Nothing Else Matters
I'm your dream, make you real
“Thank you for tuning into 102.9 MGK. I’m Brad and we’re here with Metallica’s frontman James Hetfield and the princess of Metallica, his daughter, Layla. How are you doing today?”
“I just love coming to Philadelphia so much so I’m happy to be here.” I reply, earning a chuckle from my father. “I’m sorry one of us actually likes history and enjoys coming into Historic Philly; sue me.”
“I’m happy at least one of us likes to learn shit.” He defends himself. “I can only imagine what the 3rd generation brings.”
“I keep forgetting you're a grandfather!” Brad exclaims. “How is grandfatherhood treating you?”
“It still doesn’t feel real.” My father replies. “It’s hard to believe my baby girl has a baby of her own. He’s six but it feels like just yesterday I was changing her diapers in a van between shows.”
“Way to embarrass me dad!” I playfully scoff. “You just replaced my diapers with Presley’s.”
“Presley huh? Any reason behind naming him after Elvis?”
“His father is a huge fan of the greats such as Elvis and Johnny Cash. His -meaning our son- name was almost Cash but I had to be a stop to it. So I was like I’ll give him your last name just please don’t name our son Cash.” I laugh. “So Presley James Poulsen came to be; it’s fitting.”
“James, what were your thoughts on your daughter getting pregnant by a fellow musician like Michael Poulsen? Did you have anything to say about it?”
“Honestly I wasn’t happy but they were together for a while before it happened. Plus they were actually engaged so it wasn’t completely out of the blue. He’s a great guy, great father. I’m happy to have him in the family.”
“Does Presley have any hidden musical talents? Are we going to see another mini version of James and Michael in the future?”
“He plays drums.” I reply. “He doesn’t play them well but he plays them. He has a mini version of Lars’ original Metallica set in our living room and he’ll try to play like Lars but he’s not quite there.”
“So no interest in guitar?”
“None, it pisses both of them off so much.” I laugh. “Both of them bought him guitars that are mini versions of theirs and he wants nothing to do with them.”
“What about you? Any hidden talents, musically?”
“I play guitar and drums. Better at guitars.”
“So why didn’t you put together a band like dear ol’ dad?”
“My friend once told me that the music industry wouldn’t be able to handle two Hetfields making music; I think he’s right….”
**
“Sorry they talked more about your personal life and not the music.” My dad apologizes. “I didn’t think they would actually care that much.”
“I’m your daughter, of course they care that much.” I laugh as we walk into his hotel suite. “It’s fine, Dad, honestly. It was nice to spend the day with you; it’s been far too long.” He just pulls me into a hug and kisses my temple. “I love you Daddy.”
“Love you too Princess. Now go get ready for tonight’s show. I just smile before entering the suite connected to his own.
**
7 Shots plays softly in the background as I finish getting ready. Just as I tye my shirt, my hotel room swings open and my ears are instantly met by the sound of my son’s laughter. I walk out of the bedroom and see Presley and Michael in the living room roughhousing and having fun; something I love seeing.
“My favorite boys.” I happy sigh, earning the attention of them. Presley instantly stops what he’s doing and runs over to me and hugs my legs. “Pres, got get dressed, your outfit is on the bed.” He nods before disappearing; leaving me and Michael alone.
“So your father actually said something nice about me, huh?” Michael says, trying to break the awkward silence between us.
“My dad doesn’t hate you, Mike.” I assure him. “He does think you’re a great guy and father. He really is happy that you’re in our son’s life. I promise you.”
“He hasn’t exactly been friendly to me personally since the breakup.”
“He’s an overprotective papa bear; don’t take it personal.” I tell him. “He would be like that with any guy.”
“Even Matt?”
“Especially Matt.” I chuckle.
“Why didn’t you guys end up together?” He asks. “Why choose me? Not that I’m complaining or anything?”
“It’s complicated.” I reply. “It’s just really complicated….”
