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Hey, guys.
So this is an incredibly spontaneous turn for me. I usually work on fics for much larger fandoms.
Well to make a long story short, I've been going through some shit. American Idiot is one of my favorite albums. Green Day is my all time favorite band. Their music gets me in a way very few people do. Whatsername is one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking songs in existence. I thought of a scenario, however unlikely, in which JOS and Whatsername might accidentally run into each other and how that might play out.
This was also partially inspired by Billie Joe Armstrong's experience reconnecting with Amanda, the woman and ex-girlfriend Whatsername is supposedly based on. I know it affected the man quite deeply. Before and after his success as a rock star.
While I can't know what happened in that conversation, I couldn't resist writing this short little story featuring Jesus of Suburbia and Whatsername. It was therapy for me too.
So while I don't expect many hits or much attention, for whoever reads this, thank you for stopping by and I hope you enjoy.
The Wasp presents
Whatsername
Thought I ran into you down on the street
He did a double take. It had been so long. Was it really her?
Then it turned out to only be a dream
No. Nothing. Just a hallucination. A mirage. Must have been the California heat.
The self proclaimed, former Jesus of Suburbia made his way down the block and over to where his car had sat in the sun all day long. An obnoxious ticket lay tucked into the windshield wipers. Great. Fucking assholes.
He ripped the ticket in half. The legal system could take it up with someone who cared. Being ten minutes later on the meter didn't merit a two hundred dollar fine.
The ignition shook, the engine roared to life. Another vehicle narrowly missed hitting him despite having the clear right of way as he pulled out. People in Jingletown were straight up nuts sometimes.
There it was. That familiar pull of irritation, almost like straining a muscle or putting weight on a bad knee that had once gone through surgery. An old ache. He'd never really liked this town nestled in the mediocrity of suburban America. But it was home. For better or worse, he'd made his peace a long time ago.
But not with everything.
I made a point to burn all of the photographs
He'd buried her memory as well as one could. But scars heal, they don't disappear. Once in a blue moon in dark vestiges of vulnerability, she'd appear in his head.
She went away and then I took a different path
'Nobody likes you, everyone left you, they're all out without you, having fun.' Like pouring a lemon juice in a particularly nasty papercut. Those words were etched into the wall of his soul. A permanent monument to everything he'd lost.
I remember the face but I can't recall the name
How could he forget? How could anyone? That's what love did to a person, confound it all. Those tantalizing porcelain features, ruby red hair, lips that could make him melt with just a single touch placed on his neck. Pleated skirt, fishnets, and eyes that could level the very foundations of the city itself. The true rebel, a saint, salt of the earth and dangerous to boot. A glorious symbol of resistance.
Now I wonder how Whatsername has been
He took a left onto a backroad to avoid the traffic despite it being a longer way home. He had time. Time to think.
Seems that she disappeared without a trace
There had been no way to contact her afterwards. His alcohol and drug addled brain never asked her about where she came from, relatives, or anything else really. Not even so much as a cell phone number. She'd left just as quickly as she came. A shooting star over the horizon of the hill. Vanishing into nothing.
Did she ever marry ol' Whathisface
To be frank, she'd been opposed to traditionalism. Whatsername didn't conform to the standards society tried to set out for everyone: go to college, marry, have kids, buy a house and all that crap. That's what he loved about her. The unwillingness to play by the rules and settle for anything less than what she wanted. He thought himself as the same kind of person. But in truth, she was the principled one. The proof was in the pudding.
I made a point to burn all of the photographs
It wouldn't do for his wife to find mementos of an old flame. At least that's what he told himself.
She went away and I took a different path
The path of banality. The path he'd once done everything in his power to avoid. But that was the truth of the matter. No matter what you did or where you went, it all ended up the same.
Now I wonder how Whatsername has been
A deep breath. A tortuous sigh. In weaker moments he replayed the same scenario over and over again like a broken record player. An attempt to look out the window and take in scenes of buildings, trees, and small birds passing by did nothing to alleviate the pain. They were distractions swept aside by a current of regret and 'what ifs'.
He turned on the radio hoping that music might be able to give relaxation. To provide some comfort or meaning to this awful sense of hopelessness and desperation. But the radio was next to useless. As if to torture him further, a punk rock station came online, the genre of his juvenile past. He switched it over to classical music but hated it just as much. Alternative, country, rock, pop…nothing could give him the relief he sought.
Remember, whatever. It seems like forever ago
Youth was fleeting. Even in his early thirties, a lifetime of events and pain seemed to separate the self destructive, nineteen year old brat who glorified the underbelly of society from the married, working stiff he later became.
Remember, whatever. It seems like forever ago
And he did remember. He remembered all of it. Running away, living in the city, meeting her, touching her, kissing her, the drugs, the booze, the music, the breakup, the letterbomb right down to touching his converse all stars on the concrete of Jingletown where it all started.
The regrets are useless in my mind, she's in my head I must confess
No matter how hard he tried, no singular phenomenon or any part of his senses could break his fixation away from the source of heartache. She. Her. A girl. One he'd allowed to get away.
The regrets are useless in my mind, she's in my head so long ago
This road seemed to go on for fucking ever. It didn't resemble anything like the route to his house. Only an endless path to nowhere. An eternity wallowing in sorrow.
Go
Go
Go
Go
Tires screeched as he pushed the car faster. The irrational and rational warred for control: the part that told him he could drive fast enough to erase everything away and the other that knew such an erratic gesture equated to pathetic futility.
Go
Go
Go
Go
Go
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Everything seemed to spiral all at once. Something the size of an anvil sat on his chest. A crushing weight beyond his ability to move.
And then the tears began to fall. Slow, soft, and uncontrollable.
And in the darkest night, if my memory serves me right
Hours later he was home alone with a bottle of Remy Martin. He seldom drank anymore. It didn't really do much. All it could do was numb. Just like novocaine. But the ability to forget seemed to be a power it knew not. Amnesia eluded him.
I'll never turn back time
No. Even with the incredible pain coursing through his body, even after everything that had happened and the suffering endured because of it…he wouldn't change a goddamn thing.
Forgetting you but not the time
He took a sip of the cognac and downed it without difficulty. Glass number six or seven maybe? Who could remember?'
Oh, the irony. Underneath it all, in the midst of a thicket of bullshit, pain, denial, and everything in between…he hadn't forgotten. He remembered her name. He just chose to pretend he didn't. It'd been scratched out and replaced with a more ambiguous substitute: Whatsername.
The rebel girl he'd loved more than life itself…and not loved enough. Not above himself or his hubris, selfishness and glorification of anarchy. She'd come second to all of that. And before he could come out of the drug fueled haze, before sanity was eventually restored…she'd gone. Unable and unwilling to play second fiddle to a poser with a made up alter ego.
He didn't bother getting up from the reclining chair stationed in his office. Sleep whisked him away into sweet nothingness. The only medicine capable of taking away the hurt.
But not the memory.
Hangovers sucked.
He couldn't recover from them like he used to. Being young brought so many conflicting boons and shackles. Once upon a time, he could inject himself with any kind of drug imaginable, wake up the next day, have sex, play guitar, stay up all night with the underbelly and repeat the process. No longer.
He'd taken the day off. It wasn't a big deal since it was the first time he'd called out in three years. They could do without him for one day.
"How may I help you, sir?"
"One black coffee, please. Grande."
Starbucks. The motherload of teenage girls in uggs prattling on about lattes and the old fucks like himself who needed a hangover cure. A hankering for a cigarette came and went. No use in taking up smoking again. Whatsername never…
He paused. No, one day dwelling on the past was enough. Two? Unacceptable. It did no good, least of all his sanity. Perhaps seeing that therapist again might help, his wife had been urging him to do so for a while now. And the kids shouldn't have to see him in such a defeated, morbid state.
Oh therapy can you please fill the void?
No, it wouldn't. Not in this instance. The smell of muffins might induce hunger, ten cups of coffee could wake him up, and those prattling girls a nuisance he could muse about privately. But closure wasn't coming. She wasn't walking back through that door and into his life again. The only remedy was to push forward and put the bullshit aside as much as possible. Most days he could do it.
Most days.
"Here you are, sir."
The barista smiled kindly as he paid. She was pretty. A lovely young woman with a nose ring, a couple of tattoos, streaks of red in her brown hair…
No. Stop. STOP!
"Thank you."
He quickly grabbed the coffee, indifferent to the way it burned his hand without the protective cardboard holder. This was getting out of hand. He needed to go for a walk. Yes, fresh air would do him so good. Take his mind off things.
So eager he was to quickly step away from the line, he almost didn't notice a familiar, unforgettable voice order behind him.
"A venti cappuccino, please."
That voice. That misleading honey laced tone mixed with the iron willed no nonsense of someone who took shit from no person. He turned around, hardly daring to believe his ears. Had he taken leave of reality? Was this another trick of the mind?
Upon seeing the woman in front of him, his heart nearly stopped. It..it was her. No other possibility existed. Surely such fortune never visited hapless souls such as himself? The Jesus of Suburbia. Duke of destruction. King of fools. Jester to St. Jimmy. A fleeting glimpse of a gift to be cruelly snatched away by karmic justice.
And yet, the more he studied her, the more he became convinced.
She had matured, not aged. Hardly a blemish maligned those delicate porcelain features except for a spot of rosiness he could only assume to be blush. Makeup was light but accentuated her best features. The cat eye liner. Always a signature.
He studied her closer still. That ruby red hair was now her natural blonde. Actually, come to think of it, he didn't know what her natural color had been. Yet another piece of information that never crossed his mind during their time together.
The attire represented the greatest change. Gone were the nose piercings, short red skirt, and 'NOFX' crop top. Replacing it was a simple green top, a pair of jeans, ripped albeit near the knee, and some casual black boots. The hair was a bit longer- down to the shoulders instead of near the chin. And that choker, the black choker that always clung to her neck, had survived the attrition of growing up.
Still, he refused to believe it. What were the odds? Showing up in a corporate coffee shop in Jingletown, USA. After all this time, God decided to fuck with him further? Cruel and capricious. Just like those religious nuts always talked about.
All the same, he could not stop staring. His eyes frantically searched for the distinctive markings. The black skull and crossbones tattoo on her right arm. Except she faced the opposite side making it impossible to see.
Come on, turn around…please
He couldn't remember desiring something so bad in ages. A measured voice of reason told him he was likely staring too long verging on creepiness. But it succumbed to that burning impulse to know. Was this his long lost love?
"Here you are, miss."
"Thank you."
At long last, the opening he was waiting for. She dropped her purse on the way to the register and had to turn to pick it up. As she did so, the right arm came into view. So did that familiar tattoo. The unshakeable weight crushing his chest since the prior day shattered into a million tiny pieces.
It's her
With recognition came more recognition as their eyes locked. Not a word was spoken. What on earth could be said?
As the silence became unbearable, so did the pressure to say something. Anything at all. Once upon a time they could talk for hours into the night. Now apparently their mutual grasp of English had been reduced to nothing.
No lie gleamed those dazzling eyes. She knew it was him just as he knew it was her. And why did it seem so hot in here all of a sudden? Surely, the coffee might have something to do with it. Yes, that's it. And the fact his throat felt like sandpaper. Beautiful.
Finally he uttered a single word which resembled a bullfrog's croak more than human speech.
"Hey."
The following silence was even more unbearable than the initial one. At least the potential to fuck up the introduction had been one of many possible 'outcomes' instead of the only outcome. Curse him and his stupid mouth.
"Hey."
Hers was softer and much more homosapien sounding. At the very least she hadn't run away in disgust…then he spoke too soon.
As if overcome with a series of emotions too difficult to handle, she suddenly turned without taking her coffee and headed towards the exit. And with her any chance of putting things right.
He watched in a twisted sort of slow motion, the kind that paralyzes people to the point of indecision only to regret the lack of courage later on. A horrible, creeping deja vu swept over him. The dummy was going to fail the crash test a second time and he felt equally as powerless to stop it this go around.
And then the paralyzing stupor ended, time began to move properly, and with it came a unique kind of clarity. He couldn't let it end like this. Not again. The risk of not going after her outweighed any anxieties surrounding a potential fallout. He'd prefer something…anything to how circumstances played out the first time. No letterbombs, no regrets. She'd walked out on him the first time without being able to do anything about it.
Fuck this
"Wait," he called after her. It felt devoid of any command or beckoning. There was no anger or drug fueled sneer. For this reason, she stopped.
He walked a few paces until they only stood a few feet apart. A few of the patrons were snooping in on the drama, including the barista but they may as well have been trees on a sidewalk for all he cared.
Stopping short of any potential violation of personal space, he allowed her to turn around and face him again. She waited with bated breath and more than a bit of fear given their mutual past. He could hardly blame her for that reaction. Which is why he asked the next question as gently as possible.
"Would it be alright…" he took a small breath and swallowed. "If we talked?"
Little by little her nod in the affirmative became more pronounced.
"I'd like that."
The hardest part was over…or at least what he originally thought to be the hardest part. Convincing Whatsername to hear him out felt like climbing Mount Everest. Now that they'd sat down at a quiet little breakfast joint outside in the warm, serene California sun…well he suddenly didn't know what the hell he was going to say.
She'd agreed to brunch. Her schedule allowed for it. Or maybe she was skiving off something just like he was. It didn't matter much.
Words, please don't fucking fail me
"So…"
"So…"
Yep, this was already going great. Thirteen years and just as eloquent ever.
"What's up?"
Fuck. So lame. She knew it too.
"Maybe this was a mistake."
He didn't deny it.
"Maybe."
Still, however strong the urge to leave may have been, she remained rooted to her chair. The waiter had already taken their drink orders. But food stood outside the realm of subjects currently on the brain.
There were so many. Where to begin?
Whatsername began twirling her hair in that adorable way he'd noticed way back when. Some things never changed. But too much had not to talk about it. Something needed to give.
"So uh…what are you doing for work these days?"
"I'm the owner of a global non profit. We help girls in northern Nigeria attend school, pay for their books, supplies, etc. I also do consulting on the side for survivors of sexual assault."
Goddamn. A true hero right until the end. No part of him was surprised at the outcome.
"What about you?"
"Talent acquisition at a record company. I'm the leader of a scouting team looking for new groups to sign."
"Punk rock?"
"Do you know me to enjoy any other genre?"
She laughed. A small, fleeting noise but a laugh nonetheless. Its music struck more powerfully than any power chord.
"Signed anyone good?"
"Yeah…I'd say so. We've had a half dozen platinum albums. Twice the gold. Multiple world tours, big bucks…all that."
Her mouth gave an uptick. A sign of respect maybe? She usually didn't hold back in letting you know how things were. Many girls were reserved, even demure. Society's doing he supposed. But not for Whatsername.
"Sounds like you've done quite well for yourself."
He took a sip of water that did nothing to quench his parched throat.
"I think you've done a lot better than me."
"Why would you say that?"
She tilted her head ever so slightly, wondering where the conversation was headed.
"Because what you do is selfless."
"You help people find their creative pursuits."
"I use their talent to make money. Hardly all that noble."
She bit her lip and looked away before turning back.
"You don't have to be so cynical about everything."
"Is that why you left?"
There it was. The real question. Actually, not so much a question as an accusation. Why did you have to hurt me? Why wasn't I good enough? He knew the answers already but the heart overruled the mind.
Then he pulled back before fucking up even more.
"No, don't answer that," he said as her face contorted to give a blunt, snarky reply. "I know why you bailed. I would have done the same thing."
"But you resent me for it," she countered evenly.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
Deep seated anger bubbled ever so briefly before cooling. He wasn't here to fight. Or to assert moral superiority which he could never do in the first place against someone like her.
"I don't resent you anywhere close to the amount that I resent myself."
If he expected sympathy, which he didn't, there was none to be found. A hardened, steely eyed look entered those dazzling, electrifying blue eyes.
"I'm not going to sit back and indulge your pity party. I meant every word in that letter I wrote to you. Imagine…" she choked back an emotional gasp before continuing. "All you cared about was drugs and that godforsaken psychopathic persona that clearly took precedence over our relationship. I was miserable. You'll forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical."
He couldn't help but snort. Old habits die hard. She brought it out in him.
"Would I really be sitting here in a white button up and dad jeans if I was the same idiot all those years ago?"
"Maybe, maybe not." Her tone was still quite unforgiving. "But I believed in you. Everyone did. And it all turned out to be a sham. I wasn't going to keep doing that stupid bullshit anymore. I needed to get out. I needed a fresh start. Away from punk rock, away from the empty words…away from you."
Words. They cut deep. The old Jesus of Suburbia might have taken exception. St. Jimmy would have flown into rage. But he wasn't either of those things anymore. Just another average white guy trying to make ends meet. He accepted her candor without prejudice.
"I'm sorry," was all he could muster. Then she said something unexpected.
"Me too."
He performed a double take.
"Huh?"
"Look…I wasn't perfect either. You're talking to the daughter of a teacher and a lumber worker that busted their asses to ensure I had a better life than they did…only for my father to lose all the college money they'd saved up to a gambling addiction. When I figured out that my only options were stripping or marrying at eighteen and relying on a man to take care of me, I fucked off, took a bus to California and met you."
He blinked a couple times, taking in those words empathetically.
"I never knew that."
"There's a lot of things we didn't know about each other. Our time together never covered very much beyond infatuation."
"That's not how I saw it."
"Then how did you?"
The question felt more like a test. A measuring stick of how much he'd actually learned from his time as a strung out street kid too entrenched in his own narcissism. Harsh maybe. Not entirely untrue. He couldn't handle the truth Whatsername tried to impart those many years ago. No illusions were held about that now.
"You represented everything I wanted to be: a kickass revolutionist that didn't take shit from anybody. A true rebel. While everyone looked to me…they should have been looking to you."
She said nothing, her silence indicative for him to continue.
"But that's not what I really wanted deep down. Because deep down, I was just a scared, angry kid with daddy issues and a taste for suicidal tendencies. I needed to numb myself with anything I could get my hands on…weed, coke, booze, heroin…self destruction."
There was a lot to unpack with that statement and he expected her to pick it apart with her usual sharp wit and uncanny ability to read him like a book. But she didn't. Not this time. Instead, she asked a question.
"Daddy issues?"
Just as he'd never bothered to learn much about her, so it was the same with him.
"My father died when I was ten from esophageal cancer."
"Oh my God, I'm-"
"You don't need to be sorry. You didn't know. And it doesn't excuse how I treated our relationship."
She gave an understanding nod. This one did contain sympathy. She was about to respond until the waiter came back asking if they knew what they'd like to order. Two servings of eggs benedict and sausages did the trick. One thing they shared in common unaffected by the years gone by.
"I never thought I'd actually end up appreciating this place," he observed looking around. It was perfectly normal- people walked by, arms laden with shopping. Men and women held hands, some even had strollers with little bundles of joy inside. Birds sang their songs and children laughed in the park nearby. The perfect embodiment of suburban peace.
"Wait…you're actually from here?" Whatsername asked curiously..
"Yeah? I thought you were aware of that."
"I just…" she paused, in a rare attempt at diplomacy. "The way you always talked about where you grew up and hating it…I dunno, I figured you were from some rinky dink hick town from nowhere Indiana like me."
"Nope. Just your average kid from suburbia who wanted to escape."
Hence my title
"You didn't exactly go far," she observed in her usual pointed manner. He gave a short chuckle.
"The irony is not lost on me."
She gave a wistful smile. Even a small noise of appreciation of her own.
"You really have changed, haven't you?"
"Getting married and having kids will do that to you."
"Really? What are their names?"
He proceeded to take a picture out of his wallet and explain to her how he met his wife, the names of his children, their ages, likes, dislikes, everything under the sun. And how he loved them despite internal difficulties at times.
"What about you?" he asked. "You always said marriage was patriarchal."
"Well…let's just say you're not the only one who grew up."
"Do my ears deceive me? The almighty feminist gave in and sold her soul to a man?"
She laughed clear and true this time. He hadn't heard the beautiful sound in years. It soothed his soul as Whatsername spoke of her husband and all the qualities that made him an ideal partner.
"We don't have kids of our own. That part didn't change," she added with a coy smile. "But seeing you with your wife and sons…it gets me thinking."
"About?"
"What might have been."
The pause between them became potent but not awkward. He'd considered a life with her and what it possibly looked like. She all but confirmed being of the same mind. To be human in all the painstaking, messy ways. Life, love, mistakes, and regrets all rolled into one.
"I didn't think you thought all that highly of our relationship."
"What we had was fucked up and unhealthy. That doesn't mean it also wasn't real."
He blinked a few times to make sure he heard her correctly.
"So when you letterbombed me…"
"I don't regret leaving," she affirmed. "But don't think for a second it didn't affect me too. It did."
She really was the most extraordinary girl. That uncanny ability to cut out your heart and hold onto it like a hand grenade. It was a sensational feeling words could scarcely describe. One he had no ability to defy.
But…with time came wisdom. And so did the maturation of the nineteen year old suburban savior.
"Honestly, you taking off like that was probably the best thing that ever could have happened to me."
He quickly elaborated. She didn't look hurt but sufficiently intrigued.
"It sucked. It hurt. There've been times where I can barely get up in the morning because no matter how hard I try to forget, once in a while your face pops into my head and stays there all day long. Then I end up sitting alone in a chair drinking whatever's available in my liquor cabinet at the time with no one else to blame but myself."
Nobody likes you
Everyone left you
They're all out without you
Having fun
"By the same token, it was necessary. I can sit here and cry all day long about you leaving. The truth is, I lost you not the other way around. I wasn't going to change without a serious reality check and a major kick in the ass. The second you departed, I hit the ground running. Left the shitass city behind, got a job, reconnected with a high school flame, quit the drugs, and never set foot inside that fucking 7/11 ever again."
Home…we're coming home again
Whatsername gave a rueful smile in response and began blinking back tears.
"Life can be so cruel."
"It's the only way we learn sometimes. At least for me."
Her eyes locked onto his again with such force it was a wonder he stood upright in his chair. They'd long since forgotten about any food, the eggs benedict totally untouched.
"Do you really believe that?"
"I don't know much in this life," he said frankly. "As a teenager, you think you know everything and then you figure out how little that knowledge really is. But I can say this: despite how insane things got, through all the bullshit before and after…I never stopped loving you."
The reply came in the smallest voice he'd ever heard her use.
"Neither did I."
For an undetermined amount of time, both sat like waxworks in a Madame Tussaud's exhibit. It seemed a bittersweet end to a bittersweet conversation. Totally unexpected, raw, and cutting. But if either had misgivings, they were not spoken on this day.
The ringing of the cell phone cut in. It was hers.
"That's my business partner probably wondering where I am."
"So you did skip work to have brunch with me."
"We were due for a meeting with a prospective investor an hour ago," she explained. "Going to have to make up for that somehow."
"I have no doubt you will."
She began scrummaging inside her purse for enough money to cover the check but he held up a hand.
"It's okay…I got it. You have someplace to be."
An intense expression of gratitude crossed her beautiful features. She didn't need to thank him aloud. It was already implied. And besides, he needed to thank her…for everything.
"Hey I wanted to-"
"No- I mean listen," she recovered after standing up and tucking loose blonde strands behind her ears. "The last thing I ever thought I'd do today was run into you. Now that we have…I don't want to walk away without a goodbye again. Not this time."
A massive lump pulsated in his throat as he stood up alongside her.
"Yeah…" he was barely holding it together at this point. "Yeah, me too."
The hug was simultaneous, mutual, and utterly gentle. Both of them cried silently into each other's arms, washing away years of pain, regret, and mistakes. A dove carrying an olive branch to something new and wonderful. When they broke apart, each of them wore an emotional, watery smile.
"I have to go," she said, wiping the salty discharge away.
She's all alone again
Wiping the tears from her eyes
No, not alone. Not the fucked up kind of tears. This was different. He felt joy, not the substance fueled batte of rage and love. Those baby blues weren't fearful or burned out. She didn't carry the look of someone seeking to vanish without a trace.
"Here's my number. I live a few hours to the south of here and often have business in the city. Let's do this again, okay?"
He took the number, folded it and stuck it inside his jeans pocket.
"Yeah…yeah I'd like that."
With one last quick hug, she waved goodbye.
"See you later, okay?"
As she turned the corner and left his line of sight, something warm spread throughout his chest in contrast to the heavy, crushing weight experienced earlier. It felt far more cathartic.
I remember the face but I can't recall the name
He took out the piece of paper and saw she'd scribbled her signature at the bottom.
Forgetting you but not the time
And he remembered because now there was no point in forgetting. He remembered the good times, the bad, right down to the recent brunch which only just ended. He didn't have to drink away or suppress that dull ache of pain throbbing in the darkest corners of his heart. It appeared to have gone somewhere. But not here.
And the former Jesus of Suburbia knew then and there things would be alright. The wife probably wanted him to pick up some food later for dinner. The kids needed to be picked up from basketball practice. All in a good day's work for a dad. The average day in average Jingletown.
For the first time since he could recall, that didn't feel like a bad thing.
I remember the face, I remember the name
Whatsername. The hero, the rebel, the saint. The salt of the earth and dangerous. A friend.
He beamed a great smile.
"See you later."
The End