Watch the Change

I woke up feeling disoriented. My head was spinning, and I tried to reach for the bedside lamp only to fall from the bed to the floor when I discovered that it wasn't there.

"Fuck," I hissed, rubbing my body. I figured that I had woken up because my head was pounding, and I knew I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep until I did something about it. I stood slowly and used the bed as brace to hold my body up. As my head swam, I tried to make my way to the door without tripping over anything. Much to my surprise, I accomplished this task.

When I opened the door, I found that the house was bathed in the gray light of the early morning. Even a light to that small degree caused my head to thump with pain. And for some reason, it seemed like my door had gotten farther away from the rest of the house than it usually was.

Using the wall as a guide, I quietly padded down the hall to the kitchen as that was there we kept the pills. It seemed to take forever to get there, but by the time I opened the medicine cabinet, the unbearable pain was starting to fade, and my eyes were adjusting to the light. Despite that, I took out the bottle of fast-relief painkillers anyway and swallowed a pill dry. I rarely used painkillers, so I hoped it would be enough.

When I finished that, I walked slowly back to the bedroom. Maybe it was just my own mental suggestion, but I was already starting to feel better.

"John." I jumped in fright at the voice. I had barely passed the living room. Now I turned back around and nearly had a heart attack when I realized that someone was standing in front of the large window. The fact that the person was Pogo hardly calmed my pounding heart.

"Yeah?" I asked. I walked carefully into the room, rubbing my arms to warm up. The entire house was always cold, and my normal instinct was to bundle up. Now, all I had on were a pair of dark blue pajama pants that were far too short, which left much of my skin exposed.

"C'mere," Pogo murmured, motioning to me. I headed over to him slowly, expecting to be reprimanded. The keyboardist hadn't exactly been the kindest to me in the few months that I'd been in the band.

Pogo looked at me through the corner of his eyes when I came to a rest next to him. His hazel eyes seemed to be measuring my anxiety.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" He was referring to the rising sun. I turned my attention to it, despite being slightly bewildered by his choice of words. Pogo didn't exactly seem like the type of guy to consider things to be 'beautiful.'

"Yeah, it is," I nodded. The sky was a bright, pastel pink. In stark contrast, the clouds were a blue color that was both deep and light at the same time. The whole sky was absolutely breathtaking. "It's been a long time since I've seen the sun rise."

Pogo ran his hands through his messy mohawk. He looked like he hadn't slept yet. He had taken off his everyday clothes in exchange for his baggy, striped pajama pants, but the dark circles under his eyes told me that he'd been up and running for a few days now. "I don't think I've seen one since I was in grade school," he laughed quietly.

We both stood in silence, staring as the pink sky slowly changed to orange. The two of us were both slightly awkward, but it wasn't unbearable.

"Y'know, I used to hate you," Pogo bluntly stated, startling me. "But I think I've gotten past that. You seem like you're dedicated to being a guitarist. Just don't get too comfortable here. Stay on your toes."

"O-okay," I stuttered, not quite understanding him. He looked at me through the corner of his scrutinizing eyes again.

"I've been in the band the longest, other than Manson himself. Believe me when I say he changes just like that." He snapped his long fingers for emphasis. "You have to be prepared for that change. Embrace it. Become it. Consume it before it consumes you. It sounds like a lame-as-fuck pep talk, but it's true. When Manson changes, it affects his music, his personality, and his thought process. He expects that you'll be able to play that change on your guitar and that you'll be on the same wavelength as him." Pogo stopped for a moment of quiet deliberation, as if he wasn't sure how to word his next statement. "That's why Zim left. He couldn't take the change. I thought you weren't going to last, either. Manson needed a guitarist who looked as good as he played. I assumed you would be shallow. Wouldn't last after Mechanical Animals."

"I didn't know that," I said quietly. It's not like they would tell you something like that when you joined a band.

"There wasn't any way you would have known. But you've proved my assumptions wrong," Pogo said, self-assured.

Before I could think about my words, I blurted out, "But the tour's not even over yet. This is just a break."

"You've shown me all I need to see," he responded simply.

"I'm glad you changed your mind."

The sky was now a vibrant orange. It almost hurt to look at it. The ache in my head was dimming down, but it was still blatantly present.

"How's your head?" Pogo's sudden concern made me jump. I rubbed my eyes and smiled sleepily at him.

"It hurts, but I can handle it," I shrugged. The keyboardist snickered and shook his head in amusement. Self-consciously, I asked, "What?"

"You got a hangover from second-hand alcohol. You really must have been serious about not drinking," Pogo laughed, a wide smile on his face. I was slightly confused as to what he meant. He must have read that on my face, because he continued. "You got wasted from kissing Ginger... that's unbelievable."

"Kissing Ginger... Wait, what do you mean?" I asked. Had I really gotten drunk so badly just from kissing that I couldn't recall the previous night?

"Yeah, man. You were kissing everyone all night, but you ended up in Ginger's room last night. Sounded like you two were a little busy," Pogo laughed. My cheeks flushed. Now that he mentioned it, I could remember everything. The mischievous energy of the band had rubbed off on me, and while they played their drinking games, I played my own game. I flew around the room, slopping giving each man a kiss on the cheek. Twiggy had jokingly called me Butterfly because he claimed I was so gentle. When Ginger's turn came, he had turned by accident, and our lips connected. After that, one thing let to another, and we shared a lot more than just kisses. That explained why I couldn't find my light this morning and why it had seemed like my bedroom had moved sometime during the night.

"Oh. Yeah, I remember," I sighed. I hadn't wanted to sleep with any of my band mates. It makes things difficult. Still, I would be the first to admit that the drummer was the personification of perfection in my eyes, with the perfect mix of sexiness, intelligence, and charisma. When I first joined the band, he was the only one, other than occasionally Twiggy, who talked to me. We had grown quite close during that time.

"I can see you like him, and it's cute, but I'm going to trust that you won't hurt him," Pogo said. He was looking at me through the corner of his eyes again. Now it was my turn to run my hands through my hair.

"Trust me, that's the last thing on my mind," I assured him softly.

The keyboardist nodded solemnly. The sun had now risen above the trees. "Go back to bed, John. I'm sure Ginger's waiting for you."

I turned and walked slowly back through the room. On a second thought, I turned back around. Pogo was still staring out the window. It was so surprising to see him so solemn and motionless. Usually he was fully of energy and bouncing off the walls.

"Hey Pogo?" I called, trying to speak loudly while not tainting the quiet mystique that the house seemed to hold at this early hour of the morning.

"Hm?" He didn't turn around.

"Thanks."

The keyboardist simply nodded as a response.

I took that as my cue to leave the room. I felt considerably more confused but yet somehow better. My head had quit throbbing, but now it was spinning with new information.

The hallways were much lighter now. When I came the one that held our bedrooms, I paused. Did I go back with Ginger, or should I just go to my room? I thought about what Pogo had said and decided that I would take a chance and go with the drummer. I pushed open the door and walked in silently. The room was nearly pitch black, and I had to blindly feel my way back to the bed.

My side of the bed still had the blankets pushed back from my graceless awakening. I climbed in, sighing at the welcoming warmth. Much to my surprise, the drummer turned and wrapped his arm around my waist. I felt him bury his head into my hair. Grinning, I let him embrace me. It felt nice to be in someone's arms again.

From beside me, I heard Ginger murmur, "How the hell do you always smells so good?"

I tried to muffle my giggles by biting my lip. "Pure talent."

"Must be. Where'd you go?" the drummer asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Got some painkillers and talked to Pogo for a little while," I replied. I closed my eyes and breathed in Ginger's scent.

"Mmm. Doesn't surprise me," he snickered. "I have to talk to you about something, but it'll have to wait until I wake up."

"Aw, okay. Goodnight, Ginger," I yawned, sliding my hand over top of his. Briefly, I wondered what he had to talk to me about, but it was merely a fleeting thought. I much rather wanted to focus on the beauty of the moment and savor it before it ended.

"G'night, John."