Forgetting You But Not The Time || Real Life

January 1998

"Billie pass the weed!" I heard from somewhere in the room. I wasn't completely sure who it was or where the voice came from. I felt the couch next to me sink in and the joint was ripped from my fingers. I didn't care, I just let my hand drop to my side and laid my head back on the couch, while my feet rest at an awkward angle in my beat up converse. Everything was a blur and I couldn't find the rest of my band but it that moment in time I certainly did not care, I just wanted to stay on that couch forever. I had let down my entire family. Spencer wanted absolutely nothing to do with me anymore, my mother completely disowned me, the rest of my siblings who had once loved me had all left me. My sisters moved to the east coast, Dexter went off to join the military, my mother stayed in that same house, and Spencer, well Spencer went down the same road as my father, he had kids at 20 and became the abusive father he swore he'd never become, later on his wife had enough of it and she killed him, she's now in prison and their kids are in foster care.
"I'll be right back." I slide off the couch and make my way up the stairs and out the door. I managed to find my bike and wheeled it to the street. I straddled the bike and placed a firm grip on the handle bars. I put one foot on the highest pedal and pushed off, I flew by the small California town. The street lamps merging together in one continuous blur, the houses blending into colors as I flew by, the silent screams from abused wives and children by windows. I needed a way out, I needed out of this town. I slowed my bike and came to a stop outside a house. She had stayed, still in her parents house, along with the boy, I watched as the happy family inside the house had dinner, I looked down at my torn jeans, t-shirt that was slightly too big, black hoodie that was larger, beat up dirty shoes, hood over my head, old rusty bike I've had since I was 13. I looked back up, she with her long blonde hair, beautiful sweater, clean, nice pants, her hoop earrings, the expensive boots. I went back to the day we met in '89.
She had short, shaggy blonde hair, her Joy Division shirt was 2 sizes too big, her pants were baggy, her dirty, beat up shoes, and she was alone eating a sandwich at my lunch table. My own jeans too big for my small frame, my Nirvana shirt sagging a little low, my shoes dirty from not caring, may hair short, dark, and curly. We looked like a couple of pre pubescent boys.
My mind comes back to me and I notice that tears are falling from my bloodshot eyes. I speed off into the sunset not wanting to ruin the happy picture through the window. I jump off my bike at the playground and toss it to the side, I run to the swings and fall against one. The tears hadn't stopped falling since her house, I couldn't breathe and everything was going fuzzy. I tried to convince myself it was the drugs, but deep down I knew what was happening. My hands began to shake against the swing chains and my legs were growing weak even though I was sitting. My head was pounding and I felt like dying. The weed probably hadn't helped with this. I hurled myself off the swing and landed on my hands and knees, throwing up on the ground. I rolled onto my side and couldn't help but cry some more.
"Do you have the time, to listen to me whine?" My voice cracked as I sang the song. I was laying next to a puddle of my own vomit, my bike laying a few feet away in the grass. The sun had set and my band hadn't come to look for me so I stayed there for a long time.
...
I woke up the next morning with a massive headache and the sun shining right in my eyes.
"Jesus where the hell am I?" I look around to find my bike laying in the grass a few feet away from me and myself laying in the dirt. I got off the ground and grabbed my bike. I put a hand in my pocket and felt something, it was a photograph. 2 kids, one with short dark curly hair, a t-shirt about 2 sizes too big, baggy jeans, and beat up shoes. And one with short, shaggy blonde hair, a large shirt, pants also slightly too big, and a second pair of beat up sneakers. I shoved the picture back in my pocket and sped off towards the nearest street corner. I propped my bike against the street sign and took the picture back out. By now it had started to rain so I wasn't completely sure how well my idea was going to work. I pulled a lighter out of my pocket and set the picture on fire. I dropped the paper on the ground and watched it burn as the rain poured down. The rain stopped the photo from burning completely, so I picked it up and tossed it into a puddle and watched the rain carry it down the street.