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we were introduced by a mutual friend, although for the longest time, I didn't think he liked me. I'd always just sit there, unnoticed amongst all the big-time friends that would visit the house, just sitting there quietly, or sometimes, humming along to songs his wife taught me.
Courtney was always a good dancer. she would pick me up, swing me around and whisper to me how close Kurt and I would be one day. I'd always hoped it was true, but never suspected my day would come so soon.
it was raining, as it often does, with the wind whipping off the Puget Sound in sheets. he came into my room, locked the door and put on that stupid Meat Puppets album again.
"sing to me" he said.
I remained silent. he took more pills and cleared the needle onto the ceiling.
"sing me a song" he said, again.
I had no voice. I couldn't.
the needle slid into his bruised groin with practiced ease.
"I said sing!" he ordered once more, "I'm Kurt Motherfucking Cobain, the voice of a generation!!"
he held me close, caressing my length, both my baleful eyes now staring at him.
his phone rang and he set me down. it was Courtney. I heard her scream "just DO IT, you pussy!!!" even as he threw the phone down, still off it's receiver.
he wept even louder this time as he grabbed me, forcibly; Courtney still spitefully cursing.
"SING, damn you!!" he wailed, fingers running over the cold blackened steel of my trigger. he pulled it, gently, but just enough.
I sang, but not along to that pussy Meat Puppets shit. I sang Slayer. South of Heaven. I was drums, bass and lead guitar. I was vocals. I was everything. I was the last thing he ever heard. my voice was both rapture and ruin. damnation and benediction. salvation from all of life's woes.
I saved him that day. I saved him from himself, I saved him from her, I saved him from a million flannel-wearing look-alikes, but most of all, I saved him from ever having to listen to the Meat Puppets again.
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