The Jesus of Suburbia

(Green Day)
Welcome to the rage and love of St. Jimmy. You think the world has gone to shit, that nobody cares? Well then step right up because you've come to the right place.

The Jesus of Suburbia is my personal interpretation of the Green Day album American Idiot. Each chapter is associated with a song, or part of Jimmy's story. These interpretations are my own and other's PUBLIC interpretations.

(Cover image not mine, credits go to †Not Relevant†
@LauraGDMCR on website )

*All content written and used is created solely by me unless stated otherwise! Please be kind and do not use my work, or give credit where credit is due! Thank you*


4. Jesus of Suburbia pt. 1: I am who I am

November 13, 1990      (Jimmy is four)

"Goddamit woman I told you to have the money before I got home" He grabbed her wrist with force and pulled it in front of his face while she dug through her purse with her free hand. I hid behind the doorway, peaking out to see what was happening. I heard him come in and slam the front door, which interrupted my intense coloring session. He yanked her wrist and my eyes widened.

"Where is the fucking money? They are waiting on me" He said through gritted teeth, spit flying out onto her red-patched face. I sunk further behind the doorway in fear. She dropped a few bills onto the table with shaky hands and a handful of coins. He let go of her and took the money in his hands, counting it greedily. 

", eight, nine... nine-fifty. Nine fifty, that's it? What the fuck do you do all day, sit on your lazy fucking ass?" He talked funny when he said this, and I knew what was happening. Almost every night he comes home like this, sometimes really late. I slowly walked out behind the door and down the hallway. Her face was splotchy and sweaty, and I wanted to hug her. 

"N-no hun, I just went grocery shopping today an-" His hand rose to her face and went across it. I stopped dead in my tracks and the room went quiet. You could hear the pulsing of the beat from the neighbor's music next door. You could hear her heart beating, my heart beating. Tears pricked her eyes and I could tell it hurt. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

"I work my ass off all day so you can sit at home all day and get miserable fucking groceries?" He shook her harder and the tears came running down her face. His hand went across the other side of her face and she cried harder. I didn't know what to do, but I needed to do something. He yelled at her, the words so loud and vicious they even hurt me. She looked over to the hall, where I was. And there I stood. She looked at me with sorry, heavy eyes. She gasped hard, her arm reaching toward me, but with all the breath she took, all that came out was a small squeak, 

"Jimmy, no..." He looked over at me and his face softened. He let go of her and his hands dropped to his sides, limp. He nodded to me and shot me a weak wave. He knew what he did wrong. And he did it in front of his son. 

"H-hello son" He said, kneeling down on one knee, arms open. He wanted a hug from me. The man who slapped my mom wanted a hug from me. I walked over slowly to them, and before walking to him, I walked to my mom and hugged her legs. She knelt down and cried onto me. She stood up with me in her arms and started to scream at him. 

"Do you see what you did? Do you see what you did to your own fucking child? You've hurt him more than you hurt me" I looked up to her face, a red hand print on each side of her face. I buried my face into her neck and hugged her tighter.

"Leave dammit, leave and never fucking come back. Leave this fucking city. Just- just get away from me, or I'm calling the police." She said to him in a quiet but threatening voice. She adjusted me in her arms and he started to walk out of the room, through the front door. He looked back at me and she turned me away out of his sight. He slammed the front door and got in his car. My mother stood still with me in her arms and cried harder and harder with each falling tear, and I didn't know what to do. She ran her fingers through my hair and cried. She cried and kept repeating,

"I'm sorry Jimmy, I'm so so sorry". 


Later that night I woke up to another slammed front door. He was drunk this time, drunk and crying. My mother rushed into the living room where he was standing. I crawled out of bed and looked out of the door again. He was on his knees in front of her crying, his hands holding hers.

"Please, I'm sorry" He kept pleading and she knelt down to him, pulling him into her arms, muttering things like, "It's okay" and "I forgive you". She held him there until my feet got tired of standing and I went back to bed. That was the day I learned how to hate my mother. That was the day I learned to hate my father. That was the day I learned I'm the son of rage and love. 

Eventually that night, my father left again, leaving no trace but his wedding band on the table. My mother was still on the floor of the living room when I woke up, trembling. She only got up that day when a police officer knocked on the door, telling us they found a man about a mile out of town on the side of the road. He died of extreme alcohol poisoning, and they presumed him to be my father. They were right. And there was no funeral, the money he took from  my mother the night before bought him his death, and nothing else.


July 9, 2004    (Present Day- Jimmy is 18)

I fell. I fell hard today. I fell hard today literally and figuratively. I hurt. I hurt really bad. I hurt really bad because she lied to me. I hurt because she lied to me and because she never loved me. But I loved her. I went home. I put a hole through the wall. I left home. I went to her house. She wasn't home, but her brother was. So I tried to beat his ass. He beat mine, and I laid on the sidewalk for hours. I watched the stars move, I felt the tears fall and dry. She dropped me. She dropped me into a bottomless pit of pain and suffering. I am suffering. There is a pain in my chest that hurts more than the ass kicking her brother gave me. 

I'm a fucked up piece of shit, I know. I can't feel anything other than the suffering and pain I am in, suffering for other people's shitty actions. Suffering because my father was a raging asshole. Suffering because my mother's heart was too big. Suffering because she was a liar. I'm the son of rage and love, the Jesus of Suburbia, suffering for others peoples sins when they never suffered from mine. 




Hey! So I know this was longer than the rest but it is a little bit of his back story. Hope you like it! If you do, please be sure to give it a like! Thank you all so much for all your support, looks like we are hitting 200 by day 5! Have a great day lovelies! 

-Brandon :3

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