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"A Song With a Punch"
Title: Song With a Punch
Author: Manchester Girl
Rating: PG Violence
Disclaimer: This story is 100% fictional.
Summary: Peter and Davy must resolve their differences after a fight.
Author’s Note: This is a fictional story inspired by the fact that Peter Tork did actually hit Davy Jones so hard he had to have stitches. No one has ever really said what started the fight, so I drew some inspiration from an informal “Worst Monkees Song Ever” poll.
Micky and Peter sat at the kitchen table eating their bowls of cereal for dinner in silence. They had a gig coming up in a couple of weeks. Maybe then they could buy some groceries and have a decent meal for a change.
Peter glanced at his watch and then looked at the front door.
“I thought Mike and Davy would have been back by now.”
“Don’t worry, Peter. You know how it is at the emergency room. You always have to wait forever.”
“It’s just that now we’re gonna be short on the rent, and it’s all my fault.”
Peter looked away, replaying the earlier events of the afternoon in his head. They had been working on the set list for their upcoming gig and were having trouble agreeing on which songs they should perform. Just when it seemed like everything was settled, Davy suggested an additional song that no one else wanted to do. Suddenly, he became really angry. Out of control in Peter’s opinion. He had lashed out at everyone, but was especially hard on Peter.
After Davy had exhausted himself verbally, he had lunged at Peter, butting him in the chin with the top of his head. At that moment, something had just taken over Peter, a side of his personality that he never even knew existed. He had balled his hand into a fist and the next thing he knew Davy was sitting on the floor in stunned silence with blood gushing down his face, dripping onto his favorite Nehru jacket.
Peter was surprised at the amount of blood. Had he broken Davy’s nose? Maybe knocked out a tooth or something? Mike had helped Davy to his feet while Micky grabbed a wet towel and began to wipe the blood from his face, revealing a cut over one eye. Davy rubbed the back of his head. Had he bumped his head when he fell? When they were unable to stop the bleeding, Mike suggested they go to the emergency room. The cut was deep and probably needed stitches.
“It takes two to have a fight . . .” Micky began, interrupting Peter’s reverie. They both turned around when they heard the front door open.
Davy came in first, followed by Mike.
“Hi guys!” said Micky, always the peacemaker. “You feel OK, Davy?”
Davy nodded but didn’t say anything. Peter noticed that he had some stitches over his left eye. The side of his face looked slightly swollen and puffy. He seemed kind of embarrassed. Or maybe just sullen. It was hard to tell.
“How about some cereal?” Micky offered.
“That sounds good,” replied Mike. I thought I was gonna starve while we were waiting.” He got the milk out of the refrigerator while Micky poured another bowl of cereal.
“What about you, Davy?”
“I’m not hungry,” Davy replied as he turned and went into his bedroom.
“Is he really OK?” Peter asked after Davy had closed the door.
“Yeah, sure,” said Mike. “They had to put seven stitches over his eye once they finally got the bleeding stopped. But he’ll be fine. Probably won’t even leave a scar.”
After they had finished eating, Mike got his jacket and started toward the door.
“Come on, Mick. Let’s go for a walk.”
“Why?” Micky was caught off guard.
“Because, you know . . .” Mike rolled his eyes. Couldn’t Micky take a hint?
“Oh . . . Yeah . . .OK,” Micky finally caught on. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he added in a whisper as he and Mike started out the door.
Peter shook his head and put the dishes in the sink. Obviously Mike felt that he and Davy needed to talk. Apparently, Micky worried they might kill each other if left alone.
After the dishes were washed and put away, Peter walked over to the bedroom door. He started to knock, but suddenly felt foolish and angry. It was his room, too, after all. He opened the door slowly.
Davy was curled up on his bed with his eyes closed. Peter wondered if he was really sleeping or just trying to avoid talking to him. Even though it wasn’t very late, Davy had changed into his pajamas. His bloodstained shirt was hanging over the back of the chair near the bed.
Peter’s anger dissipated and he suddenly felt sorry for Davy. The Nehru jacket had been expensive, but Davy liked nice clothes. It was important to him. He remembered that Davy once told him that he had worn his sisters’ hand-me-downs as a child. He had got everything but the dresses he had joked. Maybe if he soaked the shirt in cold water, he could get the stains out. It was worth a try.
When he leaned down to get the shirt off the chair, Davy suddenly opened his eyes.
“What you doing?” he asked sleepily.
“I was just going to try and get these stains out of your shirt.”
“It’s ruined,” Davy said trying to act as if it didn’t matter. “I’ll just have to throw it away.”
“No, no. It’s worth a try. Soaking in cold water can work miracles.” Peter went into the bathroom and filled the sink with cold water. He rubbed soap on the bloodstains and put the shirt in the sink to soak. When he came back into the bedroom Davy was sitting on the edge of his bed smiling sheepishly.
“That was a good punch, Pete. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I’m not really a violent person, you know.”
“Yeah, right.” Davy ran his finger slowly along his stitches, then touched the side of his face. He winced slightly.
“Do I need to remind you that you hit me first?” Peter pointed out.
“That’s true,” Davy smiled. “The old Manchester kiss. It always came in handy when a little guy needed to take up for himself in the schoolyard.”
“But that’s just it, Davy.” Peter sat down on the bed beside him. “We’re not kids. This isn’t school. Nobody’s picking on you. We’re your friends. On your side, you know. There’s no reason for you to just lose it like that.”
“But none of you wanted me to do that song. You were ganging up against me.”
“We were just trying to do what’s best for the whole group. Come on, Davy. It’s a terrible song. It’s not even really a song. You can’t dance to it, it’s just . . . .”
“I’ve seen girls cry when I do it,” Davy protested.
Peter sighed, “Davy, that song makes ME want to cry. But look, just because we disagree about a song, it’s not personal. We have to work together as a team. Being nasty and insulting each other isn’t the answer. If the majority agree, then maybe it’s just because they have a point.”
“I know, ” Davy said quietly. He stared down at the floor. “And I am really sorry for the things I said to everyone, but especially you. I talked to Mike about it on the way home. I’ll talk to Micky later. I really do love you all like brothers. You’re my family. You know that.”
Davy turned away, but not before Peter noticed a tear run slowly down his cheek.
“I know. Me too,” Peter put a comforting arm around Davy’s shoulders. “Are we still friends?”
Davy smiled and nodded. “The best of friends. All of us.”
“Why don’t I bring you something to eat?”
“OK. Maybe just a peanut butter sandwich and some milk. Do we have peanut butter?”
Peter nodded and went back to the kitchen. He made a sandwich for Davy and poured a glass of milk. When he came back to the bedroom a few minutes later, Davy was already asleep.
Peter yawned. He felt tired and drained himself. He put the snack on the nightstand and covered Davy with a blanket. On a sudden impulse he leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. He could be annoying at times, but he really did love him like a little brother.
If he wanted to sing “The Day We Fall In Love” that badly, maybe they should just let him.