Gray - By Pete Wentz Page 0,46

see the water, so she begrudgingly takes us down to Santa Monica (a trip that, thanks to the traffic, takes roughly twenty-two hours), where we walk out to the end of the pier and watch the old men cast their reels into the Pacific. They stand there in silence, listening to ball games on the radio, buckets full of minnows between their feet, until one of them gets a tug on his rod, then in a sudden burst of excitement, in a whirlwind of yanking and frantic reeling and cursing in Spanish, the rod bending and threatening to break in two, the old men shout instructions, and everyone holds his breath until eventually the old man is victorious, and he pulls a huge fish out of the ocean, shiny and electric and wriggling, and a great cheer goes up along the pier, and the old man accepts congratulations from his fellow fishermen, and maybe takes a drink or two, and tourists snap photos of the wide-eyed, silvery fish while the pelicans watch with hungry eyes. Everyone wants a piece of the action.

We roll up our jeans and walk on the beach, while women in Lycra sports bras jog by, pushing their babies in three-wheeled sports strollers. Men do yoga in the sand. We look ridiculously out of place, with our pegged jeans and pale skin in the early evening sun, but nobody even looks in our direction. Everyone is lost in their own little world, which is kind of the way things are out here. Los Angeles is a great place to disappear because people don’t notice anyone but themselves. Jen-with-Two-N’s is standing up on the boardwalk, furiously typing away on her BlackBerry. You can tell she’s getting a little annoyed with us, probably because she has to go back to her boss with daily status updates, has to say stuff like “Today they all went to Santa Monica and watched old men fish.” Ledgers are shifted, and the stockholders are getting restless. I expect a phone call from our manager any day now.

The songs are coming along, albeit slowly. Martin and I are sharing a “temporary furnished apartment” at Oakwood, and we stay up late writing lyrics and melodies, while Sodom and Gomorrah rage on outside our windows. He and I have got close again since we’ve been here, mostly because we’re the two sorest thumbs of the lot. Neither of us wants to be here, trapped inside our earnestly appointed little cell, and both of us are missing someone back home in Chicago, so we’re penning joyous little numbers about that. He has always been a sweet, good-natured guy, with kind eyes and an infectious smile. He is bringing out the best in me, which is why I don’t mind writing with him. But there is also a more selfish reason: I see in him a way out because I believe he could carry this band forward when I leave. And I’m most definitely leaving, as soon as this record is done. He doesn’t know that yet—none of the guys do—but I figure now is probably not the best time to tell him.

When I’m not writing, I’m talking to Her. So far everything is okay, our lives remaining in sync despite the distance between us. John Miller helps out, as he’s sort of become Her unofficial guardian in my absence. He is a constant in both of our lives these days. It also helps that Her and I have developed a routine, one born out of my insomnia. I am always awake at 5:00 a.m., which is 7:00 a.m. back home in Chicago, so we do a video chat, me wide-eyed and sleep-deprived, spouting all kinds of nonsense, Her laughing tiredly and getting ready for school. Eventually, I fall asleep (usually around 6:00 a.m.), when she is in class. By the time I’m awake again, she’s back home, and we spend the next few hours sending texts to one another. Then, at around 11:00 p.m., she gets ready for bed, and we do another video chat. She brings the computer to bed with Her, and I talk to Her until she falls asleep. Some nights, she forgets to sign off, so I sit in Los Angeles and watch Her sleep in Chicago, grainy and barely visible in the dark, Her breathing mixing with the sounds of the city, in that bedroom I know so well. Eventually, our connection times out and she freezes on my computer screen, no