Chapter 13 - Tweedle-Tay's Story
September 18, 1998 - Tulsa, Oklahoma
'Well you couldn't be that man I adored. You don't seem to know, seem to care, what your heart is for. Well I don't know him anymore. There's nothing where he used to lie, my conversation has run dry, that's what going on, nothing's right I'm torn!'
Michaela was still trying to torture me in her oh-so-subtle way. For two entire months she had been playing songs with "hidden" meanings in them. She had made a tape with all these songs which were supposed to symbolise how she no longer trusted me. Her favourite one to play was still "Ask For It" by Hole as it was the most literal. She was still dressing badly too. She thought those baggy clothes and lack of make-up would make her look completely unattractive. But the idea of that was ridiculous. The clothes were about four sizes too big and she looked like a wannabe homie which was stupid as she was the epitome of preppyness. Michaela was like one of those girls in the deodorant ads. You know, the blonde haired, blue eyed, writer for the school newspaper, cheerleader, always nice to everyone...... kind of like a cross between the Wakefield twins and Cher from Clueless, and here she was pretending to be a homegirl. Her new clothes actually showed more skin than her old clothes because the tops kept on falling off her shoulders and the pants kept on falling off her hips. And did she really think that I couldn't see her long eye- lashes, high cheekbones and perfectly shaped mouth just because she wasn't wearing make-up? She was even more pathetic than I was.
The summer had been long and virtually silent. We were actually grateful when September came and we were able to do school work. It was a break from the hours on end that we spent staring at the television sitting eight feet apart and not making eye contact. Michaela had the teen magazines our mother bought us once a month but she wouldn't let me look at them. When I complained to our mother, Michaela had informed her that I couldn't "control myself" and was not to be trusted near anything that even vaguely resembled the female of the species. Our mother just smiled. If she had noticed any changes in Michaela since that fateful summer night, she didn't show it. To her, Michaela was still the size six girl with the designer clothes, not a bitter, ninety pound waif. She was obviously choosing to be blind, because the changes that had occurred in Michaela in the past year were obvious. The changes that had occurred in me in the past year were obvious. I had always been skinny but I had grown three inches and not gained any weight. I had an incestuous crush on my sister. I was writing songs about death and attics. We weren't the same picture- perfect people.
Anyway, I was trying to watch 'Friends' on this night, but did Michaela care? No. She was still punishing me. She didn't want to be my friend and watch television with me like she used to, she wanted to go through old family notes. She still hadn't found anything interesting but she continued to spend hours each week reading the old newspapers and diaries. And not only that, but she seemed to think it necessary that she play her 'punishment tape' loudly so that I couldn't hear the television. It was as though she wanted me to hate her. No, I knew she wanted me to hate her. Why couldn't things be the way they used to be?
'I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel. I'm cold and I'm ashamed lying naked on the floor. Illusion never changed into something real......"
Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I stomped over to the corner where Michaela was sitting. "Would you mind turning that music down??" I asked.
"Yes," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "I like to work with music on in the background. I really relate to what she's saying."
"Well I'm trying to watch TV!" I complained.
"Tweedle-Tay! This is really interesting. I'm on the verge of finding out what makes our parents so psychopathic. I'm up to our grandfather Manson in the Manson family history. He's our father's father. Our father is by far the most psychopathic Manson. Who knows what family secrets we have," Michaela explained.
"But 'Friends' is my favourite show!" I countered.
"It's a repeat Tweedle-Tay, get over it."
"Okay. Can I help you?" I asked, trying to be friendly.
Michaela smiled, and then frowned, remembering what I did. "I guess so," she said, moving over for me to sit down.
'So whenever I think what a dick, what a liar, I try to come up with some good things inside!'
Michaela spoke again, refusing to make eyecontact. "Have you ever met your grandfather? What was he like?"
I thought for a second and then realised something that I had failed to notice in my entire fifteen and a half years. "No," I said. "I've never met any of our grandparents," I added.
Michaela actually looked at me, probably to see if I was lying, "How strange," she said.
'Well you haven't killed anyone as far as we know, and you seem very nice to your sister. You've got very good taste in clothes and guitars and very young girls........'
"Yeah, it is kind of weird," I said.
Michaela gave a hint of smile. "Kind of weird?" She quickly composed herself. "I'm going through the old records and trying to find out who our paternal grandmother was and what sort of people our grandparents were." She handed me a stack of papers.
'Every time that I sell myself to you I feel a little bit cheaper than I need to......'
I began to go through the old photographs. It was so boring. There were class photos, family party photos, holiday photos...... and all of people I had never met. Sure they were all very attractive people, they were our relatives after all, but they were people I did not know. Finally I came to a picture of a young man and woman cutting a cake. It was obviously a wedding cake as it had a little bride and groom statue on the top. The man was our grandfather, Roger Manson, and the woman was the first blonde in Manson history. She looked a little bit like Michaela. I held the photo up. "Well, I found it," I said.
"Huh?" Michaela asked.
"Our grandparents' wedding photo," I said, holding up the picture of our grandfather and his pretty bride.
Michaela's eyes widened as she looked at the photo. "Fucking hell!" she said, grabbing it off me.
September 18, 1998 - Tulsa, Oklahoma
'Well you couldn't be that man I adored. You don't seem to know, seem to care, what your heart is for. Well I don't know him anymore. There's nothing where he used to lie, my conversation has run dry, that's what going on, nothing's right I'm torn!'
Michaela was still trying to torture me in her oh-so-subtle way. For two entire months she had been playing songs with "hidden" meanings in them. She had made a tape with all these songs which were supposed to symbolise how she no longer trusted me. Her favourite one to play was still "Ask For It" by Hole as it was the most literal. She was still dressing badly too. She thought those baggy clothes and lack of make-up would make her look completely unattractive. But the idea of that was ridiculous. The clothes were about four sizes too big and she looked like a wannabe homie which was stupid as she was the epitome of preppyness. Michaela was like one of those girls in the deodorant ads. You know, the blonde haired, blue eyed, writer for the school newspaper, cheerleader, always nice to everyone...... kind of like a cross between the Wakefield twins and Cher from Clueless, and here she was pretending to be a homegirl. Her new clothes actually showed more skin than her old clothes because the tops kept on falling off her shoulders and the pants kept on falling off her hips. And did she really think that I couldn't see her long eye- lashes, high cheekbones and perfectly shaped mouth just because she wasn't wearing make-up? She was even more pathetic than I was.
The summer had been long and virtually silent. We were actually grateful when September came and we were able to do school work. It was a break from the hours on end that we spent staring at the television sitting eight feet apart and not making eye contact. Michaela had the teen magazines our mother bought us once a month but she wouldn't let me look at them. When I complained to our mother, Michaela had informed her that I couldn't "control myself" and was not to be trusted near anything that even vaguely resembled the female of the species. Our mother just smiled. If she had noticed any changes in Michaela since that fateful summer night, she didn't show it. To her, Michaela was still the size six girl with the designer clothes, not a bitter, ninety pound waif. She was obviously choosing to be blind, because the changes that had occurred in Michaela in the past year were obvious. The changes that had occurred in me in the past year were obvious. I had always been skinny but I had grown three inches and not gained any weight. I had an incestuous crush on my sister. I was writing songs about death and attics. We weren't the same picture- perfect people.
Anyway, I was trying to watch 'Friends' on this night, but did Michaela care? No. She was still punishing me. She didn't want to be my friend and watch television with me like she used to, she wanted to go through old family notes. She still hadn't found anything interesting but she continued to spend hours each week reading the old newspapers and diaries. And not only that, but she seemed to think it necessary that she play her 'punishment tape' loudly so that I couldn't hear the television. It was as though she wanted me to hate her. No, I knew she wanted me to hate her. Why couldn't things be the way they used to be?
'I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel. I'm cold and I'm ashamed lying naked on the floor. Illusion never changed into something real......"
Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I stomped over to the corner where Michaela was sitting. "Would you mind turning that music down??" I asked.
"Yes," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "I like to work with music on in the background. I really relate to what she's saying."
"Well I'm trying to watch TV!" I complained.
"Tweedle-Tay! This is really interesting. I'm on the verge of finding out what makes our parents so psychopathic. I'm up to our grandfather Manson in the Manson family history. He's our father's father. Our father is by far the most psychopathic Manson. Who knows what family secrets we have," Michaela explained.
"But 'Friends' is my favourite show!" I countered.
"It's a repeat Tweedle-Tay, get over it."
"Okay. Can I help you?" I asked, trying to be friendly.
Michaela smiled, and then frowned, remembering what I did. "I guess so," she said, moving over for me to sit down.
'So whenever I think what a dick, what a liar, I try to come up with some good things inside!'
Michaela spoke again, refusing to make eyecontact. "Have you ever met your grandfather? What was he like?"
I thought for a second and then realised something that I had failed to notice in my entire fifteen and a half years. "No," I said. "I've never met any of our grandparents," I added.
Michaela actually looked at me, probably to see if I was lying, "How strange," she said.
'Well you haven't killed anyone as far as we know, and you seem very nice to your sister. You've got very good taste in clothes and guitars and very young girls........'
"Yeah, it is kind of weird," I said.
Michaela gave a hint of smile. "Kind of weird?" She quickly composed herself. "I'm going through the old records and trying to find out who our paternal grandmother was and what sort of people our grandparents were." She handed me a stack of papers.
'Every time that I sell myself to you I feel a little bit cheaper than I need to......'
I began to go through the old photographs. It was so boring. There were class photos, family party photos, holiday photos...... and all of people I had never met. Sure they were all very attractive people, they were our relatives after all, but they were people I did not know. Finally I came to a picture of a young man and woman cutting a cake. It was obviously a wedding cake as it had a little bride and groom statue on the top. The man was our grandfather, Roger Manson, and the woman was the first blonde in Manson history. She looked a little bit like Michaela. I held the photo up. "Well, I found it," I said.
"Huh?" Michaela asked.
"Our grandparents' wedding photo," I said, holding up the picture of our grandfather and his pretty bride.
Michaela's eyes widened as she looked at the photo. "Fucking hell!" she said, grabbing it off me.
