"Do You Have A Lifestory, Jimmy?", chapter 8
Del VIII
Dear J,
Where have all the bastards gone? The Underbelly stacks up ten high.
The dummy failed the crashtest, collecting unemployment checks, like a flunkie along for the ride.
Where have all the riots gone, as the city's motto gets pulverized?
What's in love is now in debt, on your bitch certificate, so strike the fucking match to light this fuse!
It's not over 'til you're underground, it's not over before it's too late
This city's burning, it's not my burden
It's not over before it's too late... there is nothing left to analyze.
Where will all the martyrs go when the virus cures itself?
And where will we all go when it's too late?
You're not the Jesus of Suburbia, the St. Jimmy is a figment of your father's rage and your momma's love
- W
I folded up the letter once again. Opened it and read it again. Folded it up again.
Tried to remember her. Her eyes, her clothes, her hair...
I was high again. On drugs. They killed my pain, at least for a short while.
My feet walked their own direction, carrying my hollow, empty body. Where would they take me? There was nowhere to go. Except for home.
"Jimmy! Hey, Jimmy!"
In two seconds, I was almost mowed down and surrounded by The Underbelly.
"We've been yelling as fuck, why didn't you stop you motherfucker?" one of them puffed. I couldn't identify him. It was like I watched the scene from above, I wasn't present. He reminded me of Tunny, though.
I shrugged my shoulders and let my feet continue their dragging homewards.
"Where's the girl?"
A murmur erupted. Voices about a girl. A special girl. Voices about Whatsername. It was just too much for me.
"We're fucked up, drop dead!"
Some of them laughed insecurely, as if I was joking. Or as if I only was frightened of them. Suddenly, I had turned into the small, bullied kid instead of their leader.
"Shut up!" I screamed. Without thinking, I had hit someone in the face. He moaned and hid his bleeding nose behind the hand.
"Come on guys... let's go..." A guy put his arm around the one I had hit. "It's for real."
***
Was this the right place? I remembered short moments spent there and small parts of the house. It looked familiar to me, so it had to be there. Just behind the old, ugly, huge "Welcome to Jingletown, USA" - sign.
With heavy steps, I walked up to the door. Knocked it mechanically.
Ten nervous seconds of waiting seemed like an hour. But then, finally, someone opened.
The woman had small, brown eyes in absent expression. But the color was just the same as mine. The entangled, reddish blonde hair reached her shoulders. Mom.
"Can I help you?" said her bored voice.
I stared at her. Couldn't she remember?
She started staring back. She had discovered something.
A girl came running downstairs and disturbed our little stare-war.
"Sarah, can you hang on for a seco..." she dropped her voice as she looked up and saw that I stood there, not Sarah. Jimmy wasn't familiar to her, neither was she to him.
Mom's eyes got flooded of tears.
"Why for so long?" she said thickly. Her hand searched for my chest and touched it carefully. As if she wasn't sure I stood there infront of her, alive.
The girl had walked up to mom in the doorway.
"What's going on?"
Mom just cried. I only felt empty. The unknown girl wrinkled her forehead.
"H... he's your brother, Amelie," our mom stated.
Amelie. My sister.
Her eyes, which were identic to mine, sifted me from up and down.
"Jimmy?" she whispered.
I nodded. Jimmy. Jimmy the Stupid.
***
Mom acted like in ecstasy. Like depression was taking over and a long lost son to fight was what she needed less than anything.
She put down a tray infront of me and Amelie.
"Where's Brad?" I asked, not able to eat the sandwiches that mom protruded.
"He left," Amelie sighed. "And mom is really down."
Mom's face started blazing violently.
"Amelie!" she barked.
"It's cool mom. Depressions are--"
"Shut up you... argh!" she cut off the sentence. Her tears flowed down the cheeks.
Amelie stood up violently.
"I can't help you've ruined your own, Brad's and my life, probably Jimmy's too, can I?"
Mom stared at Amelie. Then on me. And then rushed out of the room.
Amelie shrugged her shoulders and took one of the sandwiches.
"Uh! It's mouldy!" Quickly, she threw it out the open window. "She can't take care of anything any more, neither herself."
"Um, I'm going to... my room," I swallowed. And without asking for permission or waiting for an answer, I went upstairs.
Almost everywhere of the house was emptied of furnitures. I supposed that they had to sell the stuff to survive.
Carefully, I pushed the door to my room.
A smell of old, dirty tennis socks, rotten food and sewer hit me.
"Ugh!" I spontanely shouted and covered my nose with the sleeve of my black sweatshirt.
No one had been there for ages. It looked just like the day when I had left home. Everything was covered with a thick layer dust.
I sat down on the stinky bed and sifted the room. Nothing special. There were no posters or pictures on the walls, which made it feel bare and leafless.
I bent down to open up my secret hatch in the floor. It was from the beginning just a loose board of the floor, but later on it had become my secret.
I stuck down my hand and fished up a bunch of old letters and photos. Then, a box that didn't really reveal its contents.
I opened it. A puff of dust sailed onto my face and I coughed hoarsely.
Slowly, I picked up a pack of ritalin. Then a pack of joints.
I remembered leaving them behind, wanting to start up something new.
But I had failed.
Dear J,
Where have all the bastards gone? The Underbelly stacks up ten high.
The dummy failed the crashtest, collecting unemployment checks, like a flunkie along for the ride.
Where have all the riots gone, as the city's motto gets pulverized?
What's in love is now in debt, on your bitch certificate, so strike the fucking match to light this fuse!
It's not over 'til you're underground, it's not over before it's too late
This city's burning, it's not my burden
It's not over before it's too late... there is nothing left to analyze.
Where will all the martyrs go when the virus cures itself?
And where will we all go when it's too late?
You're not the Jesus of Suburbia, the St. Jimmy is a figment of your father's rage and your momma's love
- W
I folded up the letter once again. Opened it and read it again. Folded it up again.
Tried to remember her. Her eyes, her clothes, her hair...
I was high again. On drugs. They killed my pain, at least for a short while.
My feet walked their own direction, carrying my hollow, empty body. Where would they take me? There was nowhere to go. Except for home.
"Jimmy! Hey, Jimmy!"
In two seconds, I was almost mowed down and surrounded by The Underbelly.
"We've been yelling as fuck, why didn't you stop you motherfucker?" one of them puffed. I couldn't identify him. It was like I watched the scene from above, I wasn't present. He reminded me of Tunny, though.
I shrugged my shoulders and let my feet continue their dragging homewards.
"Where's the girl?"
A murmur erupted. Voices about a girl. A special girl. Voices about Whatsername. It was just too much for me.
"We're fucked up, drop dead!"
Some of them laughed insecurely, as if I was joking. Or as if I only was frightened of them. Suddenly, I had turned into the small, bullied kid instead of their leader.
"Shut up!" I screamed. Without thinking, I had hit someone in the face. He moaned and hid his bleeding nose behind the hand.
"Come on guys... let's go..." A guy put his arm around the one I had hit. "It's for real."
***
Was this the right place? I remembered short moments spent there and small parts of the house. It looked familiar to me, so it had to be there. Just behind the old, ugly, huge "Welcome to Jingletown, USA" - sign.
With heavy steps, I walked up to the door. Knocked it mechanically.
Ten nervous seconds of waiting seemed like an hour. But then, finally, someone opened.
The woman had small, brown eyes in absent expression. But the color was just the same as mine. The entangled, reddish blonde hair reached her shoulders. Mom.
"Can I help you?" said her bored voice.
I stared at her. Couldn't she remember?
She started staring back. She had discovered something.
A girl came running downstairs and disturbed our little stare-war.
"Sarah, can you hang on for a seco..." she dropped her voice as she looked up and saw that I stood there, not Sarah. Jimmy wasn't familiar to her, neither was she to him.
Mom's eyes got flooded of tears.
"Why for so long?" she said thickly. Her hand searched for my chest and touched it carefully. As if she wasn't sure I stood there infront of her, alive.
The girl had walked up to mom in the doorway.
"What's going on?"
Mom just cried. I only felt empty. The unknown girl wrinkled her forehead.
"H... he's your brother, Amelie," our mom stated.
Amelie. My sister.
Her eyes, which were identic to mine, sifted me from up and down.
"Jimmy?" she whispered.
I nodded. Jimmy. Jimmy the Stupid.
***
Mom acted like in ecstasy. Like depression was taking over and a long lost son to fight was what she needed less than anything.
She put down a tray infront of me and Amelie.
"Where's Brad?" I asked, not able to eat the sandwiches that mom protruded.
"He left," Amelie sighed. "And mom is really down."
Mom's face started blazing violently.
"Amelie!" she barked.
"It's cool mom. Depressions are--"
"Shut up you... argh!" she cut off the sentence. Her tears flowed down the cheeks.
Amelie stood up violently.
"I can't help you've ruined your own, Brad's and my life, probably Jimmy's too, can I?"
Mom stared at Amelie. Then on me. And then rushed out of the room.
Amelie shrugged her shoulders and took one of the sandwiches.
"Uh! It's mouldy!" Quickly, she threw it out the open window. "She can't take care of anything any more, neither herself."
"Um, I'm going to... my room," I swallowed. And without asking for permission or waiting for an answer, I went upstairs.
Almost everywhere of the house was emptied of furnitures. I supposed that they had to sell the stuff to survive.
Carefully, I pushed the door to my room.
A smell of old, dirty tennis socks, rotten food and sewer hit me.
"Ugh!" I spontanely shouted and covered my nose with the sleeve of my black sweatshirt.
No one had been there for ages. It looked just like the day when I had left home. Everything was covered with a thick layer dust.
I sat down on the stinky bed and sifted the room. Nothing special. There were no posters or pictures on the walls, which made it feel bare and leafless.
I bent down to open up my secret hatch in the floor. It was from the beginning just a loose board of the floor, but later on it had become my secret.
I stuck down my hand and fished up a bunch of old letters and photos. Then, a box that didn't really reveal its contents.
I opened it. A puff of dust sailed onto my face and I coughed hoarsely.
Slowly, I picked up a pack of ritalin. Then a pack of joints.
I remembered leaving them behind, wanting to start up something new.
But I had failed.
