I came home after school, unceremoniously tossing my school bag on the chair just inside the front door. Right now, I couldn't be bothered to care where my stuff landed, I had to be at band practice in less than an hour and I was fucking starving. We had our second gig the next day so we needed to practice a lot. We weren't headlining yet of course, but we were playing alongside another local band, 'The Lookouts'; I briefly wondered if they were any good... As if on cue, my stomach rumbled loudly, so I headed towards the kitchen.
I grabbed a loaf of bread off the counter, opened the drawer and pulled out a butter knife. Rushing, I reached for the peanut butter on the counter but I accidentally knocked over the vase of flowers beside the sink, "fuck," I said as I swiftly stepped out of the way as to not get my clothes soaked. After the water stopped dripping, I grabbed the roll of paper towels and quickly wiped the water off the counter and floor so I could continue making my sandwich. I grabbed two slices of bread out of the bag and laid them on the counter, and reached for the peanut butter - more carefully this time - and spreading some on my bread before putting the lid back on. I slapped some strawberry jam on it too before topping it with another piece of bread. I didn't even glance at my sandwich before I was devouring it; fuck I love food.
Now that I wasn't starving anymore, I headed off to my room to quickly practice the song I needed to have learned by today. I had most of it right, but I was having a little trouble transitioning into the bridge.
I grabbed the sheet music off the edge of my dresser and laid it out on my bed. Then, grabbing Blue, I started playing a few bars before the bridge. I slowed my pace a bit as I approached the bridge and messed up a few times, "God damnit, I'll never get this," I psyched myself out. Billie Joe Armstrong is a lot of things, and determined is one of them. So I started again messed up again, surprise! Now I was starting to get really frustrated so I attempted it one last time. Finally, I nailed it completely, not missing a note. Excited, I repeated it for good measure and got it. Awesome, time to head over to Al's.
I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper off the desk in my mom and step-dad's room and wrote a short letter, "at Al's for a jam session, I'll be back before curfew. Billie." I grabbed my note and put it on the table as I slung my guitar case over my shoulder, heading out.
I hopped on my bike, quickly re-adjusted my guitar on my back and started the familiar trek to Al's house. I whizzed down past the church, the corner store and the gas station before I turned into his driveway. I ditched my bike in his front lawn before heading up to his door. I knocked on his front door a few times, slinging my guitar case off my back, securely grabbing it by its handle.
I smiled softly as I saw Al's mom answer the door, her lovely face graced with a slight smile. "Hello, Billie, come on in." She gestured for me to come inside with a long, graceful hand and so I sheepishly entered.
"Hey, Billie!" Al exclaimed as I propped my guitar up against the hall wall, "how ya doin'?" Al was definitely one of my best friends, no questions asked. He was nice, funny and one hell of a drum player.
"I'm pretty good, you? Ready to jam?"
"I'm good man, hey let's go into the garage, Mike's waiting for us." I grabbed my guitar case and followed Al into the garage. We always practiced in Al's garage; it was big enough for all of us and it had great acoustics. I plugged in my guitar. Al, our drum player, counted us in and we immersed ourselves with original songs and covers for a few hours.
I checked the clock on the wall and noticed it was a half an hour before my curfew, so after we finished the song I gathered up my things, said my goodbyes and got a reminder that we had a gig tomorrow at the music hall at 9PM sharp. Mike sternly told me to not be late before I waved him off with a "yeah, yeah" and got my equipment and went outside. I loaded my guitar on my back, got on my bike and quickly rode home, considering I didn't want to be late for curfew again. If I was late for curfew one more time, I'd get grounded. Being grounded fucking sucked.
I rounded the corner to my street and swiftly glided into my driveway, walking my bike around to the back before shutting and locking the gate. As I walked into my house, trying to be quiet so I didn't wake my brothers and sisters. I tip-toed past the family room when I noticed my step-dad Paul sitting there reading the paper. I tried to sneak past him to get to my room when I stepped on a squeaky floorboard. His head snapped up instantly, a look of anger on his face, "Where the hell were you, huh?" I rolled my eyes at him and continued walking, "Answer me when I'm talking to you!" Fuck I hate my step-dad. He thinks that just because he's married to my mom that he can just fucking boss me around all the time. In fact, he dictates when I have to be home and what I have to do when I am home. He's such a fucking tool so I talk to him as little as I possibly can. He acts all high-and-mighty and he thinks he has the authority and the right to boss me around. Haha, yeah right. He's not my fucking father.
"I was at band practice, Paul. Fuck, I left a note!"
"Whatever, Billie Joe, don't be late for curfew again," he finished sharply.
"I was like 2 fucking minutes late man, calm down!" I raised my voice, already pissed off. I really did not know what my mom saw in this guy, he's a complete tool.
"Get out of my sight, kid."
"Gladly!" I said out loud. "Prick," I whispered under my breath as I made my way to my room.
My alarm clock rang loudly, signaling for me to get out of bed. Since it was a Saturday I usually slept in, but Sweet Children's second gig was today so we had one last rehearsal before we went to the concert hall. Honestly, the only thing not keeping me in bed and sleeping my day away was the fact that we were playing a show today and we had the opportunity to kick some ass.
I groggily slumped out of my room, rubbing the sleep from my eyes with a loose fist. I went to the kitchen and checked the fridge for a quick snack before I had to leave for Al's again for one final practice before tonight's show. I was really fucking stoked for this one in particular because we were playing alongside another band that I'd never met before, The Lookouts. I grabbed a slice of leftover pizza out of the fridge and sat down at the table. I noticed yesterday's paper was still on the table, so I picked it up quickly fliping through the pages, occasionally reading an article that sparked my interest. I finished the last bite of my pizza, brushed the crumbs off my hands and shirt and went to my room. I threw Blue in his bag and slung him over my shoulder before writing another note that read, "going to Al's to practice for tonight's show, it's at Anderson's Bar. I'll be home after midnight. Love Billie." I dropped it off on the kitchen table before quietly leaving out the back door, then I mounted my bike with Blue strapped to my back and rode over to Al's.
This time I just knocked on the garage door, not really wanting to be awkwardly standing in his house while I waited for him to retrieve me. Al opened the garage door with a small introductory smile on his face, gesturing with his hand for me to enter. I returned the smile, slinging Blue off my back and carefully taking him out of his carrying case; after all, my dad gave him to me. He means a lot to me. I took my amp cord out of the same bag and plugged him in; the familiar feedback-y, buzzing noise coming from the amp calmed me and helped me to clear my head.
"So what songs do we have to clean up for tonight?" I asked, sort of wanting to get going as soon as possible.
"Well we need to work on our timing for September and the crazy one, so..." Al finished, "you ready?" When we nodded, he clacked his drumsticks together 4 times to count us in.
"One, two, three, four!" we chanted before we started to play our respective instruments in unison, sounding very much together for the first time in what seemed like a long time. We were playing very exuberantly, knowing that we were going to really kick some ass tonight. As I played the last few chords of the song, my band mates and I erupted into a chorus of clapping, cheering and laughter. We made our rounds, high-fiving and hugging each other, quickly realizing it was time to pack up our stuff and hitch a ride to Anderson's Bar.
I had just finished packing up Blue when Al took the initiative to ask his mom if she could drive us there now. It was a few hours before the gig started but we needed time to set up, maybe get in a few minutes of practice and even allotted some time for technical difficulties. Al came back into the garage a few minutes later and we opened up the garage door. We wheeled our amps and drum kit to Mrs. Kieffmeyer's '82 station-wagon and waited for her to unlock the doors so we could load our gear and go as quickly as possible. She came out in just a few seconds, humming an unfamiliar tune with her keys jingling wildly. She unlocked all of the doors and the back hatch before she got in the driver's seat and started the ignition. We hastily loaded our equipment into Mrs. K's car and then piled in, with Al in the front, considering his mom was driving. We stayed fairly quiet throughout the duration of the car ride, Al and his mother making small talk regarding school and other shit.
We pulled into Anderson's Bar parking lot and unloaded our band equipment from the vehicle. We grabbed our own equipment from the trunk of the car and waved Mrs. Kieffmeyer off with a quiet 'thanks for the ride' and a wave of the hand.
After being at the venue for about an hour and setting up the equipment in preparation for tonight's show, we headed out back to the stage door. During our approach when we noticed 4 other guys about our age bringing in their equipment, "Excuse me guys, are you The Lookouts?" I asked cautiously, not knowing what they were like or if they even were who I figured they'd be.
The smallest, crazy looking one turned around and replied with a quick, "That depends on who's asking," he finished with a sly wink. He was a petite boy, probably about 16 or 17, with caring blue eyes, a defined jaw line and insanely colorful, messy hair. Not bad.
"Umm, we're Sweet Children, we're playing alongside you guys tonight?"
The band member extended his hand out towards me, "I'm Frank Edwin Wright III, but everyone calls me Tre." I grabbed hold of his hand and shook it gently. It felt warm and inviting, as if a jolt of electricity was coursing through my veins.
"Billie Joe Armstrong, nice to meet you. So what's your setlist like tonight? You guys any good or what?" I was taken aback when he started chuckling under his breath.
"Yeah man, we're good. We're alright I guess. How about you? You guys fucking ready to rock the house?" I smiled brightly; I could easily see myself being friends with this guy, no problem. "Oh shit, we've gotta get a move on, curtain rises in 20 minutes! Let's go, let's go!" Tre exclaimed before rushing away to help unload the rest of his band's equipment.
I grabbed my amp by the handle and messily carried it in, struggling due to how fucking crowded this god damn hallway was. Something I'll never wrap my head around is why every band member, bar owner, sound guy and dirty little groupie had to be backstage all at the same time. It's just fucking annoying having to weave in and out of a billion people when you're trying to get set up.
After dropping off my amp beside the stage, I felt my anxiety kicking in; last time we'd done a show was 6 months ago and I wasn't ready for tonight, mentally I mean. I was isolating myself so that I could clear my mind. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind so that I didn't psych myself out.
I think my band figured I was sort of zoned out because I was just sitting down on an overturned bucket staring at the wall. Truth is, I was fucking nervous for tonight. Music was my everything, my vice. If we did terribly today I'm not sure we'd ever make it in the business, and if we failed because of me, I'd never forgive myself. Al and Mike wouldn't forgive me either, probably.
I was shocked when a disheveled mop of colored hair peeked around the corner and spotted me, so I turned to see who it was. I realized that it was that uhh... Tre guy, from The Lookouts. He approached me happily, his personality seemingly cheerful. He knelt down beside the stool and said, "Billie, what's wrong, man? Nervous?" I looked into his friendly blue eyes and embarrassingly nodded before diverting my gaze down towards my hands which were folded in my lap.
Tre grabbed my knee and squeezed gently, reassuringly, "Oh come on, you'll be great dude! Just relax, you're going to do just fine. Now hurry up, just a few more minutes to go! Whoo!" Tre jumped upright, clapping his hands excitedly before heading towards his band. I sighed exasperatedly and made my way to my band.
Surprisingly, we got all of our equipment set up right on time. I shook my head one final time to clear it, glad I didn't have to unload more equipment. As I heard the emcee introduce us and the curtain rose, I adjusted my guitar strap and nervously looked around. Noticing Tre looking at me, I caught his eye, and he gave me a thumbs up and an encouraging smile. I couldn't help but smile back before I turned to face the crowd.
It wasn't long before we got lost in the music, my brain hanging onto every note as if it was the last time I'd ever hear music ever again...
Just after we'd wrapped up our final song, the average-sized crowd of about 60 or so erupted into a chorus of clapping and hollering. I glanced around the crowd, recognizing a few faces from around town and from school and I couldn't help but smile from ear-to-ear. This crowd was to be expected, consisting mostly of middle-aged men with dated hairstyles and trampy girls. What else do you expect at a California bar?
I was extremely pleased with how tonight's performance went, but it was now time to exit the stage. The club allotted only 15 minutes for each band to set up, so we hastily left the stage, taking our equipment before the curtain closed temporarily. We rushed off the stage platform, hastily grabbing our respective equipment and relocating it out of the way of everyone else who needed to get their equipment set up.
As we got backstage, we yelled 'whoo!'s and 'oh yeah!'s and other encouraging things to each other. We gathered for a brief group hug before we separated and moved out of the way so that The Lookouts could set up their equipment.
Al was talking animatedly with Mike, probably about the show, which left me alone backstage. That's when I noticed Tre coming up to me, hand raised high in the air. I calmly gave him a high-five and smiled, looking down. For whatever reason I was nervous around this guy, what the fuck is wrong with me? There's no way he's into me.
"You guys did great tonight! I don't think we can live up to that man, haha," Tre noted before motioning for us to sit down on an old, beat-up sofa with coffee stains on it. We sat down simultaneously, and that's when we started talking; really talking. "So, Billie, where ya from?"
"I'm from right here in Oakland, what about you?"
"Well I was born in Germany but I live just outside of Oakland, in el Sobrante." He finished his statement with a slight nod.
"Oh that's cool, our drum player lives there!" I said, loudly calling Al's name to get his attention. He looked at us for a split second, waved, then turned back to Mike to continue their previous conversation. We were exchanging some small talk just as I heard his bandmates calling him, to say they were on in a few minutes, to 'hurry his ass up'.
"Hey, I should let you go, they're waiting on you. This was fun, I hope we can meet up again sometime..." I finished loosely, not wanting to sound too desperate.
Tre nodded exuberantly, replying, "Yeah, man, I'd love that! Could I have your phone number real quick?" he asked, pulling his crumpled setlist out of his pocket and grabbing a pen off the table next to the ratty old sofa. He looked up at me, prompting me to tell him my number.
"Uhh, it's 413-7823. Yeah," I finished lamely.
"Sweet, thanks! Call you tomorrow, around 11ish?"
I nodded, "Sounds good, talk to you then. It was nice meeting you, Tre." I extended my arm out in front of me, offering a handshake. Once again Tre's warm hand embraced mine tightly and shook it firmly.
"Talk to you later, BJ." He replied before winking, abruptly letting go and walking away.
Why I was looking forward to tomorrow at 11 so much was beyond me, but I had to say: this guy is unlike anyone else I've ever met.