Blue Monday

“What are you doing with those?”
I turned around to face Marilyn, a gleeful, mischievous smile on my face.
“Twiggy, don’t.”
My smile turned to a frown. “Aww…come on! Let me have my fun.”
With a disapproving shake of his head, my best friend took the little packets of dye from my hands. “I’m not letting you do whatever it is you’ve got in mind. It may be funny to you, but I assure you, it is not funny to me when you get the rest of the band angry.”
“You’re just sore because they think it’s you pranking them.”
“Sure, Twiggs. It’s very believable that I put glue on the toilet seat.”
“Well, that was actually Pogo…”
“No, it wasn’t.”
I tried my best to conceal a smile, but I know Marilyn can see right through it. He knows me better than anyone, and he can always read my expressions and emotions.
“You’ve got to stop this foolishness. It’s not April Fool’s, and it’s getting on everyone’s nerves. Aren’t you a little old for kid’s pranks?”
Honestly, most of the time, I felt like a seven year old trapped in an adult’s body. Pranks could be for adults. Hadn’t Marilyn ever pulled a prank on anyone? Of course he had. We used to all of the time, before I’d joined the band. We’d go to Disney World, or wherever. All of that had stopped when the band had really taken off and he’d had to start taking some things seriously.
“You should be getting ready for lunch, anyway. We have a reservation in less than an hour.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I dismissed. What was wrong with the outfit I had on? It wasn’t like we were going to some rich people’s fancy palace for lunch. It was just a glorified Olive Garden. Surely, they didn’t care if I showed up in black jeans and a t-shirt.
“Twiggy, please go get dressed.”
“Fine,” I sighed, though I didn’t move, not even a little bit.
Marilyn put the packets of dye into the little trash can in the corner of the room. So much for putting green dye in John’s shampoo. It would’ve been epic. He was so fussy about his hair, though I didn’t know why. It was just a blonde mop.
Speaking of the guitarist…
“Manson! Telephone!” John darted into the room in leather shorts and a silver crop top. I could only hope that he was trying on stage outfits, because I sure didn’t want to go out to lunch with him dressed like that.
Marilyn took the phone. “John, keep an eye on him, will you? Don’t let him in that trash can. And make sure he changes his clothes, and that you do, as well.”
John raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask. “Alright, Twiggs. What do you think of my outfit?”
I actually stuck my index finger down my throat, which, as anyone would’ve known, wasn’t a good idea. I started to gag, but John, always excellent at following directions, wouldn’t let me near the trash can.
“Nice. Fake vomiting to get me into trouble, huh? No way. Do you take me for a-” he quickly hushed up when I barfed on the carpet.
Wretching a few more times, I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. I smiled at him. This really was all his fault.
“Dude, you’d better clean that up,” John informed me.
I rolled my eyes, and went to lay down on the tattered couch.
“Ginger!”
Ugh. Did John always have to be so loud?
“Gin-ger!”
The drummer, wearing only a pair of shorts, came into the room. “What?” He sounded more than a little irritated. “I’m trying to get dressed.”
“Twiggy threw up on the carpet.”
“So?”
“So, he won’t clean it up.”
“Well, think about it. If you just hurled, would you feel like cleaning it up?”
John sighed dramatically. “I’m not cleaning it up.”
“No one asked you to,” I said tiredly. The truth was, I really didn’t feel well. I hadn’t all day. I’d assumed that it was from all of the partying I’d done the night before, but now, I was starting to wonder if it was something more.
Marilyn came back into the room. “What is all of the noise about in here? I’m trying to conduct business on the phone.”
“Twiggy stuck his finger down his throat and then he threw up and now he won’t clean it up,” John explained like a child tattling on his classmate.
“Twiggs, are you okay?” Marilyn really did sound concerned.
I slightly raised my head, but I didn’t even feel like nodding.
The singer knelt down beside me, putting a hand on my forehead. “Hmm. You do feel kind of warm. Maybe you should skip lunch. Take a nap instead.”
I didn’t argue.
“Actually, why don’t you two and Pogo go? I’ll stay here with Twiggy.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I didn’t say that you did. I know you’re a big boy. I’d just feel better if someone was around to take care of you.”
“Whatever, man,” Ginger said as he left the room to finish dressing. I heard another set of footsteps, and guessed that John had followed him out of the room.
“Are you really sick?” Marilyn asked me in a low, quiet voice.
“Yeah.”
He gently brushed some of my dreadlocks out of my face. “Come on. I’ll put you to bed.”
“I wanna stay here,” I challenged.
“Fine. Here it will be. Let me get you a blanket.”
I grunted slightly, turning onto my side. I was facing the back of the couch. I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up again, but I did feel tired and achy.
“Here you go,” Marilyn said, carefully draping a blanket over me. He patted my back gently. “Need anything else?”
“No. You go to lunch. I’ll be fine here.”
“I’ll think about it. First, I’m cleaning the carpet.”
“I’ll do it later.”
“No, I’ll do it now.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
I heard him walk away, and then the sounds of cabinets opening and closing, and footsteps making paths from room to room. I was starting to get sleepy. As I started to fade out, I could hear voices in one of the other rooms. I tried to listen to what they were saying, but I couldn’t really make anything out clearly enough to understand. The door opened, and then, closed.
Thinking that I was alone, I began to softly hum. Sometimes that put me to sleep at night when I needed comforting. For now, I was simply trying not to think of anything, to let my mind blank out so that I could relax. I’d barely slept the night before.
Another voice began to hum along with mine. I knew instantly that it was Marilyn. I wondered why he’d stayed with me. I stopped humming, and turned over onto my other side.
“Having trouble sleeping?”
“Yeah.”
Without a word, Marilyn scooped me up, the blanket dragging on the floor. He carried me to my little bed, and gently lay me down. He sat on the side of the bed, and sang something I’d never heard before to me in a low, deep voice. It was haunting and beautiful. When he’d finished, he kissed my forehead, and left me to sleep.
“I wrote that for you, you know,” he said to me, thinking that I’d never know.
I was still awake, if only partially. But I knew that even though he wasn’t in the room, he was still watching me. Maybe he thought that I was faking and would climb out of bed and retrieve the dye from the trash and go about my prank. Or, maybe, he really just wanted to make sure that I was okay. After all, he was my best friend.
I tried to let my mind drift, and to get some much needed sleep. I was maybe a moment from being totally out when I heard soft footsteps. They stopped, but I could hear something that led me to believe that Marilyn was still there. “I’ll never leave you, Twiggy,” he said softly, and then, I knew he wasn’t suspicious of me at all. He was just my best friend, trying to take care of me.