Marilyn was my bass guitar.
I bought her from Musicstop on Cunard Street in Halifax. She’d been on hold for me for months, and I’d been slowly paying her down, bit by bit, while she waited patiently for me in the Musicstop warehouse. I made the final payment the day after I got back from visiting my friend Jamie Bambury in Kingston. It was the spring of 2001, and I’d just finished Foundation Year at King’s. Life felt really good that day.
I’d had a hankering for a new bass, and boy, did she fit just right.
Marilyn was a real, genuine, born-and-bred-in-the-U-S-A kind of bass guitar. She was sleek, and sexy, and she had five (count ’em, five) strings that let me hit notes I didn’t even know existed. Plus, she was a really pretty shade of blue. I played her for five years straight, and she always sounded amazing to me. In that time, she came with me most everywhere I went, even to cities where I didn’t own an amp to play her through. Those times, I’d just pick her up and hold her. She felt good.
Marilyn was my bass guitar. But now I have a new bass, and as of today, Marilyn belongs to someone else.
Am I sad? A little. But we ended things on a good note.