Happy Birthday, Twiggy

Marilyn Manson ever so slowly shifted in the small bunk, trying to carefully, with as few motions as possible, disentangle his limbs with those of the other, smaller man’s. Somehow, he had to get down to the floor, to meet the others. Quietly, he slipped one leg over the still body beside his, so that he was straddling it. Any other time, this could’ve been fun. But not now. Now, it was time for something serious. He carefully dragged his other leg over, and paused only briefly to watch the shallow rise and fall of his best friend’s chest, making sure that he was still breathing.
Finally free, his feet touched the ground, and he walked ever so lightly toward the front of the bus, to the lounge area where the others waited.
“What took you so goddamn long?” Pogo was the first to speak, always the impatient one. His mind was so quick that he never could understand why everything in the world didn’t happen at warp speed.
Marilyn narrowed his eyes. “He fell asleep with me against the wall. If you think it’s so easy, you try climbing over someone in that small of a space without waking them up.”
“Let’s not fight,” Ginger Fish said peacefully, running a hand through his still slightly damp hair. “Let’s remember why we’re here, at three in the morning, huh?”
Pogo crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. But I’m not staying here all night. I’m tired.”
John 5 moved over on the ratty couch so that he was pressed up to Ginger’s side, allowing Marilyn a wide space to sit down beside him.
Marilyn took the space, leaning forward in his seat. “So…you guys have had three days since I asked you to meet me now. Any ideas?”
There was nothing but silence. It made his blood boil, that the others didn’t care. Sure, Twiggy Ramirez was his best friend, but why didn’t anyone else seem to really care about him? This was his birthday they were supposed to be planning. His thirtieth birthday. It was a big deal, or at least, it felt like it was. His own thirtieth had fizzled and burned out, and he wasn’t about to let that happen to the person who meant more to him than anything in the world. They were going to have a celebration.
“Um…” Pogo had a mischievous glow in his eyes. “How about we get some hookers and whiskey, and I’ve got some pills-”
Marilyn held up his hand. “No. That’s not a birthday party. That’s a Wednesday night. This is special.”
“We could go to Disney Land,” Ginger suggested, his voice soft.
“No. I hate Mickey Mouse,” Marilyn nearly snarled.
“How about a party boat?” John suggested, looking at Ginger rather than Marilyn as he spoke.
“For the hookers and strippers and sluts!” Pogo was giggling now, unable to control himself.
Exhausted and exasperated, Marilyn rubbed his temples, closing his eyes. “I thought you guys were going to take this seriously.”
“We are,” John replied tiredly. “Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve slept? Really slept? In our own beds, not these tiny bunks?”
“Being tired isn’t an excuse, John. We’re all tired. We need to have this party for Twiggy, to unwind and enjoy something for once.”
“Maybe we should have planned this months ago,” Pogo said stiffly. “Instead of waiting until two days before.”
Marilyn flipped Pogo the bird, and gave him a steely glare. “Shut your mouth.”
“Well, where are your ideas? You shot down all of ours,” John challenged, feeling braver than usual to want to challenge the singer.
He sighed heavily. “I don’t know. I want this to be perfect.”
“That’s your problem. You always have to be perfect. Well, guess what? Life isn’t perfect. Nothing is ever perfect.”
Marilyn’s glare turned to John. “Ginger’s right. We can’t fight now. We have to figure something out.”
“How about we rent some carnival stuff?” Ginger asked in almost a whisper. “He likes all of that kid stuff. We could get a Ferris wheel, a cotton candy machine, bumper cars, a bounce house…whatever you want.”
“Hey, that’s actually good!” John grinned. “But we have to get a ball pit. Remember when we went to Chuck E. Cheese?”
They all laughed at the memory. It had been late, almost closing time, and after he’d been begging for what felt like eternity, they’d all agreed to take Twiggy to the kid’s restaurant. He’d immediately run to the ball pit, flying in, disappearing in the colorful plastic objects. He’d played in there for almost an hour, by himself, refusing to come out even to eat, until the security guards had dragged him out.
“This might all be a bit expensive,” Ginger warned, remembering the fee his brother had paid to hire a petting zoo for his nephew’s recent birthday.
“Money’s not an issue. I just want him to be happy. For all of us to be happy.” Even as the words rolled off of his tongue, they left a metallic taste. Happy was something that he didn’t usually concern himself with. Happy was a luxury.
So, they sat for over an hour, planning things out as best they could. It was settled that Pogo would take Ginger and Twiggy to lunch, and Marilyn and John would make calls and have arrangements made while they explained to Twiggy that they had some press to take care of for their upcoming leg of the world’s longest tour.
With a feeling of excitement and accomplishment, Marilyn bid John goodnight, and went back down the narrow hall to the bed he shared with Twiggy. He considered the bottom empty bed that used to be his own, but decided in the end that he wanted to sleep next to Twiggy as he had been doing the entire leg of the tour. He was small and rail thin, but he was warm and soft.
Carefully climbing back over the sleeping bassist, Marilyn turned to face him, and smiled. He looked so innocent and sweet when he slept. It made him think of the first night they had shared a bed. He’d been feeling low, and they’d both been tired. It had been a long day, the kind that sucked you down like you were being dragged into a black hole. He’d tossed and turned in his own bed for hours, until Twiggy had finally leaned down from the upper bunk, hanging upside down like a bat. He’d asked him if he wanted to talk, and somehow, he’d wound up climbing up into bed with him.
“Where’d ya go?”
Marilyn was startled by the sudden sound of Twiggy’s tired voice.
“Marilyn….” Twiggy moved closer, his eyes now open and focused on his friend’s face.
“Just to get some water. Did I disturb you?”
Twiggy sighed. “You were getting water for over an hour? I could hear voices, Marilyn.”
“Um…yeah. John was watching TV. You know he doesn’t sleep a lot.”
Twiggy wasn’t content. “I heard Pogo laughing.”
“He was getting a snack.”
“And Ginger?”
“Twiggy, go to sleep. It’s late.”
“No. It’s early.”
“Damn it, just go back to bed. I’m here aren’t I?”
Twiggy seemed to consider the fact. “I know something’s going on.”
“No, it’s not. I’m not having this discussion right now. I need to sleep. So do you.”
“I want to know.”
“There’s nothing to know.”
“Ginger and Pogo went back to bed after you’d been gone awhile. I heard them talking quietly, but I don’t know what they were saying. I know it had to do with you and John, because I could hear them say your names.”
“I told you. John was watching TV. Is it a crime to watch TV with him?”
“No…”
“That’s right. Conversation over. Goodnight.” Marilyn rolled over, his back to Twiggy.
“What were you really doing?”
“Please, just let it go. Really, it’s nothing you need to know about.”
Twiggy sighed heavily. “Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“I want to know.”
Marilyn sighed. “All right. I can see you’re not going to let this go, so I’ll tell you. We were planning your birthday party. That’s all I’m going to say. No one is going to tell you what’s going to happen, and we’re going to be very unhappy with you if you force us to ruin the surprise.”
Twiggy seemed to really perk up. “You’re throwing me a party?”
“Yes.”
“With hookers?”
“No, Twiggy. No hookers this year.”
He smiled a warm, genuine smile. “Good. I don’t like the hookers, anyway.”
“That’s not what I remember you saying last year.”
They both laughed, and within a few minutes, both of them were sound asleep.