#datasshood

Sitting in the dark, in the rain, I let out a bitter laugh. Yeah, it was all the music. Rock and Roll called for me, and I couldn't deny it. But what my mother didn't know was that I fantasized about leaving this town, going somewhere better, since I was thirteen. Music just gave me the opportunity to be able to do just that, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. I was going to get out of this shit town and go make a name for myself.

Closing my eyes I imagined that. Being behind stage as the best name in rock performed my songs. Sitting down and writing with Kurt Cobain, Billie Joe Armstrong, making the next best hit song. I don't sing myself, just write lyrics and music. Which makes it that much harder to try and make it big.

I opened my eyes again to see a bus lumbering towards me. Shadows of rain showed in the yellow headlights, the bus doors opening in front of me. Standing up, I grabbed my luggage and walked up. Placing one foot on the stair, I swallowed.

Continue and there’s no going back.

Taking a deep breath, I hoisted myself up the next two stairs. I walked to the nearest seat, placing my luggage down. The bus doors closed as it lurched forward. I was breathless, I did it, I was leaving everything I've ever known.

Looking around, I was the only one on the bus except some guy sleeping in the corner. I checked my watch, it was almost one in the morning.

“Where’s a pretty lady like yourself going at this time of night?” The bus driver, a slightly older woman.

“California.” I said as I couldn't help a smile creep on my lips. “I’m going to make it big.”

“Well what’s your name? So when I see your face pop up on my television I can say how you once rode my bus.” The woman joked.

“Rose. My name is Rose.”

My words lingered in the air, creating a comfortable silence. My mind drifted back to my mother, back home, when I was five. I was in the garden with my mother, looking at the roses. She explained why she named me Rose. She would say how people still found roses beautiful, knowing they had thorns, knowing that they're capable of pain. The one pink rose out of all the red roses was always my favorite. I remember picking it and putting it in a vase in my room. I thought it was so beautiful, I wanted to be able to look at it every morning when I woke up and every night before I fell asleep. The rose died within a week, I was so distraught. Even after everything I did for the rose, giving it fresh water and sunlight, even putting plant food in the vase, it still died. I kept one of the wilted petals, I pinned it on my wall.

+++

5. 25. 1998

Berkeley, California

Three days and several busses later, I stepped onto California ground. Checking my pocket to make sure my cash was still there, I started to walk. I had nowhere to go, no people I knew. Finding a cheap motel was my best bet right now. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that the last time I ate was almost a day ago. Look for somewhere to eat first, then find a motel.

Walking down the street I was in awe. People were in black, band shirts, flannels, studs, chokers, you name it. I was always the weird kid, the kid who didn't quite blend in. But here, there was people like me. My spirits lifted instantly, a smile spreading on my face.

Peering down the street, I saw the neon sign of a café. My stomach rumbled again, so I made my way to the small café. I felt a little ridiculous walking in with a suitcase and clunky guitar case.  The host just smiled at me and led me to an open table. Setting my stuff down, I noticed a couple other people with bags as well. Making small talk with the waiter, he told me that several people come here with bags, since the bus stop is only a street away. After ordering a coffee and some pasta, I grabbed my old yellow notebook and a pen.

This notebook held my life in it. Every chord of every instrument, all my lyrics, were all poured into this notebook. I pulled out one special piece of crumpled paper, one song I wrote when I was fifteen. The one talking about getting out, and now I am out. A wave of joy and nervous excitement washed over me. I was so consumed in my thoughts I didn't hear the tall blonde boy linger beside me.

“Wow, you wrote that?”

I jumped in my seat, startled. Turning around I saw a boy, tall as hell with sparkling blue eyes and blonde hair.

“Uh, yeah I wrote this a couple years ago.” I could feel heat rise to my cheeks.

“That’s actually really good. I’m Luke.”

“Rose.”

He flashed me a smile before looking down at my paper again. His eyes flew over the paper a mile a minute until he got to the bottom, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Like I said, this is really good.” He set my paper back down. “Hey, actually would you mind maybe coming to see my manger?”

“Who do you work for?” I could feel excitement bubble in my lower stomach, I had to try really hard not to start grinning.

“Green Day.” He said the band name like it was nothing.

“Green Day. Like the rock band Green Day?”

+++

I was going on tour with Green Day, crazy shit. Turned out the band liked my stuff and wanted me to tour with them for a while, be able to write and experiment with them. I was beyond excited, stoked to say at the least. The tour started in a couple days, in June. Now we were packing up the tour bus, picking bunks, all this. I was meeting people left and right, it was a dream come true.

“Rose!” Luke came calling, running down the hall. “The opening band is here, you’re going to meet them right now. More than likely you’ll work with them a bit as well.”

I was introduced, shook hands, smiled. But someone caught my eye, and his name was Michael.

“This is Michael, he’s our guitar player.”

Michael didn't put his hand out to shake mine. He just looked at me and smiled, giving me a small wave. I gave him a small smile back, then turning back to go grab my guitar from the back room. My mind wandered, how lucky I was to get this chance. It really was one in a million.

“Hey, Rose right?” I heard a voice behind me.

Turning around, I saw the opening band’s guitarist, Michael.

“Yeah, and you’re Michael.”

I got to look at him more closely now. With tousled dark hair, pale skin and pale green eyes, and a small earring dangling from his ear. In all black, his eyes stood out. They looked, well, beautiful.

“So I heard you're going to be working with us and Green Day. What are you going to be doing?” He questioned, his eyes watching me carefully.

“Write songs and music with you guys.” I answered, chewing the inside of my lip.

There was something about Michael that made me intrigued. Something I couldn't quite place.

“Well I have to get to soundcheck, I’ll see you around, Rose.”