Hey, Cruel World - (Marilyn Manson)

You Wouldn't Even Last a Minute in Chicago

Twiggy and Ginger had gone to the movies because they figured they had nothing better to do with their day, which was probably true for those two. I didn't need them getting into mischief at home and messing up the place. That was the thing with men...they really never grew up, everything was always turned into something inappropriate, everything was messy no matter how organized they really were. They never grew up from being little boys...which I honestly did love about those four, but it was nice to have a break every now and then. Marilyn had gone to hang out with Trent Reznor, singer of Nine Inch Nails and one of his best friends since he was in L.A. They'd all asked if I'd wanted to join, but I wanted peace today. It'd been a week since we'd canned tomatoes and the rest of the week had been filled with unpacking and much, much noise.
I hadn't known, however, that Zim was going to stay home and my heart sunk a bit. It wasn't like I wasn't fond of Zim, he was a cool guy and very funny, and I enjoyed being around him, but there was always a bit of tension between the two of us. I mean, we slept in the same bed every night with only one man in between us, but that still didn't completely get you to know someone very well at all. He was the most quiet guy of the group. And nothing had ever happened between us, but at times, I felt as if Zim disliked me and thought that I didn't belong there whatsoever. I hated feeling this way because Zim was so cool, but he made me nervous and shy, I didn't want to act stupid in front of him. It made me feel like he thought of me as very childish. He just gave off that vibe.
So I was slightly regretting turning Twiggy and Ginger's offer down to go see World War Z.
Zim was in the bedroom with the door shut, so I decided to go to the living room and watch TV. I went through the channels and found one of my favorite shows, Roseanne. I usually watched it on Saturdays and had a great time laughing with myself. I heard something faintly and muted the TV, frowning and listening to hear Zim playing guitar loudly and speedily. With all the time I'd lived with Marilyn already, I hadn't been to any of his shows or band rehearsals. Of course I was a huge fan of their music but had never actually heard them live. From the next room, Zim played amazingly. And surprisingly to me, he wasn't playing any Manson songs. More shocking to me, I heard him singing.
I turned the TV off, and unable to resist and hoping I wouldn't bother him, I slowly went to the bedroom door and knocked. I mentally kicked myself immediately for not letting him finish his song. He stopped playing and singing and I almost ran, ran away from the door and out the front, down the stairs, and away. Zim was going to think I was so stupid and annoying...this wasn't helping my reputation with him. I felt like I stood there forever. Wanting to die.
"You can come in," I heard his soft voice say and I almost started shaking as I reached for the doorknob. I opened it slowly and stepped inside. He looked up from where he sat on his edge of the bed, his guitar in his lap. He wore a tight, black shirt that was unbuttoned to his mid-chest, revealing his pale white skin and thin figure, black leather pants, and a very thin scarf around his neck. His guitar, I recognized, was a beautiful black and red Gibson SG. I was jealous.
"Hey," he said, equally as soft with a bit of detectable kindness in his voice, surprising me. I smiled at him.
"I heard you playing and just wondered if I could come listen..." I said quietly and nervously, not meeting his eyes. I wasn't very good with people, especially if I didn't know them well, like Zim. "Unless you want to be alone, I don't mind, I'm sorry for bothering you-" I added quickly as I turned to leave, blushing and embarassed, but he interrupted and I turned back.
"No, it's fine, you can stay," he said. "It's my job to play for people and I'd like some company."
"Alright..." I walked over to the bed and sat beside him. "I really love your guitar...I envy you," I said with a small laugh. He grinned.
"It's a nice one," he said, patting it gently. "I've had it a long time, it's what I played when I left Manson and did my own thing. I isolated myself for about a year and just wrote and recorded songs and this was my favorite one to play." I glanced at his long fingers and imagined them doing nothing but playing all day, up and down the neck of the guitar swiftly. I was envious not only of his guitar, but his talent, one I'd never had, though I was fairly decent. Just not as good as him. I stared at them in awe, thinking of the beautiful music they were able to create, something I thought about a lot. I always looked at peoples' hands...his were flawless.
"What were you playing when I came in? It wasn't Manson..." I asked.
"It was something I wrote in that same time I was just talking about. It's called, 'You Wouldn't Even Last A Minute.'" With that, he let his fingers again take control as he began his song again, starting over and playing each and every part perfectly, years of practice shown in all ten them, all flooding out at once. He began to sing along with the music and I realized quickly his voice was as good as Marilyn's. "I used to know the sweetest girl...she never knew she saved my life. After I moved from L.A., I got the news that she had died..." I smiled at his lyrics. Towards the end of the song, I understood its title when he sang the line, "Baby, you wouldn't even last a minute in Chicago...I wouldn't even give you sixty seconds in the places I go."
He finished the song with a dramatic ending and I beamed at him as he looked up at me for approval. "That was amazing, Zim," I told him. "Really, I wish I could play that well!"
"You can, anyone can, you've just got to have the time and practice and will to do it," he told me, absorbed in what he was saying and gestering at me with his hands. "You need to have the passion, the love for music, to know it. It not only makes you a better musician, but being alone without the outside world where all you have are a few instruments brings you closer to yourself, a bond with yourself, and you find more of who you are. Music is really a beautiful thing. And that song was nothing, honestly."
"No, it was great," I said, smiling. "It was about Chicago...you're from there, aren't you?" He nodded. "Do you miss it?" I asked.
"More than anything. Other than music, Chicago's just about the only thing I've got. I get very homesick when I'm away...but it's worth it for doing what I ultimately love," he said to me and I could tell he really did truly miss it. I slightly, only for a second, wished that I could have a home that I was even barely able to miss, but I dismissed that thought quickly. "Now, I saw your guitar in the closet. Would you show me what you can do?" he asked and I felt dumbfounded. In the presence of Zim Zum...and I was supposed to play guitar? Like hell.
"Are you serious? I can't play, Zim, especially not compared to you..." I said, trailing off. I looked down at my hands clasped in my knees.
"Anyone can play," he told me and I made eye contact with him. "Whether they're good or bad, they can play, just like singing, anyone can do it." He stood and opened the closet door, grabbed out my amp and boring old black and white Starcaster, and handed it to me. I reluctantly took it and he plugged in my amp, then carefully into my guitar. Our eyes met and I smiled, then looked down again. He sat back down next to me, guitar in hand, and handed me one of his own black picks. "Now, show me what you got."
I exhaled and began playing Manson's "Fundamentally Loathsome" with a slow tune, singing along. He tapped his fingers against his leg with the beat. I wished I had a piano to play on because most of the song WAS piano, and I was better at playing that than I was guitar. But finally, I reached the solo, the creation of the man sitting on the bed right next to me, and to my surprise, I completely played it through perfectly as he would, and did on Mechanical Animals. I finished the solo and began to sing again, "Shoot myself to love you, if I loved myself I'd be shooting you..." I finished with a good end and looked up at him to search his expression. He smiled widely at me and I grinned back.
"And you can't play? That was awesome, Mavis, who're you kidding?" he said and I just continued to smile and looked down sheepishly. "Do you want to learn mine?" he asked.
"Sure," I said and let him take control. He told me some simply chords and I caught on quickly. I'd always been a quick learner, but even now I was surprised with myself yet again. He guided my hands along the neck of the guitar occasionally and gave me tips on sliding and many other things.
"You can practice that and we'll see if we can play it together in a couple of days," he told me and I smiled at him, grateful that I hadn't gotten myself in trouble with going in there to listen to him. "What else can you play that I might know?" And with that, we found the songs we knew how to play and filled the rest of the day with us playing guitar together and growing a friendship I hadn't suspected I'd have with him.