Status: Updates every four days.
We Way? Three Way!
Sick Songs
At nine o’clock the next morning, I heard a soft knock at my door. My room happened to be a completely devoid-of-furniture square of concrete and sheetrock, a single bed directly in the middle of the room, not touching any walls. No windows, one nightlight plugged into the wall. Not much scared me anymore, but this threatened to do so rather soon. Therefore, knocks at the door were generally deeply frightening, given that I didn’t have much reference to the time of day. I looked at the newly-placed analog clock on the wall, surprised.
“Come in,” I said weakly. I knew it was Lyn-Z before she entered. Knocking was not a regular phenomenon at Casa-de-Chem.
“Hey,” She had a sweet voice. “I don’t suppose I know you well enough yet, but I was told to be worried since you never get out of bed after like, seven, even though that’s something I can’t quite comprehend.”
“Hmm? Well actually, I kinda feel a little-“ And that sentence fragment was then perfectly punctuated with retching noises and the like. Ugh. Vomit.
“No need to finish that sentence. I’ll get your daddy.”
“Thanks…” Hmm. Good choice, Gee. The whole sick thing was odd, though. I’d gotten sick only once during all my years at the orphanage, and that was caught from Jill when I was eight. But since I’d been living with the band I’d already been sick three times. Too much male, I think. Right about then, a not-so-pleased Gerard came in to clean up my half-digested food particles, followed by a Ray who knew exactly what I wanted, and bridal-style carried me to the bathroom so I could shower. That consisted of fifteen minutes of sitting on the floor of bathtub with hot water clouding up the air, before Becca banged on the door to make sure I wasn’t dead. Then I went back to sleep. It was an uneventful day. That is, until late afternoon. My two sisters had a sudden urge to play croquet, and were (safely, I hoped) using good-sized mallets in close proximity to each other out on the back property. I was feeling a bit better, but not enough to handle anything remotely large, wooden, or heavy, so I grabbed a pillow and went to the mansion’s studio, where the band had been spending most of their time. They made me sit in the corner, for fear of catching my disease, but I was fine with that.
“Well, what if Mikey plays this,” Ray plucked out a few chords, “With that line, and it would sound like this,”
‘So why don’t you blow me, a kiss before she goes,”
Gerard took the pencil out from behind his ear and wrote that down. “But see, here’s where I’m getting stuck. And this is gonna be the chorus, it has to be something really good. Frankie?”
“Nada, Daddy G.”
“Should we just abandon the song? I mean, we’ve been working on these lyrics for hours…” Ray still seemed to doubt himself with those words, but I could see he was trying to keep things moving.
“Hey, can you play me what you have so far?” I asked. There was some sort of brainstorm going on in my head. The song so far reminded me of this book I read a long, long time ago, where detectives tried to get a murder witness to open up his mind and remember details of the crime scene by getting him drunk. See, when this guy wasn’t drunk, he was bawling over his now ex-wife, and some other crappy things going on in his life, so he basically had to have an alcohol blood concentration of like, 30% in order to be remotely happy. And this is the story of how me, hyped up on too much sleep, not enough sleep, Powerade, Advil, and brain-craze, helped write a song for My Chemical Romance. After seventeen minutes, they had this,
”So why don’t you blow me,
A kiss before she goes.
Give me a shot to remember,
And you can take all the pain away from me.
If you see I will surrender,
The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead.
A light to burn all the empires,
So bright the sun is ashamed to rise and be”
Huh. Not bad for one who puked her guts out before and after writing it, no?
“Come in,” I said weakly. I knew it was Lyn-Z before she entered. Knocking was not a regular phenomenon at Casa-de-Chem.
“Hey,” She had a sweet voice. “I don’t suppose I know you well enough yet, but I was told to be worried since you never get out of bed after like, seven, even though that’s something I can’t quite comprehend.”
“Hmm? Well actually, I kinda feel a little-“ And that sentence fragment was then perfectly punctuated with retching noises and the like. Ugh. Vomit.
“No need to finish that sentence. I’ll get your daddy.”
“Thanks…” Hmm. Good choice, Gee. The whole sick thing was odd, though. I’d gotten sick only once during all my years at the orphanage, and that was caught from Jill when I was eight. But since I’d been living with the band I’d already been sick three times. Too much male, I think. Right about then, a not-so-pleased Gerard came in to clean up my half-digested food particles, followed by a Ray who knew exactly what I wanted, and bridal-style carried me to the bathroom so I could shower. That consisted of fifteen minutes of sitting on the floor of bathtub with hot water clouding up the air, before Becca banged on the door to make sure I wasn’t dead. Then I went back to sleep. It was an uneventful day. That is, until late afternoon. My two sisters had a sudden urge to play croquet, and were (safely, I hoped) using good-sized mallets in close proximity to each other out on the back property. I was feeling a bit better, but not enough to handle anything remotely large, wooden, or heavy, so I grabbed a pillow and went to the mansion’s studio, where the band had been spending most of their time. They made me sit in the corner, for fear of catching my disease, but I was fine with that.
“Well, what if Mikey plays this,” Ray plucked out a few chords, “With that line, and it would sound like this,”
‘So why don’t you blow me, a kiss before she goes,”
Gerard took the pencil out from behind his ear and wrote that down. “But see, here’s where I’m getting stuck. And this is gonna be the chorus, it has to be something really good. Frankie?”
“Nada, Daddy G.”
“Should we just abandon the song? I mean, we’ve been working on these lyrics for hours…” Ray still seemed to doubt himself with those words, but I could see he was trying to keep things moving.
“Hey, can you play me what you have so far?” I asked. There was some sort of brainstorm going on in my head. The song so far reminded me of this book I read a long, long time ago, where detectives tried to get a murder witness to open up his mind and remember details of the crime scene by getting him drunk. See, when this guy wasn’t drunk, he was bawling over his now ex-wife, and some other crappy things going on in his life, so he basically had to have an alcohol blood concentration of like, 30% in order to be remotely happy. And this is the story of how me, hyped up on too much sleep, not enough sleep, Powerade, Advil, and brain-craze, helped write a song for My Chemical Romance. After seventeen minutes, they had this,
”So why don’t you blow me,
A kiss before she goes.
Give me a shot to remember,
And you can take all the pain away from me.
If you see I will surrender,
The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead.
A light to burn all the empires,
So bright the sun is ashamed to rise and be”
Huh. Not bad for one who puked her guts out before and after writing it, no?