As I’ve figured this big scheme of things, which I analyze and contemplate every day with increasing admiration – there is a network of interactions between all of us and this world, leading to each and every event. It’s not destiny or anything like it – you can try and experiment on it, like you’d have a dashboard with buttons and you don’t have a clue what they do. You just push them and notice some LEDs color up and hear noises. Thing is, when you do that with real actions in your life, there are two worrying effects – one, you don’t get to undo the stuff you’ve done and two, the effects don’t pop up immediately, they can take years.
But the really fun thing you should try is see if you can put together a theory, a scenario that fits perfectly into a given known situation – a scenario that could’ve lead to that point in time where you stand and analyze.
Here’s my chain of events: the setting includes me writing this and the girl I love, who’s about a hundred miles away from me, listening to a certain tune that she likes and I loath – my subject, that is.
The ending of the narrative is obviously some guy writing a song, that my loved one enjoyed at some point because she was feeling down and it usually helps to listen to a rock star singing about feeling down, when you’re feeling down. You empathize with the rock star apparently, cash aside, and it also helps you start crying. My personal crying tune is „Nothing else matters”, preferably with the San Francisco Symphonic Orchestra accompanying – don’t ask.
So, by the artist’s words:
We can’t cry the pain away
We can’t find a need to stay
I slowly realized there’s nothing on our side
Right – so they were together and got separated, mostly of their own accord, but not without some pain to the both of them. Also mostly of their own accord. Nothing spicy here. Moving on.
No, wait: „there’s nothing on our side”. Uh-oh. There’s such thing as „our side” – so maybe they are not separated, they are together against everyone else – Romeo and Juliet. American life style says, move away, start over, follow your dream (as opposed to European life style saying get over it, stay rooted).
Out of my life, Out of my mind
Out of the tears that we can’t deny
We need to swallow all our pride
And leave this mess behind
Out of my head, Out of my bed
Out of the dreams we had, they’re bad
Tell them it’s me who made you sad
Tell them the fairytale gone bad
Now that’s what I call a lot of information: this is a separation message, some sort of good bye („tell them…”) – they’re not running away together, but he certainly is. Now let’s get to the „why”: „swallow our pride” would be the first clue – pride is a social sin, relative to those around us, it happens when we compare them with ourselves explicitly. My first deduction is that the boy was deemed unworthy to be with the girl – by whoever would have the capacity to express an opinion. Since it is not „your pride”, or „their pride”, but „our pride”, the boy was aspiring to a certain position of his own, which he would also have to sacrifice now.
This is America we’re talking about. Social status doesn’t mean a knighthood, or a title beginning with „von” or „de”. It means either money and respectable college degrees or simply respect in the gang. Think hard. Can you think of any other form of social status in America?
There are sufficient reasons by now to assume the boy got the wrong end of the stick – it’s his lament after all. If I’m anything close to a detective, the only scenario that fits is this: the boy has a bright future in the ghetto – killed his first gang adversary at 16, owns a shiny Accura, probably races it Friday night to make some money for coke and chicks, Irish, to add insult to injury and facing an average life expectancy under 25 (either that or a life conviction sparing him the early demise but making him wish it).
She’s a blue blood, recently admitted to Yale, brilliant record, prep school in England, her parents naming their sons already with the suffix „the sixth”. The father is likely a politician and the mother a social writer (an ad hoc definition meaning a person who can write novels slightly better than a footballers’ memoirs but slightly worse than soap industry novels that actually sell). Her mother possibly portrayed her daughter’s life as a fairytale once, thus leading to the coarse irony in the song. This making our exposition complete, let us move on. Oh, just one more explanation: it couldn’t be the other way around: rich boy, ghetto girl, because they would never have met and even if they would have, the boy would’ve had no difficulty being with her, nor would she have had anything to worry about for being with him. Hence – no song.
Another night and I bleed
They all make mistakes and so did we
But we did something we can never turn back right
Find a new one to fool
Leave and don’t look back. I won’t follow
We have nothing left. It’s the end of our time
That’s practically the last scene happening before the story is complete and the song gets written. Let us assume for start that he is being honest about „we did something” (i.e. it’s not „I did something”). So let’s build the whole scenario, from the setting:
How did they meet? Suppose the brilliant Yale student is invited to a fraternity party on campus and the guy throwing the party needs some weed, nothing strong, just for social needs. Getting laid. Our ghetto boy is not a petty dealer, he wouldn’t go and sell the stuff himself. He’s got a position in the gang. But the dealer who gets called in is from another gang, and in the wrong territory. He’s about to drive right into a world of hurt, as our lead character and two of his mates await in ambush two blocks away from the party. At the party however, action being at full throttle already, something peculiar takes place: a good friend and football teamster of the host gets really drunk in a short time and stumbles upon our princess, whom he tries to kiss. The host chooses to side with the mate, against the scandalized girl. Any other girl would have stormed out all fired up – but this one, it seems, had some feelings for the host, along with the attached dreams, that just got sorely thrashed. So she storms our in tears, instead, and keeps running for a couple of blocks, until she ends up with the gang laying low for the ambush.
The boy, as a gang rising star and knight extraordinaire, chooses to protect her against his mates’ less than honorable intentions. They hit it off, become lovers and that’s the story. Said with an Irish accent 😉
However, that story is of less importance. The really nice story is that of Tybalt killing Mercutio (which we won’t tell here, because it lacks relevance). It’s not a killing per se, but it must be a good reason for the ghetto guy to hate the princess’s family. One sibling of hers in particular. If she has brothers, one of them would be the likely target. Otherwise, it is the father. Either one has the role of ending up with a showdown against the ghetto boy, where the latter had come to offer peace, in exchange for a bride.
Let us come back to the end scene: he is bleeding, he knows he has done something blamable, to which she was an accomplice. A knight once, a knight always they say – he would never have tried to convince her to help him do some premeditated mischief against her family. Whatever he has done must be a crime of passion.
Suppose, as we presumed earlier, that he comes to ask her father if he can marry her. Things get heated and he threatens the politician he would marry her with or without his consent, regardless of the consequences. Patience not being his virtue, the politician says he would rather gun him down on the spot – and produces a pistol to sustain that. The ghetto boy pulls his own gun, a recently purchased Desert Eagle .54 (mark that, it is important) and they stand on the point of shooting each other when the princess rushes in and, as any girl would do, positions herself in front of the boy (which incidentally is a bit illogical, as one would expect the boy to be a far better gunner than the old man – thus the latter would have been more in need of protection. It is logical though, if you think about it – the girl protects the one she loves against the one holding the authority).
The girl makes the mistake of saying she wants to be with the ghetto boy, pleading for his side against the enraged daddy. He, in turn, points out that he would rather kill both of them and aims the gun at her, at which moment the boy pushes her down violently and she lets out a shriek. There is no father in the world who can stand the sight of his daughter being hurt. So, while he wouldn’t really have pulled the trigger before, he does now, and the ghetto boy takes a hit in the left arm. As he falls, he shoots in turn, but he misses. The gun is new, as we mentioned and he didn’t have a chance to fire it before. He falls right next to the princess, their faces almost touching, but he hits the ground on the wounded arm and the pain makes him lose consciousness. The father approaches, and in a fit of insanity, holds the gun at point blank to finish him. So the princess takes the armed hand of her lover, with both hands, squeezes the trigger of the Desert Eagle .54 gun and fires the second and final shot of its entire existence, through her father’s chest. The massive man is thrown back by the blow and dies before reaching the ground. An hour later, the boy wakes in the arms of his broken, crying sweetheart and the first thing he notices is that she is dressed in a night gown with small fairies painted on it, a gift from her mother. At this point in our story, the mother is watching Anna Netrebko singing „Adio del’ passato” at the Metropolitan Opera. She is a few minutes from a giving out a generous round of applause, driving home in her imported Maserati and standing in disbelief before the sinister scenery in her husband’s office, from which the two protagonists are already missing. For the reader’s complete understanding, „adio del’ passato” means „good bye to the past” in Italian and „protagonist” means „main dramatic character” in Greek.
We can’t cry the pain away
We can’t find a need to stay
There’s no more rabbits in my hat to make things right
To be sure, the ghetto boy is a knight, his bargain with destiny is that he would take the blame for everything and she would go back and say he kidnapped her in a horrible plot that involved also the killing of her father. His wound adds to the general pain and frustration of having done all for nothing and losing his girl in any of the conceivable ways to carry on.
That’s basically the whole account. Just one more comment – remember I said my sweetheart listens to this song and feels sad and miserable for it. If a man died, as in my story, than perhaps it’s worth it and there’s nothing I can do to change that. For all the rest of chances, I must fight.