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It was just a normal day today, except, it wasn’t. February 14th, if that helps. I’ve been trying to keep cool for the past 3 hours that I’ve been awake, but it’s very difficult to, especially for Skye’s sake. I’ve made reservations about the date and all, but I haven’t gotten flowers or grabbed a box of regular chocolates or even done usual grocery shopping. Plus, I haven’t gotten gas for my car, and it’s also a hot day and I woke up in a long sleeved shirt to which I slept in. And, I’ve already ran into a fan, because I wore a Hi My Name Is Mark shirt. If Skye has ever called me suave, I’d call her wrong. Sexy, possibly, but suave would not be the word to describe sweaty old me right now.
I guess I should have mentioned I also rented out a hotel room for the night. You would think that because I’m rich I’d just stay at my own house, but I figured it would be better for the babysitter to stay at the house with the kids and Skye and I just make our way to travel for the night.
Valentine’s Day, you know, every day. What I don’t think Jen realizes is that I already planned out everything for this day weeks ago, casually too, laying naked in my room at my company. The To The Stars headquarters is basically my second home, except of course, missing my favorite people. I thought I figured out what love was when I first had sex with a girl I had a crush on for years, and then I met Jennifer. And then, I made love with Jennifer. And technically, I got a new envisioning of love when my children were born, but that’s a different type of love. Anyways, I’m basically chilling in my office right now looking over a large-scale picture of Poet Anderson.
I guess Jonas Anderson would be a better description. It’s actually more of a sketch than anything, but the artist insisted I started advertising Poet Anderson with Jonas instead of Poet, I have no clue what’s gotten into his mind, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll do it, as long as it stays true to the character. I just want Poet Anderson to become a big thing- not for my sake, but for people who expect something great of me and are willing to be flabbergasted.
Skye hasn’t texted me all day, so of course, I hope that’s a good thing.I mean, every Valentine’s Day we’ve spent together has been alike to today. I go stress myself to death and she does her own thing, probably buying lingerie or something. Part of me feels like I’m stressing too much, but part of me also figures this is an important day.
There’s very few times in my life that I can say that Valentine’s Day hasn’t been a large-scale blowout, and those were all celebrations with Tom. I guess I never cared a lot for them, but of course I always made sure to get Tom a box of chocolates and a nice punk cd. One would think he’d have all of NOFX’s discography due to me by now. (He doesn’t, but that’s because NOFX has a ridiculous amount of albums.)
With the groceries being done, I make my way to the flower shop. Of course, I have a nice present for her already, but I feel like the flowers are extra. A good extra though, because what makes a girl swoon more than roses? A fucking Ferrari. But Skye isn’t getting a million dollar car, she already has this vintage dick that she can ride.
I’m joking to relieve my stress. Roses are a good idea though, right? Skyler’s favorite flowers are daisies, but I think roses are probably a safe bet.. and it’s Valentine’s Day, so of course the shop will be full of roses. That’s how I solve my stress, get the girl roses? I damn sure hope so.
It’s almost 2:00, which means I have to put on pants and head to the flower shop. I mean, I also made reservations for this, of course, because I couldn’t dare forget Jennifer’s deep red roses with a pink ribbon on them.
I remember the first Valentine’s Day I had with Jennifer. It was ironic, because Mark and Skye were also there. We all were really close, so we got a huge plate of spaghetti and ate with our hands and shit. It was the most ridiculous thing, especially because we were in a really nice Italian restaurant. None of us even dressed up, either. Duh, we got Jen and Skyler gifts and gave them to them beforehand, but this was when we all didn’t have a care in the world. Or, children. Children play a big part in this story- once Mark’s kids were born, and mine, life wasn’t the same for any of us. I guess that’s a tale older than dinosaurs, but for some reason I never thought it would affect me as much as it did. Yet, I never thought I’d make it to 2017 without talking to my best friend in 2016- I did. Barely, but just enough. I messaged him a couple times, he messaged me less. I texted paragraphs, he texted sentences. Sometimes Mark didn’t even respond. I even asked if we could do some sort of promo thing, where I advertize HMNIM, but he didn’t even want to do that. I guess I understand why Mark was all upset, but it just makes me sad. I don’t think I’ll ever love someone as deeply as I do Mark Hoppus.
Not many people know that he was my first real love, which, was obviously very confusing because he was a dude, I was a dude, we were trying to be punk dudes, rock star dudes. It was very strange. Our first Valentine’s together was in 94, but it wasn’t actually a date. Mark and I had multiple flings throughout my time in blink-182 and between knowing him. They never ended up being full time relationships due to the fans and due to the fact that I never actually knew how deeply Mark could possibly care for me. 1994 was a strange year, I remember almost getting caught by Scott a few times. February 14th was us sitting in his room listening to Green Day’s first album, getting high off our asses, and fooling around to every song on repeat.
Thinking about this all, it almost makes me want to make sure he’s been doing okay, but he’s probably busy and isn’t in the mood for me anyways.
Ironically enough, you would imagine I’d know which roses I’d want to pick out for Skye, but this store is huge and they have what seems like a million. I feel like I’m in Sephora- except a little less intense with a lot less girls.
I call attention to the florist, asking which is best and all that. I ended up getting in pretty deep conversation with him- he noticed my shirt and told me he was a big fan and that he’s been listening to blink-182 all his life. He seemed young, and with the fact he had his hat backwards in a flower shop was a tell-tale sign he wasn’t lying.
And then, suddenly, someone walks in and says, “2 o‘clock.” I can’t see the man, but I recognize the voice almost immediately.
“2- a clock,” I say, entering the shop. Fun fact, the person who works here’s name is Wesley and he really loves blink-182. I’ve come here multiple times and he’s always the one working, so sometimes my short breaks to get flowers end up being hour-long coffee extravaganzas with a millennial. It’s really rad though, so I’m not complaining.
I don’t see him immediately, so I walk closer to the back, and then I see him.
Mark Hoppus, in a sweaty grey HMNIM shirt.
I don’t say anything to him, but I know his posture and his facial expression and I can tell he’s uncomfortable. It makes me feel too deep in my gut- I want to hold him, I want to cuddle him, I want him to feel better, I want to scream at him, I want him to not hate me.
I bit my lip back as I wait for Wes to hand me my flowers from under the counter, and then I hear him speak. His high voice, his uneasy voice, my favorite voice.
“Hey, I’m sorry.”
I don’t know why, but as soon as I hear it, the song blares in my ears. The bonus track off of California. He didn’t want two songs on the album about me, so he just omitted Hey, I’m Sorry. What a Mark thing to do, write too much about the feelings that spill out of his mouth but cut them off if they won’t hurt me.. Save them for later, or for a better time. Like No, It Isn’t, on my birthday, when I spent hours crying and going hysteric.
I grab the flowers and leave the shop. A difficult thing to do, since I can feel my whole body shutting down even as I make my way across the street to my car. I feel like time is going slow, like my legs aren’t moving.
Me too, Mark. I text him as soon as I get in the car and contain my tears. I stopped bugging you. But Mark, please stop writing music about me. I don’t write about you. I don’t hate you nor do I want to feed my fans our bullshit.
You don’t write about me because you don’t want to admit that I hurt you, Tommy. He replies almost instantly. I choke. Why does he always have to be right, and why does it always have to be the worst way?
I guess you’re right, but you don’t want to give back what’s left of me. I remember 1992. I remember 94, 97, 03, 05, 09, 11, 15. Just please let me be.
Okay. I’m sorry Tom. I love you. If we don’t speak again for a while, I just want you to know I hope you keep travelling to the stars.
It takes me everything I can to pull a him on himself, the scene where he doesn’t reply to me.
I drive away as I see him walk out of the store with a gorgeous bouquet, turning on the one song I shouldn’t have, way too loud. Too loud for me, but not loud enough for him.
Hey, I’m sorry
I lost the melody
Hey I’m sorry
I lost your memory..