To Write Love on His Guitar

I remember being little and sitting on the swings. It was my birthday and I had just turned seven. That was the only reason mom let me wear that ugly princess dress in public. I had makeup on and some of those children accessories. You know, like those gaudy big plastic hearts and Mardi gras type beads. Plus one beautiful real Austrian crystal flower clip that clipped into the side of my head. It was the size of a grownup's fist so it was too big for my head but somehow still stayed in place. While I was swinging I sang a rhyme I had just learned in school. It had my name in it.
"Miss Molly had a dolly who was sick, sick, sick. So she called for the doctor to come quick, quick, quick. The doctor came with his bag and his hat, and he knocked on the door with a rat-a-tat-tat. He looked at the dolly and he shook his head. And he said, 'Miss Molly, put her straight to bed.' He wrote on the paper for a pill, pill, pill. 'I'll be back in the morning with the bill, bill, bill.'"

His bed smelled sour milk... 
Then again most musicians' tour bus beds smelled nappy. I had come to find it was usually because of how much sweat was put in it; from reeking of B.O. after a concert and not taking a shower, to shagging so many girls in one night their penises damn near shriveled off. God, it was gross. Though for this bed it was totally different. Well, kind of. I mean, there was a lot of sex last night, but I really didn't wanna think about it. In this case it was because Alex had taken some pill at an after party last night and couldn't stomach it, so it was kind of all over the floor next to me and above my head; which was disgusting, by the way. 
After I had managed to open my eyes and see the light blue ceiling above my face it took me a few minutes to remember why my shoulders were cold. Oh yeah, I was naked and so was Alex. Him and his piles of greasy long disgusting hair; his hair was twice the length of mine, which was kind of normal, I guess, since he was a drummer.... [continues]

Read full essay