Rock Star
By Brad Greene
Chapter 8
As I checked myself out in the mirror, getting my hair feathered back just right, I couldn’t help but think this is going to be the best night of my life. Brian and I were already drinking when Matt came to pick us up. I used to spend a lot of time over at Brian’s house—whole weekends, sometimes—because his parents were more laid back than mine. I don’t think my mother minded because it kept me out of her hair and, most importantly, out of her house. She kept her home looking like it was never lived in: a picture out of Better Homes and Gardens. You could never really be fully comfortable in it.
Walking out of the Richmond Coliseum that night, I was in a supernatural state of mind, intensely ready for anything, or so I thought.
Brian’s room was like a sanctuary to Heavy Metal. Every inch of his walls were covered with posters. It was like walking into Kemp Mill Records. I absolutely loved it. Whenever I came over I would always bring some of my albums or tapes. I was a fanatic about having the latest albums. I wanted them first so I always kept up with release dates. We spent countless nights head banging and moshing around his room to Anthrax, Iron Maiden, Metallica, OverKill, Dio, Black Sabbath, Kiss, Metallica, and Rush. Brian was like a brother to me.
Inside, I was going crazy, but I had to keep my cool. I was going to my first rock concert, my first big show, and I knew of no group that could top Rush. On that night, nothing else mattered. You see, when I was 14, there was nothing I wanted more than to be on stage and have the lights in my face, the fans at my feet. I didn’t have dreams of being a famous sports star, fireman or actor. I wanted to be Bruce Dickinson or Vince Neil. These guys were my heroes! I’ve wanted to be a rock star for as long as I can remember. But didn’t everyone?
The show was out of this world: the immensity of it, unimaginable. Walking out of the Richmond Coliseum that night, I was in a supernatural state of mind, intensely ready for anything, or so I thought. The reality of being a part of an inner city drug deal was a frightening rush. I was green to what would become an everyday part of my life many years later. And I was in awe. The argumentative manner between the drug dealer and user was amazing; both pushing their point on how good it was and how good it better be, battling over size and cost. When all was said and done that day I rode out of Richmond a changed person. Even though I didn’t smoke any of the cocaine that was bought that night, I got high in a whole different manner, on the acceptance of being there on the scene.
About Brad
Although he never pounded on a drum set or heard the roar of fans at his feet, Brad felt like a rock star when his best friend’s mom started giving him blow jobs at his command when he was fourteen. This cycle of getting “what he wanted when he wanted it” made him into a control freak. When he found out that his wife had had an affair, he stopped the car and demanded sex. They did it standing alongside the road, with the other cars whipping by.
But it wasn’t until he discovered heroin, after a long love affair with weed and crack, that he lost control. He began stealing. He rarely saw his children. Dehydrated, broke, and disgusted with himself after a week long haze in Vegas, he checked into a hospital, sobered up, and headed back to his best friend’s mom.
Brad Greene, who turned himself in to the police at the apex of his drug addiction, was released in 2008 to live with his ex-wife’s family in southern Virginia so that he could be near his children. He now lives in northern Virginia and works with his father in the construction industry.
