to get a hang of each one. Brother Gregen tried to explain the meaning of the songs to me, but none of it truly sank in.
As the sun set in the Land of MakeBelieve, I looked thru the door to the other side, my side. I watched as time ticked off only another few minutes since I’d left. Time moved far faster in the Land of MakeBelieve than in my world. I sighed and got ready for the next feast in the town square.
I was lying awake in the unfamiliar bed I had slept in the night before without any concerns, wondering. Had my mom realized I’d left our world? Was she okay out there on sea while Whatsername sucked all the music and happiness out of the world? Had Brad finally been done in? And most importantly, where was Mary Jane and did she maybe like me back?
I watched the ceiling, searching for some kind of an answer. Nothing. The universe was leaving me hanging without anything to hang on to. A bone. Something, anything, I just needed to know that someone out there wanted me and was looking for me. At this point, I would have been happy if it had been the police looking for me.
The silence in the tiny room was suffocating. I could feel it pressing in on me like a living being. No birds, no music, nothing but the dead quiet that comes with the darkness of the night. I hadn’t noticed the night before. I was far too worried about the future instead of the present.
It was this same worry that had kept me from thinking of my friends or family until it was too late to see if they were all right. At this moment they could be hurt and dying. Or worse. They could already be dead and I’d never get to see them again. To tell they how much they meant to me, or how I loved them, or how I was sorry.
I lay very still in the dark. I wished it would come and suck me up whole. The world meant nothing to me without mom, the guys, or Mary Jane. I wanted to die. I should have died. I was a bad person. A bad son, a bad friend, and bad to the only girl I had ever loved.
Are we the waiting
I stood among my people, guitar in one hand, bible in the other. “This is our time. We will take back both worlds from Whatsername!” The crowd cheered boisterously. I smiled at the eager faces. We could do this. I could do this.
“The battle will not be easy, but we can do it! We will need to train to get stronger than our enemy.” The crowd roared with approval. I raised the guitar above my head and lead the way into the Land of MakeBelieve.
I stood on the threshold of the beautiful world that was the Land of MakeBelieve. Lush green earth lay out before me. Hills that looked to be made of candy with tree like broccoli. Birds of all colors soared thru the air, calling out to one another. Small cottages dotted the land here and there.
We walked into the town square to announce to all about the battle with Whatsername. I looked about the crowd and realized I couldn’t tell the difference between them and the people from my world. They were the same as anybody from over there.
“Tonight, my Brothers and Sisters, we feast with St. Jimmy. In the morning we will train for the long awaited war where St. Jimmy will slay the beast known as Whatsername. Eat well and rest well, as though it were your last.” I shivered at that last sentence. As though it was their last? People would die? I hadn’t thought of this. They were fighting a vast beast with unknown powers. How could I think that nobody would die? But that was what happened when people went to war. Someone had to die for the other to win. I was just the way things went.
As much as I tried to console myself with the guilt, it didn’t go away. Nothing I thought made it sound better. I was to be their hero, the savoir they had been waiting for. What kind of hero needed his people to fight his battle? That’s when I knew I couldn’t let them fight with me. No, this was my war and mine alone. I would kill Whatsername.
By night fall, the town square had been transformed into a dining hall. Colored lights hung from trees and houses, long tables with flowing white clothes lined the streets. A table was set at the head of the feast. Gregen, the other keepers, and I were to sit at this table. Dishes of all kinds were laid on top of a table at the far end of the square.
The smells mixed with the good feelings in the air and engulfed us all as we sat down for dinner. Someone at the far end picked up their glass and tapped their fork to it. Others followed suit. The only time I’d seen people do that was at mom’s wedding. Then it had meant they wanted to see the bride and groom kiss. I turned to Gregen. “Speech, Milord. Give your people a speech.”
I stood and looked out to the vast sea of faces and lights. I cleared my throat and spoke, “I’m really no good at speeches. Never have been. But I want to thank all of you for coming out to night and for all you will do in this war. I’ve never fought or ruled over anyone, not even a younger sibling. I hope that with all your help and support, I can become the leader you all deserve. Well, I guess there’s only one thing left to say, let’s eat!”
Praise and cheers rang out over the hills and back again. I sat back down as the plates came round. Trays of meat, bread and vegetables circled the tables till everyone had what they wanted. Somewhere, music was playing. A loud, tune meant to ready everyone for war. I couldn’t make out any of the words. The drums buzzed around in my chest and the guitars echoed in my brain. I ate more than I had in the last month and a half. That night I slept like a rock.
“The battle will not be easy, but we can do it! We will need to train to get stronger than our enemy.” The crowd roared with approval. I raised the guitar above my head and lead the way into the Land of MakeBelieve.
I stood on the threshold of the beautiful world that was the Land of MakeBelieve. Lush green earth lay out before me. Hills that looked to be made of candy with tree like broccoli. Birds of all colors soared thru the air, calling out to one another. Small cottages dotted the land here and there.
We walked into the town square to announce to all about the battle with Whatsername. I looked about the crowd and realized I couldn’t tell the difference between them and the people from my world. They were the same as anybody from over there.
“Tonight, my Brothers and Sisters, we feast with St. Jimmy. In the morning we will train for the long awaited war where St. Jimmy will slay the beast known as Whatsername. Eat well and rest well, as though it were your last.” I shivered at that last sentence. As though it was their last? People would die? I hadn’t thought of this. They were fighting a vast beast with unknown powers. How could I think that nobody would die? But that was what happened when people went to war. Someone had to die for the other to win. I was just the way things went.
As much as I tried to console myself with the guilt, it didn’t go away. Nothing I thought made it sound better. I was to be their hero, the savoir they had been waiting for. What kind of hero needed his people to fight his battle? That’s when I knew I couldn’t let them fight with me. No, this was my war and mine alone. I would kill Whatsername.
By night fall, the town square had been transformed into a dining hall. Colored lights hung from trees and houses, long tables with flowing white clothes lined the streets. A table was set at the head of the feast. Gregen, the other keepers, and I were to sit at this table. Dishes of all kinds were laid on top of a table at the far end of the square.
The smells mixed with the good feelings in the air and engulfed us all as we sat down for dinner. Someone at the far end picked up their glass and tapped their fork to it. Others followed suit. The only time I’d seen people do that was at mom’s wedding. Then it had meant they wanted to see the bride and groom kiss. I turned to Gregen. “Speech, Milord. Give your people a speech.”
I stood and looked out to the vast sea of faces and lights. I cleared my throat and spoke, “I’m really no good at speeches. Never have been. But I want to thank all of you for coming out to night and for all you will do in this war. I’ve never fought or ruled over anyone, not even a younger sibling. I hope that with all your help and support, I can become the leader you all deserve. Well, I guess there’s only one thing left to say, let’s eat!”
Praise and cheers rang out over the hills and back again. I sat back down as the plates came round. Trays of meat, bread and vegetables circled the tables till everyone had what they wanted. Somewhere, music was playing. A loud, tune meant to ready everyone for war. I couldn’t make out any of the words. The drums buzzed around in my chest and the guitars echoed in my brain. I ate more than I had in the last month and a half. That night I slept like a rock.
Boulevard of broken dreams
It was the first day in weeks that it didn’t rain. I stood at the picture window in my living room, watching the movers load boxes and chairs on to the back of the moving van. She stood in the road next to it. Billie, Mike, and Trè surrounded her. She was leaving. I’d never see her again. And it killed me.
I had thought I didn’t want anything to do with them anymore. Guess that’s the funny thing about humans. We think we can get along without each other, but we can’t. I needed them more than anything right now. I wanted her to stay. I wanted to hold her and kiss her. I’d wanted to since I first saw her. Now I’d never get the chance to tell her how I felt about her.
I turned away from the window and drew the curtains. I headed to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. It didn’t taste as good as Brad made them seem like. I drank all of it though. The cool liquid rushing down my throat, into the pit of my stomach, in a way, it was claming. Once that one was gone, I pulled out another.
I sat at the table, tipping back beer after beer till I felt I would burst from the pressure in my gut. That’s when the tears came. Hot and wet. They raced down my cheeks and splashed on the table top. Try as hard as I might, they wouldn’t stop. My life officially sucked. I hated being St. Jimmy, no one believing me, I hated that Mary Jane was moving away and I’d never get to tell her how I felt. I hated the whole world. I wanted to die right then and there.
I packed a couple of clean shirts and pants into my old school book bag. I hooked the new strap I’d gotten for my guitar on and slung it over my right shoulder. I snagged a few cans of soup and beans and a can opener. I stuffed five or so bottles of soda in my car and loaded the guitar and book bag up front with me. The last thing was the bible of “none of the above”. I stared at the hateful thing. This little book had ruined my life.
I sighed and picked it up and left. The engine roared out into the night as I sped down the streets. I watched the perfect lawns pass me by. The shinny expensive cars and the billion dollar lawn chairs. It was time I go. I had to stop Whatsername. This was all bigger than me and my petty issues. I had to put them aside for everyone’s sake.
The rain pounded my windshield as I drove on the road to the shack. I forced the car to go faster and faster. It hurdled across the road and into a ditch. It landed with its nose in the ground. I crawled out thru the window, towing the guitar with me. The bible of “none of the above” rested safely in my jeans. I wasn’t about to give up just yet. So my car crashed. So what, I was still alive and I was going to take down Whatsername.
I hiked back up to the road and walked down the middle line. The yellow-orange line kept me going. The streets where empty and hollow like a ghost town. Had she killed all of the people? City lights flickered along the horizon as I continued on. The rain smacked my skin, leaving little red marks.
The guitar bounced against my back with every step I took. I wished I had someone to talk with. Didn’t matter who, just someone. I looked down at my side. I watched my shadow as I walked along to middle line. I could hear the sound of my heart beating out some kind of song as I walked. I hummed along to pass the time.
The rain slowed. I stared up at the sky. The dark rain clouds parted to expose the moon and all its stars. Then it hit me. The music. That was the key to defeating Whatsername. The guitar, the song, it all made since now.
Now in high sprits, I half ran to the shack. I was finally ready to take on Whatsername. All I needed now was some back up from my people.
I had thought I didn’t want anything to do with them anymore. Guess that’s the funny thing about humans. We think we can get along without each other, but we can’t. I needed them more than anything right now. I wanted her to stay. I wanted to hold her and kiss her. I’d wanted to since I first saw her. Now I’d never get the chance to tell her how I felt about her.
I turned away from the window and drew the curtains. I headed to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. It didn’t taste as good as Brad made them seem like. I drank all of it though. The cool liquid rushing down my throat, into the pit of my stomach, in a way, it was claming. Once that one was gone, I pulled out another.
I sat at the table, tipping back beer after beer till I felt I would burst from the pressure in my gut. That’s when the tears came. Hot and wet. They raced down my cheeks and splashed on the table top. Try as hard as I might, they wouldn’t stop. My life officially sucked. I hated being St. Jimmy, no one believing me, I hated that Mary Jane was moving away and I’d never get to tell her how I felt. I hated the whole world. I wanted to die right then and there.
I packed a couple of clean shirts and pants into my old school book bag. I hooked the new strap I’d gotten for my guitar on and slung it over my right shoulder. I snagged a few cans of soup and beans and a can opener. I stuffed five or so bottles of soda in my car and loaded the guitar and book bag up front with me. The last thing was the bible of “none of the above”. I stared at the hateful thing. This little book had ruined my life.
I sighed and picked it up and left. The engine roared out into the night as I sped down the streets. I watched the perfect lawns pass me by. The shinny expensive cars and the billion dollar lawn chairs. It was time I go. I had to stop Whatsername. This was all bigger than me and my petty issues. I had to put them aside for everyone’s sake.
The rain pounded my windshield as I drove on the road to the shack. I forced the car to go faster and faster. It hurdled across the road and into a ditch. It landed with its nose in the ground. I crawled out thru the window, towing the guitar with me. The bible of “none of the above” rested safely in my jeans. I wasn’t about to give up just yet. So my car crashed. So what, I was still alive and I was going to take down Whatsername.
I hiked back up to the road and walked down the middle line. The yellow-orange line kept me going. The streets where empty and hollow like a ghost town. Had she killed all of the people? City lights flickered along the horizon as I continued on. The rain smacked my skin, leaving little red marks.
The guitar bounced against my back with every step I took. I wished I had someone to talk with. Didn’t matter who, just someone. I looked down at my side. I watched my shadow as I walked along to middle line. I could hear the sound of my heart beating out some kind of song as I walked. I hummed along to pass the time.
The rain slowed. I stared up at the sky. The dark rain clouds parted to expose the moon and all its stars. Then it hit me. The music. That was the key to defeating Whatsername. The guitar, the song, it all made since now.
Now in high sprits, I half ran to the shack. I was finally ready to take on Whatsername. All I needed now was some back up from my people.
Holiday
I disconnected the phone, broken the door bell, and turned off my internet. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not mom or Brad or the guys or Mary Jane. I just wanted to sit alone in my room and play my guitar. I don’t think any of them tried to get a hold of me, anyway. It didn’t matter anymore.
I spent hour after hour practicing one song that Greg had said was the most important for me to know, “Faith and Misery”. A sad, yet loud tune with no lyrics. I played it over and over so many times that I could have played the whole song perfectly in my sleep.
Now, while I was keeping myself cut off from the world, I hadn’t notice just how it had changed till I turned on the TV. The news was on and the woman on the screen was very upset about something. I cranked the volume up to twenty. “This just in. The shadow known as Whatsername, has demanded that St. Jimmy show himself. Weeks before, Whatsername destroyed all music in the world. Whatsername has taken numerous victims. Is this the end of the world? Please, St. Jimmy, if you’re watching this, we need you!....what?! Ahhh!” With that, the screen went black.
I clicked the TV off. That was all I needed to see. I had to find Greg. I needed to know just what I was up against.
I made my way over the damp earth to the shack where I had received the guitar. I banged and kicked the door till the eye hole door opened. “Who goes there?” The same voice as last time crooked at me. “It me! St. Jimmy. I need to see Gregen!” The door flew open and the old man stepped aside and bowed as I entered.
“Brother Gregen is in the chamber to your left, Sire” The old man said. I nodded to him and took off for the room. I stopped in front of the door. Something was missing from it. In fact, something was missing from all the doors, even the front door. Door knobs. None of them had door knobs. Was this some kind of sick joke? I hit the door till someone opened it.
Gregen was seated at the large oak desk in the middle of the room. The window behind him seized my attention. It wasn’t showing the raining, doom stricken world outside of this shack, but more like something out of a fairy tale book for children. I gazed in awe at the sight.
Gregen looked up from his desk. “Milord.” He whispered. I pointed out the window. “What is that?”
“That,” He started without turning to look, “Is the Land of MakeBelieve, Milord. That is your home and kingdom.” He motioned for me to take a seat. I quickly found one and was about to speak when he continued on. “I know why you are here. You wish to know what the creature, Whatsername is and how you are to stop it. Am I not right, Milord?” I affirmed him with a head nod. He went on. “Whatsername is a creature born of darkness and hate. She will destroy all music and happiness. She did not exist in this world until the one before you let her in. She used her charm and looks to sway him into allowing her into this world.
“She will be coming for you and the Land of MakeBelieve in no time as she has already taken over this world. St. Jimmy, you must stop her using the guitar. It is the only way.”
I sat waiting for him to say gotcha or something! It had to be a joke. How was I to fight some beastly cloud with a guitar? He sat, watching me. “How?! How do I fight that…that thing with a guitar?!!”
“When the time comes, you will know what to do, St. Jimmy. It is in you now, the soul of a warrior.” He stood and turned to the window in a dramatic sort of way. The afternoon sun from the Land of MakeBelieve hitting his outline just so that it appeared to be glowing. I watched the world I didn’t know and wished this all wasn’t on my shoulders.
I spent hour after hour practicing one song that Greg had said was the most important for me to know, “Faith and Misery”. A sad, yet loud tune with no lyrics. I played it over and over so many times that I could have played the whole song perfectly in my sleep.
Now, while I was keeping myself cut off from the world, I hadn’t notice just how it had changed till I turned on the TV. The news was on and the woman on the screen was very upset about something. I cranked the volume up to twenty. “This just in. The shadow known as Whatsername, has demanded that St. Jimmy show himself. Weeks before, Whatsername destroyed all music in the world. Whatsername has taken numerous victims. Is this the end of the world? Please, St. Jimmy, if you’re watching this, we need you!....what?! Ahhh!” With that, the screen went black.
I clicked the TV off. That was all I needed to see. I had to find Greg. I needed to know just what I was up against.
I made my way over the damp earth to the shack where I had received the guitar. I banged and kicked the door till the eye hole door opened. “Who goes there?” The same voice as last time crooked at me. “It me! St. Jimmy. I need to see Gregen!” The door flew open and the old man stepped aside and bowed as I entered.
“Brother Gregen is in the chamber to your left, Sire” The old man said. I nodded to him and took off for the room. I stopped in front of the door. Something was missing from it. In fact, something was missing from all the doors, even the front door. Door knobs. None of them had door knobs. Was this some kind of sick joke? I hit the door till someone opened it.
Gregen was seated at the large oak desk in the middle of the room. The window behind him seized my attention. It wasn’t showing the raining, doom stricken world outside of this shack, but more like something out of a fairy tale book for children. I gazed in awe at the sight.
Gregen looked up from his desk. “Milord.” He whispered. I pointed out the window. “What is that?”
“That,” He started without turning to look, “Is the Land of MakeBelieve, Milord. That is your home and kingdom.” He motioned for me to take a seat. I quickly found one and was about to speak when he continued on. “I know why you are here. You wish to know what the creature, Whatsername is and how you are to stop it. Am I not right, Milord?” I affirmed him with a head nod. He went on. “Whatsername is a creature born of darkness and hate. She will destroy all music and happiness. She did not exist in this world until the one before you let her in. She used her charm and looks to sway him into allowing her into this world.
“She will be coming for you and the Land of MakeBelieve in no time as she has already taken over this world. St. Jimmy, you must stop her using the guitar. It is the only way.”
I sat waiting for him to say gotcha or something! It had to be a joke. How was I to fight some beastly cloud with a guitar? He sat, watching me. “How?! How do I fight that…that thing with a guitar?!!”
“When the time comes, you will know what to do, St. Jimmy. It is in you now, the soul of a warrior.” He stood and turned to the window in a dramatic sort of way. The afternoon sun from the Land of MakeBelieve hitting his outline just so that it appeared to be glowing. I watched the world I didn’t know and wished this all wasn’t on my shoulders.
I JESUS OF SUBURBIA
The bible of “none of the above” states, that I am the son of rage and love, the Jesus of Suburbia. These names, these words make no sense at first. But as it happens to be, not everyone can be St. Jimmy. This I found out the hard way. The son of rage and love. This line hung in the back of my mind for years. Now I have come to understand it.
Becoming St. Jimmy changes you mentally and physically. The first thing I remember was grow up to be six feet in one night. There were other things, too. My hair became light brown close to the roots and farther to the ends, it turned jet black. My face also started to resemble more of someone my age instead of a twelve year old. Muscles formed and my voice deepened and became darker.
The weirdest one was my eating habits. I didn’t eat much of anything. None of it sounded or tasted good. All I wanted was soda pop to drink. I went throw can after can. But there was something else I wanted, though I couldn’t figure it out.
Finally, I skimmed the bible of “none of the above” for answers. I was half way though the book before I found a page from what looked to be a journal. It read,
Of all the changes that come with becoming St.
Jimmy, the Jesus of Suburbia, the strangest and
hardest to understand is my carving for soda
and the drug Ritalin.
I dropped the book. Ritalin? This had to be a joke. A really stupid one. Why would I want to eat drugs and not food? Being St. Jimmy sounded worse and worse. But, the more I thought of it, the better it sounded. There was only one issue, how in hells name did I get my hands on some? Wasn’t only given out by prescription?
My mom remarried five years after my real father died in a car crash. I was only six when he did. I was eleven when I first met the man she was marrying. He was a beastly man by the Barbie-ish name of Brad. Brad was a rich lawyer. He would spoil mom with fancy candies, new cars, and shopping sprees in Pairs. Though his looks and money may have been perfectly golden, his personality was as shitty as the Grinche’s.
He was known to blow up when people didn’t jump when he said. Once, mom went out with her co-workers for some drinks after work and wasn’t home in time to cook diner for Brad. When she did make it home, a half-hour late, he spent the next three hours yelling about a wife’s duties to her family and husband, slamming doors and chairs, and hitting her every chance he got. He’d even screamed at the poor Chinese delivery guy about her being late and stupid.
Sometimes I think mom is stupid for not having left him yet. Then again, I’m just a seventeen year old kid. What do I know about “adult things”? Anyway, that weekend Brad was taking mom on a summer-long cruise. With luck, Brad would fall over board and drown.
I was in the living room when they were leaving. The TV in my room had broke at the beginning of summer. I’d been promised a new set, but now it was nearly three weeks later and still no new TV. I don’t really like watching TV shows, but I love video games. That was the only reason I wanted a TV in my room. So I could play my games in peace.
Once they were in the taxi, I pulled out a pack of Brad’s cigarettes. Before this week, I won’t have smoked a cig in my life. Wasn’t my thing. But for some reason, the smell was nice and inviting and they tasted okay, nothing special but not gross. The only thing is, Brad isn’t aloud to smoke inside the house. So, that meant I had to go out back and smoke where he did so as not to get caught. I mean, I was only seventeen.
I was sitting on the yellow and cream striped lawn chair with its frayed seat, outback when a football soared throw the air and landed, sharply I might add, in my gut. I dropped the cigarette in the grass where it began to smoke more and doubled over in pain. I jumped up and stomped on it, killing the fire before it started. What a waste, I thought.
I picked up the football and stormed over to the wooden fence that separated my yard from the others. Being taller now, I didn’t have to stand on anything, like a little kid to look over into the next yard. “Hey. Someone lose this?” I brandished the football, expecting some little punk to come running over, laughing at me for getting hit by it.
Instead, it was a girl. “Oh, yeah! Sorry. It must have slipped outta my fingers.” She was around my age from the look of it. Died bright red and deep black hair fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were a bright and lively shade of blue. She stopped a few steps back from the fence in order to look me in the eyes.
“Never seen you before.” I said before thinking of how rude it might have sounded. “Yeah. My rents and I just moved in. Name’s Mary Jane.” She held out her hand for me to shack. I smiled and took it. She was really, really cute.
(II City of the Damned )
A couple of blocks from the suburbs is a 7-11 that everyone likes hanging out at. It was once a diner back in the fifties. But for some reason, they kept the diner seats and turned it into a convent store. On Saturday nights I sometimes go there to meet with my friends, Billie, Mike, and Tré. This Saturday night, I brought Mary Jane with me.
We’d spent all day talking and tossing the football around, so when the guys called me up, I automatically asked her along. We walked there from my house. Street lamps clicked on all around us as the evening sky grew darker and darker. Night was setting in fast.
I hadn’t told the guys what had happened with Jimmy, the dust, the bible of “none of the above”, or my transformations. In my pocket was the bible of “none of the above”. This was defiantly going to be interesting. The 7-11 was owned by this guy. He’s somewhat odd. Greg is his name. Greg tends to talk to himself very loudly. He also freaks out about people he thinks are going to kill him or steal his pet rock. I’m not sure how someone like him came to own anything, but at times its best not to question things.
Above the door, Greg had placed this sign he painted himself. It says, “home is where the heart is”. I’d never given it any thought till that night. Just seemed like a mad man’s ramblings. But right then, it kind of made since in a way. Home is wherever you feel welcomed, safe. These days, I didn’t know where I fit in. Did St. Jimmy fit in anywhere with normal people?
I guided Mary Jane away from Greg. We reached the old diner booths in the back where Billie, Mike and Tré sat waiting for us. From the look on their faces as we approached the booth, my new image was going over as well as I could have hoped. “Dude!!” Tré cried, leaping up from his chair to get a better look at me. “Duuuude!! Look at you! Man, I like it!” I laughed as I sat down next to Billie.
Billie was a year older than me. His brown hair was dyed black. He spiked it up all over the place like a hedge hog, and his green eyes were thickly rimmed with black liner to the point of making him look like a panda. Across from Billie was Mike. Mike was the oldest of all of us. And taller. He had short brown hair that was spiked like Billie’s, only not as wild. As I sat down, I noticed he wasn’t looking at me, but instead at Mary Jane.
I scratched the back of my near-bald head and cleared my throat. “This is Mary Jane, guys. My new neighbor. Mary, this is Mike, Billie, and the one still bouncing round is Tré.” She waved at them each and took the seat next to me as Trè slid into his by Mike.
I looked around the table at my friends. The neon lights above flickered on and off. This old place wasn’t built to run all night as a convenient store. I felt the bible of “none of the above” in my pants pocket. This was it. I had to tell them everything. If I couldn’t tell them, then who? I was going crazy keeping it locked inside.
I sighed. “Guys, I think there’s something I need to tell you.” I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out the bible of “none of the above” and handed it to Mike. He turned it over in his hands, then passed it to Tré. Mike locked eyes with me, mouth open in the shape of an O. I nodded. “So, here’s how it all went down,”
(III I don’t care)
Waking up the next day was the easiest thing I’d done in what felt like a long time. I’d spent all last night reliving the horror of watching Jimmy die and become dust, the fear that came with opening the bible of “none of the above”, the insanity of wanting only soda pop and Ritalin, and then the worry about who or what I was the ruler of. At some point, I broke down and cried. Now my eyes were red-rimed from that night that seemed so far away.
They were just as worried that I might be going crazy as I was. Though they tried hard not to show their worry, I could tell. It didn’t matter whether they did think I was crazy or not. I didn’t care if the whole fucking world thought I was crazy and a murderer and should die! That’s what they thought of me.
Everyone thought I killed Jimmy and tried to make up this crazy story as to where he went and why I took his name and why I was acting so weird. Well, they could all just kiss my ass for all I cared. And I didn’t care. I don’t care at all. They don’t care about me and I could care even less about them or what they think. Who needs people anyway!? Not me, that’s for sure.
They’ll all full of shit, with their lying eyes and mouths. They have no hearts what-so-ever. None at all. That’s why they think I killed him. I would never kill anyone! I’m not crazy. But I don’t care what they think. Let them believe what they want to. Fine by me, cuz I don’t care. Not at all! I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care!! I DON’T CARE!!!
Maybe I did care. Just a little.
(IV Dearly beloved)
Being left alone is something I’ve been used to since my father died. Mom had to work and then there were her dates she went on. She made the excuse that I needed a father, when ever I asked why she couldn’t stay home with me. I had a father. A great one. No one could ever replace that.
It took me three days to get outside of the house again. I was so pissed, so sad. I felt betrayed by my closest friends. But I couldn’t let it keep me down. I had to get out and see father before my sorrow killed me.
I walked the empty suburban streets in the rain, on my way to father’s grave. If ever I was sad or scared, he was always there to make me smile once more. Just seeing his grave would be enough to make me feel a little better about this all. He would be the only person to understand me.
I listened to the sound of my heavy footsteps on the cold concrete walk, the beating of my heart, the rain smacking my skin. It was almost like music in a way. It had a beat, but no words. I added my own.
“Dearly beloved, are you listening? I can’t remember a word that you were saying. Are we demented? Or am I disturbed?” I shuddered at the word “disturbed”. Was I disturbed? I mean, here I was believing that a living being had become dust and told me to rule over the Land of MakeBelieve. It didn’t sound too normal when you thought about it. I pushed the thought from my brain and continued on down the road to the cemetery were father lay, resting.
Under my feet, the ground turned to mud. It squished and sucked my shoes deep into the earth. When I finally reached father’s grave marker, I fell to my knees. “Father. Help me. I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t understand anything anymore. I need help. I need a sign as to what I should do! Please! Something, send me something!” With that, lighting crashed near by a looming tree.
I watched the tree, something was moving in its shadow. A man. He lumbered over from the tree to where I was. My mind told me I should run, run fast and far. But my heart said this was the sign. My help had come. The man stepped closer and I could make out his features. It was Greg. He had a grave look on his face. When he spoke, it was not the familiar voice of the crazy guy who owned a 7-11. This was the voice of a demon, the devil.
“St. Jimmy?” He asked. I nodded mouth far too dry to speak. “I have come to serve you once more, my Lord.” He bowed gracefully for a man of his weight. He stood back up and locked eyes with me. “Please follow me, Milord.” I climbed to my feet and rushed after him, eager to learn whatever it might be that was going on.
We had to have walked forever before Greg stopped in front of a small house. It looked to be made completely out of only wood. The wood was a strange color and texture. It had water marks all over and holes from where mice chewed their way in. The front and only door had a sliding eye hole, like the ones in movies. Greg walked up to the shack and banged on the door. I thought for sure it would tip over.
The little door on the eye hole creaked open. “Who goes there?” A nasally, old voice crooked. Greg straightened up and spoke in the same devil-like voice. “It is I, Gregen, the keeper of the holy scriptures of the one called St. Jimmy. I have brought him with me today.” The dark eyes widened and then disappeared, opening the door.
Greg walked in and I followed quickly. The rain was really coming down now. The inside of the shack was much larger. It was far vaster than a castle. Everyone within the shack was draped in dark colored clocks. Their eyes traced me, taking in every detail of my being. This made me nervous. Just what was it they wanted with me anyway?
“Brothers and sisters, the time has come. The old St. Jimmy has died and a new one has taken his place. This is the time to take back the Land of MakeBelieve for ourselves!” Greg raised his fist into the air. Cheers rang out all around. People chanted my name and held their fists above their heads. I was even more confused than before.
“Brother, Simon. Would please bring St. Jimmy his guitar?” A short, balding man stood up and scampered out of the room. He returned moments later with a guitar like none other. It was shinny black with a marble neck. The strings seemed to be made of pure gold and the sound it made was more beautiful than any the heavens could have made.
Simon brought the guitar to me, got down on one knee and held it above his shinny head for me to take. The room grew quiet as all waited for me to take it. I looked at Greg. He nodded to me. Slowly and carefully, I took the instrument from Simon’s thin hands. I looked it over, admiring the beautiful creature. A girl rushed forward and handed me a pick. I took it and smiled to her. She and Simon walked back to the others, overcome with joy.
I raised the pick and strummed the strings. The sound echoed back. All began to cheer once more. I started to play a song, I couldn’t remember the name or who wrote it, but it was amazing.
(V Tales of another broken home)
After receiving the guitar, I made sure it stayed safe. Greg had given me a book of songs that he said would come in handy. When I tried to ask what he meant by that, he shooed me back home. That’s where I was when Mary Jane came looking for me. The door bell cried out to me and nearly caused me to drop the guitar. I flew down the stairs to rid myself of whoever was keeping me from my guitar.
I flung open the door. She looked surprised. Maybe it was cuz I hadn’t showered in about three days. It’s bad when even you think you smell like a dead fish. “Uh. Hi.” I managed.
“Hi.” Her face was slightly red. I stepped back to let her in. She shook her head. “I don’t have much time to speak. I just wanted to see if you were okay…..and say sorry for not believing you.”
That’s right. I had been mad at them. Getting the guitar had made me forget all about everything, even them and how they had treated me. I shuffled my feet. “It’s fine. I mean, I wouldn’t have believed me either.” She stared at the ground. “It was still rude, though.” She said, biting her lip. “Well, I should go now….”
“You free tonight?” I asked. She looked up quickly. “You and the guys could all come over. We could rent a movie or something.”
“That…that would be nice.” It sounded like a lie. Like she didn’t really want to be around me, but she didn’t want to say it. I could feel my anger boiling up within me. I gripped the doorway to keep myself from hitting her or slamming the door. She looked around, awkwardly, then turned and left me in the door to feel abandoned and betrayed again.
Becoming St. Jimmy changes you mentally and physically. The first thing I remember was grow up to be six feet in one night. There were other things, too. My hair became light brown close to the roots and farther to the ends, it turned jet black. My face also started to resemble more of someone my age instead of a twelve year old. Muscles formed and my voice deepened and became darker.
The weirdest one was my eating habits. I didn’t eat much of anything. None of it sounded or tasted good. All I wanted was soda pop to drink. I went throw can after can. But there was something else I wanted, though I couldn’t figure it out.
Finally, I skimmed the bible of “none of the above” for answers. I was half way though the book before I found a page from what looked to be a journal. It read,
Of all the changes that come with becoming St.
Jimmy, the Jesus of Suburbia, the strangest and
hardest to understand is my carving for soda
and the drug Ritalin.
I dropped the book. Ritalin? This had to be a joke. A really stupid one. Why would I want to eat drugs and not food? Being St. Jimmy sounded worse and worse. But, the more I thought of it, the better it sounded. There was only one issue, how in hells name did I get my hands on some? Wasn’t only given out by prescription?
My mom remarried five years after my real father died in a car crash. I was only six when he did. I was eleven when I first met the man she was marrying. He was a beastly man by the Barbie-ish name of Brad. Brad was a rich lawyer. He would spoil mom with fancy candies, new cars, and shopping sprees in Pairs. Though his looks and money may have been perfectly golden, his personality was as shitty as the Grinche’s.
He was known to blow up when people didn’t jump when he said. Once, mom went out with her co-workers for some drinks after work and wasn’t home in time to cook diner for Brad. When she did make it home, a half-hour late, he spent the next three hours yelling about a wife’s duties to her family and husband, slamming doors and chairs, and hitting her every chance he got. He’d even screamed at the poor Chinese delivery guy about her being late and stupid.
Sometimes I think mom is stupid for not having left him yet. Then again, I’m just a seventeen year old kid. What do I know about “adult things”? Anyway, that weekend Brad was taking mom on a summer-long cruise. With luck, Brad would fall over board and drown.
I was in the living room when they were leaving. The TV in my room had broke at the beginning of summer. I’d been promised a new set, but now it was nearly three weeks later and still no new TV. I don’t really like watching TV shows, but I love video games. That was the only reason I wanted a TV in my room. So I could play my games in peace.
Once they were in the taxi, I pulled out a pack of Brad’s cigarettes. Before this week, I won’t have smoked a cig in my life. Wasn’t my thing. But for some reason, the smell was nice and inviting and they tasted okay, nothing special but not gross. The only thing is, Brad isn’t aloud to smoke inside the house. So, that meant I had to go out back and smoke where he did so as not to get caught. I mean, I was only seventeen.
I was sitting on the yellow and cream striped lawn chair with its frayed seat, outback when a football soared throw the air and landed, sharply I might add, in my gut. I dropped the cigarette in the grass where it began to smoke more and doubled over in pain. I jumped up and stomped on it, killing the fire before it started. What a waste, I thought.
I picked up the football and stormed over to the wooden fence that separated my yard from the others. Being taller now, I didn’t have to stand on anything, like a little kid to look over into the next yard. “Hey. Someone lose this?” I brandished the football, expecting some little punk to come running over, laughing at me for getting hit by it.
Instead, it was a girl. “Oh, yeah! Sorry. It must have slipped outta my fingers.” She was around my age from the look of it. Died bright red and deep black hair fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were a bright and lively shade of blue. She stopped a few steps back from the fence in order to look me in the eyes.
“Never seen you before.” I said before thinking of how rude it might have sounded. “Yeah. My rents and I just moved in. Name’s Mary Jane.” She held out her hand for me to shack. I smiled and took it. She was really, really cute.
(II City of the Damned )
A couple of blocks from the suburbs is a 7-11 that everyone likes hanging out at. It was once a diner back in the fifties. But for some reason, they kept the diner seats and turned it into a convent store. On Saturday nights I sometimes go there to meet with my friends, Billie, Mike, and Tré. This Saturday night, I brought Mary Jane with me.
We’d spent all day talking and tossing the football around, so when the guys called me up, I automatically asked her along. We walked there from my house. Street lamps clicked on all around us as the evening sky grew darker and darker. Night was setting in fast.
I hadn’t told the guys what had happened with Jimmy, the dust, the bible of “none of the above”, or my transformations. In my pocket was the bible of “none of the above”. This was defiantly going to be interesting. The 7-11 was owned by this guy. He’s somewhat odd. Greg is his name. Greg tends to talk to himself very loudly. He also freaks out about people he thinks are going to kill him or steal his pet rock. I’m not sure how someone like him came to own anything, but at times its best not to question things.
Above the door, Greg had placed this sign he painted himself. It says, “home is where the heart is”. I’d never given it any thought till that night. Just seemed like a mad man’s ramblings. But right then, it kind of made since in a way. Home is wherever you feel welcomed, safe. These days, I didn’t know where I fit in. Did St. Jimmy fit in anywhere with normal people?
I guided Mary Jane away from Greg. We reached the old diner booths in the back where Billie, Mike and Tré sat waiting for us. From the look on their faces as we approached the booth, my new image was going over as well as I could have hoped. “Dude!!” Tré cried, leaping up from his chair to get a better look at me. “Duuuude!! Look at you! Man, I like it!” I laughed as I sat down next to Billie.
Billie was a year older than me. His brown hair was dyed black. He spiked it up all over the place like a hedge hog, and his green eyes were thickly rimmed with black liner to the point of making him look like a panda. Across from Billie was Mike. Mike was the oldest of all of us. And taller. He had short brown hair that was spiked like Billie’s, only not as wild. As I sat down, I noticed he wasn’t looking at me, but instead at Mary Jane.
I scratched the back of my near-bald head and cleared my throat. “This is Mary Jane, guys. My new neighbor. Mary, this is Mike, Billie, and the one still bouncing round is Tré.” She waved at them each and took the seat next to me as Trè slid into his by Mike.
I looked around the table at my friends. The neon lights above flickered on and off. This old place wasn’t built to run all night as a convenient store. I felt the bible of “none of the above” in my pants pocket. This was it. I had to tell them everything. If I couldn’t tell them, then who? I was going crazy keeping it locked inside.
I sighed. “Guys, I think there’s something I need to tell you.” I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out the bible of “none of the above” and handed it to Mike. He turned it over in his hands, then passed it to Tré. Mike locked eyes with me, mouth open in the shape of an O. I nodded. “So, here’s how it all went down,”
(III I don’t care)
Waking up the next day was the easiest thing I’d done in what felt like a long time. I’d spent all last night reliving the horror of watching Jimmy die and become dust, the fear that came with opening the bible of “none of the above”, the insanity of wanting only soda pop and Ritalin, and then the worry about who or what I was the ruler of. At some point, I broke down and cried. Now my eyes were red-rimed from that night that seemed so far away.
They were just as worried that I might be going crazy as I was. Though they tried hard not to show their worry, I could tell. It didn’t matter whether they did think I was crazy or not. I didn’t care if the whole fucking world thought I was crazy and a murderer and should die! That’s what they thought of me.
Everyone thought I killed Jimmy and tried to make up this crazy story as to where he went and why I took his name and why I was acting so weird. Well, they could all just kiss my ass for all I cared. And I didn’t care. I don’t care at all. They don’t care about me and I could care even less about them or what they think. Who needs people anyway!? Not me, that’s for sure.
They’ll all full of shit, with their lying eyes and mouths. They have no hearts what-so-ever. None at all. That’s why they think I killed him. I would never kill anyone! I’m not crazy. But I don’t care what they think. Let them believe what they want to. Fine by me, cuz I don’t care. Not at all! I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care!! I DON’T CARE!!!
Maybe I did care. Just a little.
(IV Dearly beloved)
Being left alone is something I’ve been used to since my father died. Mom had to work and then there were her dates she went on. She made the excuse that I needed a father, when ever I asked why she couldn’t stay home with me. I had a father. A great one. No one could ever replace that.
It took me three days to get outside of the house again. I was so pissed, so sad. I felt betrayed by my closest friends. But I couldn’t let it keep me down. I had to get out and see father before my sorrow killed me.
I walked the empty suburban streets in the rain, on my way to father’s grave. If ever I was sad or scared, he was always there to make me smile once more. Just seeing his grave would be enough to make me feel a little better about this all. He would be the only person to understand me.
I listened to the sound of my heavy footsteps on the cold concrete walk, the beating of my heart, the rain smacking my skin. It was almost like music in a way. It had a beat, but no words. I added my own.
“Dearly beloved, are you listening? I can’t remember a word that you were saying. Are we demented? Or am I disturbed?” I shuddered at the word “disturbed”. Was I disturbed? I mean, here I was believing that a living being had become dust and told me to rule over the Land of MakeBelieve. It didn’t sound too normal when you thought about it. I pushed the thought from my brain and continued on down the road to the cemetery were father lay, resting.
Under my feet, the ground turned to mud. It squished and sucked my shoes deep into the earth. When I finally reached father’s grave marker, I fell to my knees. “Father. Help me. I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t understand anything anymore. I need help. I need a sign as to what I should do! Please! Something, send me something!” With that, lighting crashed near by a looming tree.
I watched the tree, something was moving in its shadow. A man. He lumbered over from the tree to where I was. My mind told me I should run, run fast and far. But my heart said this was the sign. My help had come. The man stepped closer and I could make out his features. It was Greg. He had a grave look on his face. When he spoke, it was not the familiar voice of the crazy guy who owned a 7-11. This was the voice of a demon, the devil.
“St. Jimmy?” He asked. I nodded mouth far too dry to speak. “I have come to serve you once more, my Lord.” He bowed gracefully for a man of his weight. He stood back up and locked eyes with me. “Please follow me, Milord.” I climbed to my feet and rushed after him, eager to learn whatever it might be that was going on.
We had to have walked forever before Greg stopped in front of a small house. It looked to be made completely out of only wood. The wood was a strange color and texture. It had water marks all over and holes from where mice chewed their way in. The front and only door had a sliding eye hole, like the ones in movies. Greg walked up to the shack and banged on the door. I thought for sure it would tip over.
The little door on the eye hole creaked open. “Who goes there?” A nasally, old voice crooked. Greg straightened up and spoke in the same devil-like voice. “It is I, Gregen, the keeper of the holy scriptures of the one called St. Jimmy. I have brought him with me today.” The dark eyes widened and then disappeared, opening the door.
Greg walked in and I followed quickly. The rain was really coming down now. The inside of the shack was much larger. It was far vaster than a castle. Everyone within the shack was draped in dark colored clocks. Their eyes traced me, taking in every detail of my being. This made me nervous. Just what was it they wanted with me anyway?
“Brothers and sisters, the time has come. The old St. Jimmy has died and a new one has taken his place. This is the time to take back the Land of MakeBelieve for ourselves!” Greg raised his fist into the air. Cheers rang out all around. People chanted my name and held their fists above their heads. I was even more confused than before.
“Brother, Simon. Would please bring St. Jimmy his guitar?” A short, balding man stood up and scampered out of the room. He returned moments later with a guitar like none other. It was shinny black with a marble neck. The strings seemed to be made of pure gold and the sound it made was more beautiful than any the heavens could have made.
Simon brought the guitar to me, got down on one knee and held it above his shinny head for me to take. The room grew quiet as all waited for me to take it. I looked at Greg. He nodded to me. Slowly and carefully, I took the instrument from Simon’s thin hands. I looked it over, admiring the beautiful creature. A girl rushed forward and handed me a pick. I took it and smiled to her. She and Simon walked back to the others, overcome with joy.
I raised the pick and strummed the strings. The sound echoed back. All began to cheer once more. I started to play a song, I couldn’t remember the name or who wrote it, but it was amazing.
(V Tales of another broken home)
After receiving the guitar, I made sure it stayed safe. Greg had given me a book of songs that he said would come in handy. When I tried to ask what he meant by that, he shooed me back home. That’s where I was when Mary Jane came looking for me. The door bell cried out to me and nearly caused me to drop the guitar. I flew down the stairs to rid myself of whoever was keeping me from my guitar.
I flung open the door. She looked surprised. Maybe it was cuz I hadn’t showered in about three days. It’s bad when even you think you smell like a dead fish. “Uh. Hi.” I managed.
“Hi.” Her face was slightly red. I stepped back to let her in. She shook her head. “I don’t have much time to speak. I just wanted to see if you were okay…..and say sorry for not believing you.”
That’s right. I had been mad at them. Getting the guitar had made me forget all about everything, even them and how they had treated me. I shuffled my feet. “It’s fine. I mean, I wouldn’t have believed me either.” She stared at the ground. “It was still rude, though.” She said, biting her lip. “Well, I should go now….”
“You free tonight?” I asked. She looked up quickly. “You and the guys could all come over. We could rent a movie or something.”
“That…that would be nice.” It sounded like a lie. Like she didn’t really want to be around me, but she didn’t want to say it. I could feel my anger boiling up within me. I gripped the doorway to keep myself from hitting her or slamming the door. She looked around, awkwardly, then turned and left me in the door to feel abandoned and betrayed again.
Friday, March 11, 2011
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.
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.
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