Happy Birthday, Twiggy

The next day, John spent an hour on the phone with a carnival supply company trying to arrange things for Twiggy’s party. Marilyn had called to book a weird little shack out in the woods that was often used for a haunted house at Halloween time, and they’d decided to have the party there. It was a lot of work setting things up, but hopefully, this was going to be a spectacular birthday party.
By the time Pogo and Ginger brought Twiggy back to the bus after a four hour lunch that had ended in shopping for swimsuits for no apparent reason other than there’d been a sale, they were more worn out than Marilyn and John.
“Marilyn!” Twiggy called out excitedly, parading into the bus’ living room, wearing a black and red striped bikini with little white skulls printed on it and his usual boots.
“What in the Hell is that?” Marilyn asked, rubbing his temples.
“My new swimsuit. You like?”
Marilyn looked at his friend, slowly shaking his head. “You’re nuts, Twiggy. Why didn’t you just get trunks? You look like a moron in that.”
Twiggy tried to adjust the too big bottom of the suit. “So, you don’t like it?”
“Does it matter? Where would you ever wear it?”
“To go swimming, silly!”
“And when have we been swimming?”
Twiggy stopped to think, still fidgeting with the suit. “Um…in the hot tub at that one hotel…”
“Exactly,” Marilyn sighed.
“Hey, Pogo and Ginger got suits, too! And one for you and for John, too.”
“Oh, good God,” John muttered under his breath as Twiggy handed him a little shopping bag.
“Don’t worry, it’s four pairs of black trunks and that mess,” Pogo said tiredly, jerking a thumb in the direction of Twiggy, who now had his hands on his bony hips.
“Uh…thanks,” John said, staring at the pair of black trunks he’d removed from the bag. They looked big enough for three of him.
“Would you go and put some clothes on?” Marilyn asked Twiggy.
“You don’t like my bikini,” he pouted.
“No, I don’t. I think you’re confused. I know that I let you wear a dress onstage, but you’re a guy, Twiggy. You aren’t supposed to wear a bikini.”
“Why not?”
Marilyn sighed. He really didn’t feel like having this conversation right now.
“Fine,” Twiggy pouted, his lower lip sticking out, his warm eyes glassed over with tears that wouldn’t fall. He retreated to the back of the bus, and didn’t come back up dressed in a few minutes as Marilyn had expected.
“You didn’t have to be so harsh,” Ginger said softly, looking tiredly at Marilyn.
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t have to be such a goddamn moron.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” John interjected. He really wasn’t that close with Twiggy, but he hated to see anyone receive that kind of verbal abuse, especially behind their back.
Marilyn sighed. “Twiggs knows that I love him.”
“Like you love me when you start pulling down my drum kit on stage? One of these times, you’re going to get me killed,” Ginger protested.
“I’m always careful not to hurt you. All of you.”
John snickered, rolling up the leg of his pants to reveal a softball sized bruise on his shin. “This is from last week, when you whacked me in the leg with your mic stand.”
Marilyn frowned. “Okay, maybe bruises happen now and then, but you’re okay, aren’t you, John?”
The guitarist nodded, fixing the leg of his pants. “Do you want me to go check on him?”
There was a heavy silence, and then, Marilyn disappeared to the back of the bus.
“Twiggs? Where are you?” He was peering into the bassist’s bunk, but there was clearly no one there. It wasn’t like there was room to hide in the little bed wedged up against the wall. “Twiggy? Are you…” he stopped, seeing the curtain to his own bunk move ever so slightly. He pulled it back, and found his band mate sitting on his bed, tears streaking down his face.
“Go away!”
Marilyn crawled onto the bed, and wrapped his arms around his friend. “Come on, I was just teasing you. Don’t be upset.”
Twiggy only sighed. He was starting to feel like he couldn’t take much more of this before he lost his mind.

Hours later, Twiggy felt something gently rocking him awake. He opened his eyes, and looked into Marilyn’s. He couldn’t help but smile.
“Hi. Do you think you can wake up for me? It’s getting late, and the guys want to go and get dinner.”
Twiggy sat up against Marilyn, rubbing his sleepy eyes like a child.
“Come on. You’ve got to put your dress on.”
Twiggy swung his legs over the side of the bunk, and took a few wobbly steps onto the floor. His legs were still weak.
“Okay, I’ll help,” Marilyn said gently, taking Twiggy’s dress and boots into his arms. He put the boots on first, and then wiggled the dress up his hips rather than over his head. “Where is your underwear?”
Twiggy shrugged.
“I guess you don’t need them, but don’t be mooning anyone, okay?”
He laughed. Marilyn knew him too well. He took a few steps forward, procured a pair of grey cotton panties, and pulled them on over the boots and easily up his slim frame beneath his dress.
“It wouldn’t kill you to wear men’s underwear, you know.”
Twiggy gave him a look that suggested that he best drop it, so that’s what he did.
“Come on, slowpoke,” Marilyn sighed, grabbing his hand and dragging him along like an impatient parent hurrying along their child.
Hands clasped, Twiggy and Marilyn entered the living room to find John, Ginger, and Pogo all sitting on the couch looking impatient.
“Finally you two show up,” Pogo growled. “I’m starving over here! How long do you two need to get ready?”
Before the conversation could go any further, the bus rolled to a stop, and they all made a beeline for the door, Twiggy and Pogo wrestling to be the first one out. They often did this, never really caring which one reached the ground the fastest.
“Get off me you creep!” Pogo yelled a lot too loudly, roughly shoving Twiggy down on the top step.
Had Marilyn not been standing behind them, Twiggy likely would’ve been hurt in the scuffle. Luckily, though, he caught his small body, propping him upright.
Twiggy’s eyes, already glassy with tears, looked miserably into Marilyn’s.
“You stay here a minute, okay?”
Twiggy nodded, and sat down on the top step as soon as John and Ginger had passed.
Marilyn chased after Pogo, grabbing him by the belt, pulling him around so that he saw his angry face for a split second as his fist pummeled his face.
“Hey, ow!” Pogo stumbled backward, rubbing his jaw.
“Don’t you ever call him that again,” Marilyn snarled. “If you do, I’ll kill you.”
Pogo grinned. “You sure are defensive of the little creep.”
Marilyn punched him again, in the eye this time. He kept hitting him over and over, one fist to the face, the other to the stomach. He didn’t care that they were in a public parking lot, and that people had stopped going about their business in order to watch the spectacle.
“Ow! Get off me!” Pogo screeched. “I was kidding. Stop it, please!”
Eyes still narrowed, Marilyn did stop punching, but only because he felt that it was quite possible that he either really would kill the keyboardist, or someone would call the police.
“I didn’t mean it. Really. He’s not a creep. I won‘t insult him again.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Suit yourself.”
“If you’re really sorry, then apologize to Twiggy.”
Pogo nodded, walking back to the bus. His face and stomach ached. He really hadn’t meant what he’d said, but that no longer mattered. He stood at the bottom of the steps, looking at Twiggy. “I’m sorry, Twiggs. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean what I said. Forgive me?”
Twiggy only looked at him.
“Come on, Twiggy. Friends? I’ll let you eat half of my dinner.”
Finally, Twiggy smiled. “Okay.”
Pogo stretched out a hand, and helped Twiggy down from the steps. He smiled, trying to force open the eye that was starting to swell shut.
Twiggy opened the door to the restaurant. “Let’s just eat, okay?”
Pogo felt thankful that they’d wound up at KFC and not a sit-down proper restaurant. He knew that he must’ve looked about as good as he felt from his fight in the parking lot with Marilyn.
Ginger dropped trays with Styrofoam plates on the counter in front of Twiggy and Pogo. “We all got the buffet, so serve yourself.”
Pogo waited patiently for Twiggy to go ahead of him, amused with the way he inspected each item before carefully deciding if he wanted to attempt to eat it. “For God’s sake, Twiggy, come on!”
Twiggy laughed, tossing a biscuit at his band mate.
The teenage girl at the register looked at them warily, so Pogo decided to leave things alone and not risk getting them all thrown out of the restaurant. Instead, he took a bite of the biscuit, and smiled.
With a spoonful each of green beans, peas, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese, Twiggy poured a glass of water and went to the table in the far back corner, sitting between Marilyn and John.
“Twiggy, is that all you’re eating?” John asked curiously, half of his face covered in barbecue sauce.
“Yeah.”
“No, it’s not,” Marilyn said firmly, dropping a chicken leg onto the mostly empty plate. He leaned in close to Twiggy’s ear. “You need to eat, okay? I don’t want you passing out tomorrow.”
Twiggy smiled, and nodded. He picked up the chicken leg, and shoved it in his mouth, bones and all.
“Good grief, you’re going to choke to death!” John sighed, watching Twiggy attempt to pull the bones back out of his mouth.
“You have to chew, silly,” Ginger said, picking at his mostly eaten biscuit.
“I guess I need to feed you like a toddler,” Pogo laughed as Twiggy spit up a smaller bone.
Marilyn smiled. “He’s fine.”
Twiggy nodded, spearing a green bean with his plastic fork.
They ate in relative silence for the rest of the meal, until Ginger stood up with his tray, and announced that he was going back to the bus.
After practically being force-fed twice as much as he wanted, Twiggy dumped his own tray, clutching his stomach. He felt full to the brim.
“You okay?” Marilyn asked gently.
Twiggy nodded, and poured another glass of water.
“Goodnight,” the tired cashier said, her eyes roaming between Marilyn and Twiggy.
“Yeah, goodnight,” Marilyn rolled his eyes, grabbing Twiggy’s hand and pulling him outside.
Water sloshed out of the plastic cup in Twiggy’s hand as Marilyn dragged him to the bus. “What’s the hurry?”
“You want them to lock us out?”
Twiggy shook his head no, and picked up the pace.
Pogo was standing on the bottom step, cigarette in hand. “Come on, you two!”
They both darted up the steps, nearly knocking Pogo down. He tossed his cigarette out, and pulled the door shut.
“World of Warcraft?” John asked as Twiggy passed by the TV.
“No, thanks. I’m really tired.”
“Marilyn? How about you?”
Marilyn thought for a moment, and decided that he should join his friends and let Twiggy go. He didn’t need to baby sit him every moment of every day. He shoved John into Ginger, and sat down on the couch. “Let’s play.”
It didn’t take long before Pogo had taken over the game, and John and Ginger were both nearly asleep on the couch beside Marilyn.
“Yeah…I’m gonna go to bed,” he sighed. No one responded as he got up from the couch, and went back to the bunks. He pulled his curtain open, expecting to see Twiggy stretched out and sleeping peacefully on his bed. To his surprise, the bed was empty. He pulled open the curtain to Twiggy’s bunk, but it was empty, too.