Baby I've Got My Eye On You
Twenty Four
I dispassionately listened to Johnny mumble on about his bass guitar, only really taking notice when a familiar name or song cropped up in the very much one sided conversation. It had been a mistake I realised, to ask him to play me something whilst Brian and Zacky tuned up. At first he lacked enthusiasm, probably due to the customary late nights we had all been experiencing – they had caged his eyes in dark heaving circles more obviously than the rest of us, and I admired him very much for being determined to survive the up coming show.
His fatigued voice seemed somewhat lifted in horror when I admitted that I had taken little interest in the role of the bass guitar in a band until recently, and thus followed a rather long history of bassists and ‘revolutionary’ bass lines: Cliff Burton, Geezer Butler, Duff McKagan. I assumed this was aimed to astonish me as well as defending his own instrument, and I tried very hard not to show that he was boring me to death, or feel agitated with the musician jargon he’d throw in here and there, as if I’d know what he meant.
He rambled on, but my mind remained distracted by the memory of my – brief – fight with Syn a few days ago.
“Slap bass… quite obviously is slapping the strings… like striking the string with the side of the bony joint in the middle of your thumb so that the strings vibrate and – you’re not even listening, are you?”
“Oh right, cool.”
“…. And they smack against the frets which makes it – right, you’re definitely not listening Roz, you’re not even looking”
“I didn’t know that” I said, on auto-response mode.
“…Sometimes you can use a wet fish, and slap the strings with that. The guitar smells gross of course but it’s supposed to make the fish orgasm.”
“Ah – wait, what?” my gaze snapped away from my boots as my eardrum picked up the bizarre word association of ‘fish orgasm’. I blushed at his discovery that I was in a world of my own before giving him a sincere apology.
“I’m sorry Johnny, I guess I have a lot on my mind.”
Thankfully, he wasn’t upset. In fact, his face creased gently with an amused smile as he rested the instrument carefully against the wall. It stayed there, observing our every move for the remains of our conversation, the quiet spectator of what would become our confidential talk.
“Okay, spill” he commanded. His Mohawk had been flattened by the hood of his Iron Maiden hoodie, making each strand of his hair appear soft like feathers. I smiled half in humour at his now angelic like hair, half in gratitude for his concern, but what went on between me and Brian was something I didn’t have in my nature to express with much ease.
“It’s not good to have a lot on your mind. It makes your head heavy and you don’t want to break your neck”
I laughed at his stupid joke and wondered if should – or could – tell him my thoughts. My decision to do so was one that I made verbally clear, fearing he might tell the guys – or worst still, Brian – for I knew what I was going to say could be easily misunderstood.
“Okay, firstly…” I began, putting on my teacher voice as an attempted threat, “I’m only telling you because I can’t tell Beth because of her…violent steak”
“Okay” he laughed.
“I’m not done!” I scolded, “You can’t tell anyone either.”
“I wont, I promise.”
“Me and Syn had a fight” I blurted out.
“Really?” He sounded surprised, “You wouldn’t have thought it considering how much you’ve being touching each other up the past few days.” I inwardly cringed. Yes, we were much more…lovey dovey, - for lack of a better phrase – since the fight.
“Well, we made up like, 15 minutes later.” I admitted.
“What are you complaining about then?” he scoffed
“I’m not complaining at all. It’s just…”
“Spill” he said for the second time.
“He told me he loved me.”
“…And you said…?”
“I told him the truth… that I loved him too”
“And this is a problem because…?”
“Well… what happens now? What are we supposed to do?”
“Roz… what the hell are you going on about?”
“It feels different now, like good different, but well… it’s very serious now isn’t it.”
“Oh I get it.”
“You do?”
“No”
“Well… don’t people like, move in together and stuff?”
“Usually…”
“The point is…” I sighed, “The point is I’m eighteen. And I haven’t been in love before, so I don’t know if I’m doing it right”
“Doing ‘been in love’ right?” he laughed, “Well how do you think Brian knows?”
“Well I don’t know… he’s older than me so I suppose…”
“Roz. Brian hasn’t been in love either and I know that for a fact.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m Johnny Christ, I know all” he laughed, “and besides, you’re the only girl whose name he’s name tattooed.”
I looked at him puzzled. ‘News to me!’ I wanted to say, but the shock locked the words in my throat. My expression must have said it all.
“Ah. Let me correct myself” He laughed, “I’m Johnny Christ and I know far too much.”
His fatigued voice seemed somewhat lifted in horror when I admitted that I had taken little interest in the role of the bass guitar in a band until recently, and thus followed a rather long history of bassists and ‘revolutionary’ bass lines: Cliff Burton, Geezer Butler, Duff McKagan. I assumed this was aimed to astonish me as well as defending his own instrument, and I tried very hard not to show that he was boring me to death, or feel agitated with the musician jargon he’d throw in here and there, as if I’d know what he meant.
He rambled on, but my mind remained distracted by the memory of my – brief – fight with Syn a few days ago.
“Slap bass… quite obviously is slapping the strings… like striking the string with the side of the bony joint in the middle of your thumb so that the strings vibrate and – you’re not even listening, are you?”
“Oh right, cool.”
“…. And they smack against the frets which makes it – right, you’re definitely not listening Roz, you’re not even looking”
“I didn’t know that” I said, on auto-response mode.
“…Sometimes you can use a wet fish, and slap the strings with that. The guitar smells gross of course but it’s supposed to make the fish orgasm.”
“Ah – wait, what?” my gaze snapped away from my boots as my eardrum picked up the bizarre word association of ‘fish orgasm’. I blushed at his discovery that I was in a world of my own before giving him a sincere apology.
“I’m sorry Johnny, I guess I have a lot on my mind.”
Thankfully, he wasn’t upset. In fact, his face creased gently with an amused smile as he rested the instrument carefully against the wall. It stayed there, observing our every move for the remains of our conversation, the quiet spectator of what would become our confidential talk.
“Okay, spill” he commanded. His Mohawk had been flattened by the hood of his Iron Maiden hoodie, making each strand of his hair appear soft like feathers. I smiled half in humour at his now angelic like hair, half in gratitude for his concern, but what went on between me and Brian was something I didn’t have in my nature to express with much ease.
“It’s not good to have a lot on your mind. It makes your head heavy and you don’t want to break your neck”
I laughed at his stupid joke and wondered if should – or could – tell him my thoughts. My decision to do so was one that I made verbally clear, fearing he might tell the guys – or worst still, Brian – for I knew what I was going to say could be easily misunderstood.
“Okay, firstly…” I began, putting on my teacher voice as an attempted threat, “I’m only telling you because I can’t tell Beth because of her…violent steak”
“Okay” he laughed.
“I’m not done!” I scolded, “You can’t tell anyone either.”
“I wont, I promise.”
“Me and Syn had a fight” I blurted out.
“Really?” He sounded surprised, “You wouldn’t have thought it considering how much you’ve being touching each other up the past few days.” I inwardly cringed. Yes, we were much more…lovey dovey, - for lack of a better phrase – since the fight.
“Well, we made up like, 15 minutes later.” I admitted.
“What are you complaining about then?” he scoffed
“I’m not complaining at all. It’s just…”
“Spill” he said for the second time.
“He told me he loved me.”
“…And you said…?”
“I told him the truth… that I loved him too”
“And this is a problem because…?”
“Well… what happens now? What are we supposed to do?”
“Roz… what the hell are you going on about?”
“It feels different now, like good different, but well… it’s very serious now isn’t it.”
“Oh I get it.”
“You do?”
“No”
“Well… don’t people like, move in together and stuff?”
“Usually…”
“The point is…” I sighed, “The point is I’m eighteen. And I haven’t been in love before, so I don’t know if I’m doing it right”
“Doing ‘been in love’ right?” he laughed, “Well how do you think Brian knows?”
“Well I don’t know… he’s older than me so I suppose…”
“Roz. Brian hasn’t been in love either and I know that for a fact.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m Johnny Christ, I know all” he laughed, “and besides, you’re the only girl whose name he’s name tattooed.”
I looked at him puzzled. ‘News to me!’ I wanted to say, but the shock locked the words in my throat. My expression must have said it all.
“Ah. Let me correct myself” He laughed, “I’m Johnny Christ and I know far too much.”