His story wasn't interesting, it wasn't particularly tragic, it was just a story about a young man who didn't know shit about life. That's his story, Johnny's story. But of course he wasn't the only castmember of his not-so-tragic downfall. No of course not. There was Will, who decided his girlfriend was more important than friends, or in reality was too much of a coward to leave his comfortable home, his comfortable couch, to go to the city. Hard to believe but if one looked at it that way, Will was the smartest of them all. Then Tunny, not much to say about Tunny but that he was stupid enough to believe joining the military was a great idea. Haha, the military? They all left him. They all left him alone in the city.
His city. Or was it not?
That's when the imporant people make an entrance. Whatsername, for example. There were so many things to Whatsername, he couldn't possibly mention all of them. When they first met, it wasn't romantic at all. It was in the parking lot of 7-Eleven, he'd asked her for money and she didn't give him any. Called her a bitch, she flipped him off and left. Now, one might think that was it, but no. No there was more to come.
Did he love her? He couldn't remember.
Love. During his time in the city it was often unclear who he loved or if there was any love between him and another person involved at all. Everything was quite blurry, he couldn't draw the line. Was there any love at all? Love. Love. Love. Between two humans? He wasn't sure.
But oh boy did he love the drugs. Sweet, sweet drugs.
Which brings us to another point of the story. Who did he get the drugs from? His angel, his saint, savior of the broken youth. Saint Jimmy. When he first saw him, he knew his life would never be the same. It was outside a nightclub, he'd just stopped to light up a cigarette when he walked down the street. Johnny could still remember the silhouette of Jimmy, his own cigarette glowing in the dark. He was like some dark angel, coming to his rescue, taking him to clubs, kissing him in the dirty bathrooms and giving him every drug he could possibly desire. That's what their relationship was, dirty kisses and drugs. At the time, it was enough for him.
Surprisingly Jimmy didn't really pressure him into doing heroin, or at least that what Johnny liked to believe. After all Jimmy was his angel, right? He couldn't have possibly wanted him to go through this, right? The memories weren't as clear as he'd liked them to be actually, everything was quite foggy. Well, almost everything. He remembered very clearly how Jimmy kissed him, he remembered very clearly how the needle entered his vein, he remembered looking into Jimmy's eyes and he remembered the feeling. The best feeling in the world. Maybe. Kind of?
But he enjoyed it. No matter how broken he was, the more he lost himself, the better he felt.
Losing yourself means freeing yourself.
When he was with Jimmy, he felt stronger, he felt respected and as if this was his city. Which it obviously wasn't, it was Jimmy's city right? They all treated him like some kind of hero, they needed something to believe in and this thing happened to be the almighty Saint Jimmy. And he, Johnny, was the Jesus of Suburbia. He was different than those other minions of Jimmy, the Saint treated him different.
Whatsername didn't enjoy it as much, she hated Jimmy and she hated the drugs, both things Johnny really really liked, at this point even needed. She tolerated it. For a while. Because Whatsername was amazing, she was a strong woman and Johnny admired her. She stayed long, longer than he'd expected. Was it all that long? Days turned into weeks, turned into hours, he was lost in this constant haze of Jimmy's sweet, sweet drugs and his dirty, dirty kisses. It was hard to tell how much time he spent in the city, it was hard to tell what was real and what was part of his imagination. Was he even real? Was Whatsername real?
She had to be, his mind couldn't possibly produce something so great. But she left. Eventually. Wrote him a letter.
Nobody likes you.
Everyone left you.
They're all out without you.
He remembered all of it, one of the memories that weren't so foggy. As if his brain wanted him to be fucked up. When Jimmy found him that day, he laughed. Maybe at him, maybe at her letter. Told Johnny she was a bitch anyway, told him they didn't need her. No, they didn't. Jimmy smiled and offered him a dose, he gladly accepted. The Saint was always there when needed, gave him what he wanted. Yes. His Saint, his saviour.
Looking back, he should have never trusted him. Whatsername was right. He wasn't the Jesus of Suburbia after all. It had to end. It was too good to last. Or was it too bad? Johnny didn't know, he knew nothing at all but that she was right. All along.
It's not over till you're underground.
It's not over before it's too late.
Because Jimmy blew his brain out. Down at the bay, sometime in September? November? December? Maybe it was a Monday? Nobody cared. Nobody said a word and it was only Johnny left. Or had it always been only Johnny? Did she go? When did she go? Where did she go?
If only he could remember her godamn name!
She'd given up on him.
So did Jimmy when he took the gun to his head. Maybe. Or not. Was Jimmy real at all? No, no Johnny couldn't have possibly ruined his life on his own, right? Reality. Reality. Reality, what was reality worth if it made his head hurt?
But what did Jimmy look like?
He couldn't remember.
She was right.
The Saint Jimmy is a figment of
Your father's rage and your mother's love