[Green Day] Blood.Sex.Booze [01]

Miss Delaney Chloe Jackson

Up until a few weeks ago, my life had been perfect. Okay, so maybe that’s exaggerating a little. It had always been waiting, the problems had always been underlying, but at least they’d never resurfaced, until now that is. This was like a nuclear bomb, possibly worse. It un-earthed the ground from beneath my feet and shook the very foundations I stood and depended upon. I kept telling myself it couldn’t be happening. Unfortunately, it really was happening.

This wasn’t entirely my fault…sorta. Okay, so it was only 13 fire alarms I’d set off, 178 detentions I’d been given, 55 broken noses I’d crushed and 3 devastated classrooms I’d destroyed. I admit, my friends and I did graffiti those two Government offices, and tried to set our high school alight, burning down part of the bike shed in the process.

And there was that one time when we streaked through the fields when the school soccer team were playing in a major tournament, and 5 of the captains got erections (all my friend Sara’s and libido pills fault). That might have knocked their confidence a little, especially when they had to disappear off to the toilets to go work those erections off. In that same season, we spray painted a few sheep and let them run around school, but that wasn’t as serious as the fake bomb we made in chemistry, which ended up actually exploding and spewing corrosive chemicals everywhere.

Maybe it was partially my fault.
The last straw for my mom was the finale to all my riots, protests and activist meanings I’d attended over the course of my school career. The riot which ended up in 15 revellers getting severely injured, and all emergency services being called on red alert, to try put out the blazing buildings and arrest the unruly protesters. I had an uncanny hate for society, one which would not be quenched by a ‘soft talking to’ or a few kind words. I was serious, not just in it for the money, booze or sex. There were issues which had to be resolved. The 80s should have been a time for change, but change just wasn’t happening fast enough.
Politicians spewed pure garbage, worrying more about shielding their own dicks than actually changing anything. Live Aid was a fucking sham. Celebrities getting in on the act were just appalling. The people who really made a difference were just everyday working class heroes. Civilians who needed a leader weren’t going to change their ways without someone in charge telling them what to do, and politicians weren’t going to say anything until they were voted in. And so a vicious circle appears.
The last riot was supposed to make the local council listen. But instead, they fought back, same as always. They don’t listen to the chants, or the sirens, or the passionate believers. They listen to corporate jargon and the endless shit spilled out by secretaries of state.
Mom got mad. She was a leading police scientist, the kind who still listened to 70s crap, and believed the only way forward was to wait for change. She took pride over her neatly cut chestnut brown locks, dressing elegantly and ‘motherly’ over her curvy frame, speaking as if she ruled the world. Her idea of a perfect America was total order, control and policies.
I was completely different. I was an anarchist, a trouble maker, fighting for change. The music which played on my vinyl player was punk, songs which really inspired the bright flaming side of me to come out. I had dark blonde hair, which was longer than hers, alongside bright green eyes I inherited from God-Knows-Who. I had a few curves, but was skinnier, not anorexic, but not overweight, which fitted perfectly into my…rather different choice of fashion, taking my hints from Vivienne Westwood, and not Dior. My idea of the perfect America was freedom of speech, no racism or fascism, out with the old and in with the new.

Our differences drove us apart. She wanted a pretty little girly girl who looked and sounded just like her, complete with ideology, and I had a lust for anarchy, for standing out, and not being fake.

She didn’t really want me.
And I didn’t really want her.

….

Mom and Dad hadn’t really got on too well through their marriage anyways. Divorce was always discussed, and they finally did divorce when I was 12, which to me wasn’t really much more of a surprise than finding a spider on a web. I really didn’t see the need for fuss. I still saw my Dad, and I lived with my Mom, and everything was actually really good. My friends were amazing, precisely like me, and even though Mom and me never really got on, we still had those mother-daughter times, where our differences melted away.
I lived in a beautiful district in Los Angeles, a place with plenty of record shops and music venues, where even the Ramones had played at, once or twice in their staggeringly long career. Everyone knew me, some hated and some loved, high school was easy to fly through, as I achieved quite high grades, despite my lack of interest for authority.

Change came after the 1988 string of riots, and the rather explosive riot in 1989 which I just talked about. Enough was enough. I apparently needed to start afresh somewhere else, somewhere with less of a crowd, and a more pleasant atmosphere, somewhere away from my ‘bad influences’, i.e. My Friends. To a place where painting the town red was virtually impossible, where punk vinyl records were frowned upon, and where, heaven forbid, the nearest high school was in the next town. Obviously, it still had to be in California, so the place would be packed next to other towns, but wouldn’t be as amazing or as exciting as Los Angeles at night.

To my mom, that gave her a chance to deport us all (her, me and the cat), to a town much further north than the Southerly destination of Los Angeles, somewhere nearer the hills. Death came by the name of a town called Rodeo, right on the East Bay.

“Dad’s not gonna like this! You’re gonna get fucking social workers poking their spectacled noses into my life! You know what I’ll do then, I’ll go fucking live with him!!” I screamed, slamming a few doors in the process. Mom laid down her packing box, giving me a withering look.

“You know sometimes I wish you weren’t born at all.” She sighed, “My life could have been much easier. I could be in Washington right now, for god’s sake, working for the best. But oh hell no, Look who I have.”
I sneered at her, knowing she was shit at comebacks.
Mom was 20 when she gave birth to me. The ‘smart ass scientist’ didn’t even use a fucking condom.
“Get your ass in the car.” She warned.
“No.” I crossed my arms, standing in the doorway. Mom scowled.
“Get.In.The.Car.Now.” she half-growled, staring at me with her piercing blue eyes. Sometimes I think I’ve been adopted. I look nothing like her or Dad.
“No.”
“Delaney. Car. Now.”
“Fuck you.” I muttered, smirking.
Mom went bright red, filling up with so much anger she looked ready to explode when the moment was right. “If you dare speak to me like that again, I will make sure sanctions are made, young lady.”
“F-U-C-K Y-O-U” I spelt out for her.
“That is it!” she screamed, “I have had it with you! As soon as we get to Rodeo, you are grounded!”
She stormed off with the box, handing it to the lazy looking delivery man slumping sleepily against the large blue van, which happened to contain just about everything we had in this house.
Joey mewed at my feet; his black and white fur slightly tattered from having a pot of water spilt all over him previously this morning. His green eyes, which kind of matched mine in a weird way, glittered as I picked him up, sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, with him in my arms. He was named after Joey Ramone, don’t cha know. This was probably the only thing which understood me in this household. And he wasn’t even human.
I tickled his stomach gently, listening to him purr in delight, stretching his paws out over my lap, and settling down.

It’d be late afternoon by the time we reached Rodeo. Late afternoon on the 17th of March, 1989.
“Without a word, I want you in the car, right now.” Mom stood in the doorway and huffed, putting her hands on her hips.

“Whatever.” I muttered, hissing a string of curse words under my breath. Taking Joey with me, I took one last look at my now incredibly empty house and parted for the car, a washed up old banger which had been given a good make over and paintjob a few months ago. I slammed the door at just the right volume, so Mom swivelled round from her place in the doorway, glaring at me, before turning away, finishing her speech with the real estate agent.
Joey gave a little purr, his eyes slowly closing in the cute way in which all cats eyes close. I leant my head against the window, staring at the outside. My street was made up of rows of houses, with perfect green lawns and white wash fronts, home to a variety of people. My neighbourhood had a hugely welcoming community, those which dawdled around music clubs after dark, even if some of them were a bit New-Romantic-ey for my taste. I said goodbye to everyone and everything yesterday, including my friends, an event which had been tearful and unhappy to say the least.

I felt as if I had a rope tied around my waist, dragging me forcefully away from all of this, away from perfection, into a life of potential misery and boringness. Of course, my mom fancied herself way too much, expecting me to praise her for getting a higher up job in the same law enforcement agency, in a town called Oakland, just a few miles south of Rodeo. HAHA. No way. I’d be attending Pinole Valley High School, in a nearby town called Pinole, where the teachers had been sent a full report of everything I’d got up to in Los Angeles. In all sarcasm, if that couldn’t get any better, I was officially grounded, raising my chances of meeting absolutely no one to an amazing 100%. Yay.

My thoughts were interrupted by the slamming of the front car door, and the rev of the engine being turned on. “I don’t want a freakin’ word from you all journey.” Mom warned, using her threatening tone.
“Don’t even bother holding your breath.” I spat, leaning against the glass of the window, and staring out at Los Angeles. This could full well be the last time I glimpsed at that street, as the car sped out of the neighbourhood, heading north, heading for my impending doom.
……..

Late Afternoon (5pm). Rodeo, California.

After being mind numbingly bored all journey, and watching Joey slowly drop in and out of sleep, just as my brain was doing, we finally arrived at the shit hole of a town I was supposed to adore. The sun was beating down on the roof of the car, making the inside stuffy and terribly sticky, so all of the windows were wide open. Up above, the sky was stained a weird yellowy melon colour, partially covered by clouds.

The only fun part of the journey had been being diverted away from a riot which was taking place in downtown Oakland. I’d already decided that Oakland would be more fun than whatever this place was, and that even Berkeley, a town just a bit further north than the city of Oakland, would be more fun than this dump.
Rodeo was probably just a segment of Oakland, since it looked more like a lazy neighbourhood than an actual town, rows and rows of organised houses filling rows and rows of streets, with the average suburban scenery, and the average suburban places. Totally boring.
“See. It’s not all bad.” Mom announced, “Our house is actually one of the best in the area, in the very South of this town.”
She spoke like a news reporter, including all the facts in one sentence.
“I don’t give a fuck.” I groaned.
Mom pursed her lips, in an attempt to say no more, keeping her hands clenched to the wheel.

Outside, a group of teens hung lazily around a small campfire, doing drugs. I don’t know why it wasn’t blatantly obvious- the smell of pot cracked through the air like a thunderbolt, only the insanely dumb people would choose to ignore it. There were around 6 people on the hill, most looking hyper as hell, to match the needles and pill packets scattered around them. The one with dreaded blonde hair seemed to like his marijuana, and kept adding leaves to the ever glowing bonfire. Another guy, with a strange tone of green, spiked hair skipped around happily, pestering another guy with shorter dirty blonde hair. Two more lurked around the fire, their backs turned to me so their descriptions were hard to decipher.

Mom slowed the car down, sniffing the air occasionally, as she dragged a map out of her bag. She’d forgotten the way to the house.
This gave me a chance to peer at the rather different person lying down, totally high, on the dewy green grass.
Wow.
He was high, but still extremely hot.
He had a kind of sexy looking body, most of it hidden by the clothes he wore, with a stunningly handsome face, and messy reddish brown hair. His eyes were a glittering green, a bit duller than mine, but still fantastic to stare at.
Preeeetyy nice.
He looked the musician sort, with a guitar plectrum strung onto a metal chain which hung around his wrist, and long fingers, looking ready to press down on the strings of a well-tuned guitar. I have no idea what it was about him which made me stare- usually the aesthetic looks of a person don’t have this effect on me, but he breathed of something beyond the surface, something special.

I stopped myself before the thought even erupted in my mind. No, no, no Delaney. You’re supposed to hate this town. However hot the guys here may be, they were better in Los Angeles.
Yeah, right…
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Thanks to GreenXDayXobbessionX, whose last name was indeed changed in this, in case anyone decides to stalk her or just… google her.