Dear Dave,
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, a thousand times thank you! Thank you for helping me live out my dreams by sending me to this beautiful city for a whole month!
Paris is beautiful. I’ve pictured it a million times, read books, looked at pictures, and yet nothing, nothing at all compares to the reality-this city is my ultimate, my heaven, the only place I ever really wanted to be… other than with you, of course!
There is art EVERYWHERE and, oh, the shopping! I can’t even begin to describe how it feels to walk down the Champs Elysees and pretend- even for just a little while- that I live here, that this is my every day reality…
But fear not, dearest Dave! When my month is up I am coming home, and I am sure that by that time I will be eager to return home-
To you.
Love,
Cindy
Darling Dave Dearest,
Yesterday the owner of the apartment you arranged for me to stay in arrived home! Here is the scene-I arrive home after a day spent perusing the Louvre, unlock the door, collapse on the couch, and a man walks into the living room! Can you picture my face? I bet you can, dear Dave, you were always very good at that sort of thing.
But anyway, Tony told me that his business in Mumbai had been cut short and so he has returned home early. I was disappointed to find that my Parisian Excursion was to end so soon- but he insisted (as your very dear college friend) that I should stay the rest of my time (still over three weeks!).
Since it is Paris and space is at a premium this apartment has only one bedroom…
But fear not, my White Knight! I will sleep on the couch. If I am honest, I feel that I would sleep in the streets if it meant that I could stay just one more day in this beautiful city.
Forever Your Damsel,
Cindy
Dave dear,
Today Tony took me all over Paris- to the places that the tourists don’t get to see. We went deep underground to look at the catacombs (all of those bones! I wished I had you to hold on to) and then had a delicious lunch in a small bistro. Tonight he is taking me somewhere special, he said. I am very excited.
Tony is so fun, Dave! Why did you never introduce us when he was nearby? He says he travels very much and that he is often near where we live in the States AND that he gets very lonely, because it’s not often that he knows someone in his travels. Are you hiding something from me darling Dave? You would never do that, would you?
Of course not! I am only joking with you!
Your Funny Girl,
Cindy
Davey,
Tony has offered to let me stay longer, and I found myself unable to resist. He says that he will only be in the city for a little while longer (a week or two at most) and that a month really isn’t long enough in the City of Light. I will be home as soon as he leaves, he has even offered to book my flight at the time as his so that we can wait at the airport together, and bid each other adieu.
You don’t mind, do you Dave? You know that I have always wanted to travel, that is why you sent me here. I am still missing you!
Your Ecstatic Friend,
Cindy
Dave,
Just two more weeks. I promise. Then I will be home.
Cindy
Dear Dave,
Since you never received the majority of my correspondence (due to the fact that I never mailed it) I guess you probably deserve an explanation.
Tony and I (as you may have guessed from the second-to-last letter that you received) hit it off very well. Too well, you probably think.
The truth is, Dave, that I love Tony and I love this city. I love the life that Tony offers- travel, adventure, excitement. I never got a chance to be young, Dave. I was too busy repaying you for that one stupid mistake. I know you thought you did moved past it, know that you consider yourself a very forgiving person, and that you congratulate yourself daily on your ability to put that incident behind you, but I could always see it in your eyes, Dave. You always looked at me like I was…something that couldn’t be touched. Something that needed to be protected and preserved. Behind this was a feeling-a feeling that you didn’t WANT to touch me. That if you did you would have to face the fact that I was human, that I made that horrible mistake-THAT I ABORTED A BABY WHEN I WAS SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD.
There it is, Dave. Spelled out, black and white. Are you still reading? Or did your Christian principles force you to stop when I confessed my sins? Can you really love me as much as you think you do-as much as you say you do-when I did something you consider such a heinous, disgusting act?
I don’t honestly think you can.
You never really saw me as a person, Dave. Tony does. He understands that I am fallible, and he doesn’t try to forget things that I have done wrong. He talks to me about why I did them and tries to understand, and by doing this he makes everything…easier somehow. I don’t feel like I’m always tiptoeing around him.
This is why I want a divorce, Dave. The papers are enclosed. You can keep the house, the car, most of the money. You will probably never see me again. This is goodbye, Dave.
I hope your ending is as happy as mine is turning out to be.
Yours,
Cindy
Official Transcript of the last conversation of Patient #23 and
Dr. Collins, MD
(As requested by the DA in the court case The State of Ohio v. Joe Muldoon, in which the patient listed above was the suspect involved in a hit-and-run case concerning the death of one Imogen Weller.)
23: I’ve been feeling strangely lately, Doctor.
DC: And why is that?
23: I don’t know. I haven’t been sleeping, even after a full day of work and a soccer game, I just can’t seem to get any sort of sleep at all. And even if I do fall asleep, I have these dreams…
DC: what sort of dreams?
23: awful dreams. The visual isn’t good- it’s really blurry and wavy and sort of-distorted. It’s the sounds I can’t take. First there’s this long screech, like tires trying to brake after going too fast, like someone is trying to avoid hitting something. Then there’s this crash, and I can hear smashing, like headlights, like someone beating headlights with a baseball bat, or like someone threw themselves bodily at the front of a car, just to see what sort of noise it would make.
And then….
DC: and then…?
23: There’s this sort of thumping noise. Have you ever played soccer, doctor?
DC: no.
23: oh. Well, there’s this sound that bone makes when it’s breaking, and the only place I’ve ever heard it is once, during a soccer game, a teammate of mine got slide-tackled and broke his leg. I was too close to him, and I could see it-it’s not something I really ever wanted to see, the bone breaking like that-but more than that. I could hear the bone snapping inside his leg, hear it give up and just….ugh.
(Patient begins breathing deeply and places hands over eyes, trying to collect himself. He sits that way for a full minute before continuing).
23: this sound is like that. But louder. Only, not. It’s not really louder, it’s just sort of, more intense, like I can feel it just as much as I can hear it.
After that I always wake up. And I always feel more tired then before I fell asleep, and I always have a headache. Like I’m hung over, or something. Which is ridiculous, because I haven’t drank anything stronger than Pepsi since I was seventeen years old…
DC: mmhm. Interesting. How is your sex life?
23: Oh, you know. It’s hard, being single and bald and a little chubby. I haven’t had a date since that girl I met on the Internet. Kelly, I think? I never called her. She had seven Shi Tzus, and I really, really don’t like Shi Tzus. They make me sneeze. She didn’t call me either, though, so I guess it wasn’t a very successful date.
DC: uh-huh. Yes. So. How about your work life? Are you feeling fulfilled in your career?
23: Not any more than the last time I saw you. I don’t know, I guess I’ve always felt like…I can’t move on. From high school? Ever since then I’ve just always felt sort of…I don’t know. Guilty. Like, I don’t know. Like there was something I needed to make up for. Do you ever get that, doc? You ever feel like you didn’t finish something, or get that nagging feeling that there was something you needed to do…but no matter how hard you try, you can’t think what that could be?
DC: No. But I know what you’re talking about. This has been very informative, shall we say next week at the same time?
23: Yea, okay. See you then, doc.
Approximately four hours and thirty nine minutes after this session, the patient was pronounced dead of a gunshot to the head. The case has been ruled a suicide, making these documents no longer subject to patient confidentiality, as per the court order requesting them.
09 December 2008
19 November 2008
Forever After (Elizabeth) part 2
Elizabeth woke with a start. She had a very distinct impression that she had been dreaming, and then something had happened…and now she was awake. Feeling an odd sense of déjà vu, she gently extricated herself from Alaric’s arms and padded quietly to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet lid reflectively; chin resting in her palm, and thought about the last couple of days. Her head was filled with a clarity that one only achieves in the middle of the night, or after a very realistic dream, and she realized that she had no idea how she actually felt about Alaric, only how she wanted to feel. Similarly, she had no idea who Alaric actually was. He really hadn’t told her very much, now that she thought about it, and what he had told her was really very vague. Somehow, she had managed to convince herself that she was in love with a virtual stranger.
Which was appropriate, she decided. If one was stuck in a fairy tale, one should do as they do in fairy tales and fall in Love at First Sight. The only problem with that was that one was then stuck with the consequences-be they good or bad. Or just indifferent, which could potentially be the worst of all, because at least with love and hate there was passion, there was excitement, there was anticipation. She knew they had lust. But with indifference there is true rejection, because how could you reject someone more than by telling them that you didn’t care if they lived or died?
Elizabeth stood and padded very quietly back into the bedroom, light and silent on her bare feet. Feeling very daring, she glanced at the shadowy figure breathing gently on the king size bed (it was strange, she noted now with the clarity that hindsight provides, that his room was so much nicer than hers. The convention booked them all, so there really was no reason for this) and moved toward his suitcase, clothes from the night before slung haphazardly in it’s direction, showing her the way. She opened up the top, it was the type that laid on its back to be opened, and when stood up rolled behind it’s master like an obedient dog, but tended to flop over like a bug when filled beyond capacity and left unattended, and peeked gingerly inside, feeling a little like an intruder. But on seeing the contents she sighed to herself. What had she expected to find? A dead body? Naturally, the suitcase was filled with clothes, normal, everyday clothes that normal, everyday people would wear. She quietly flipped the lid all of the way open and poked around a little bit, unsurprisingly finding nothing but clothes.
A buzzing sound suddenly filled the room, and from the desk above the suitcase a light went on and began to flash. Jumping at the noise, and then fearing that it would wake Alaric, she quickly closed the suitcase, grabbed the phone, ran into the bathroom and then, not thinking, pushed the “answer” button.
“Hello?” she said, not being able to think of anything else under the circumstances.
“Hello there.” The person on the other end replied, “I suppose you are Alaric’s secretary for the time that he is in L.A…you know that it’s very bad form to answer with simply ‘hello,’ don’t you? You should really answer the phone, ‘hello, this is the office of Clandestine Enterprises, please hold.’ It’s much more professional.”
“I-” Elizabeth began, but was cut off by the very commanding male voice on the other end, which somehow reminded her of Alaric.
“No, don’t begin to make excuses about how this is your first day, and you just really need the money and yadda, yadda, yadda, I honestly don’t care. If I know my son, and I really think that I do, the only reason Alaric hired you is because you’re a pretty face and he’s trying to get you into bed, or he already did and you fed him the same sob story you were about to feed me to get him to give you a job. Anyway, this is his father. Just inform him that I am impatient for him to get home. The Kilgore affair needs to be completed, he has kept everyone waiting for far too long.”
“Uh-huh,” was all Elizabeth could manage, while thoughts along the lines of what? Father? Clandestine Enterprises? Kilgore affair? Raced through her head.
“Are you writing this down?” Alaric’s…father asked impatiently from the other end of the line, “because this is really very important. Be sure that you tell him immediately.”
“Um. Yes. Yes, sir.” Elizabeth replied, not knowing what else to say. How does one tell the father of the man that one just slept with that one just slept with his son? Oh, and that one is not really a secretary at all, and oh, by the way, your son is not in LA, in fact he’s not even on the West Coast at all, he’s in a small Marriott hotel in Greater Cincinnati?
Elizabeth realized that the man (she was having trouble thinking of him as Alaric’s father) had hung up on her, and that she still had the phone pressed to her ear as though it was the only thing keeping her head from falling against her shoulder and all of her thoughts and hopes and dreams from spilling out her ear. Which maybe it was.
Very gingerly, as though her bones were made of glass and her skin of papyrus, she lowered herself onto the toilet seat and stared at the phone in her hands. She sat there for a beat, two.
Then she began to shake, and pressed the button on the screen (it was a very nice phone-one of the ones which businessmen carry around that have an internet connection) and connected to the Internet. She wasn’t surprised when the window opened, of course he would have a WiFi connection in this very nice room of his. It took a bit to get used to the keyboard on the tiny phone, but she eventually managed to connect to a search engine and type in “Clandestine Enterprises.” She skipped the sponsored links and went to the Wikipedia page, wanting information about the owners and CEOs, not what the company did.
The first thing she saw was a picture of an incredibly handsome man. Alaric. He was standing next to an older version of himself, and a very beautiful woman. She had her arm through his and they stood very close. Not like siblings. She read some of the information on the page, and didn’t really absorb any of it except, “it has been known since their birth that Alaric Weller and Marissa Kilgore will be married when she turns twenty-one. This marriage would provide a valuable bond for their fathers’ companies, Clandestine Enterprises and Karma Incorporated, respectively.”
Everything inside of Elizabeth went numb. She didn’t think, she wouldn’t let herself think about what this meant.
She mechanically closed the window on the phone, went back into the bedroom and placed it where she found it. She located her dress, looking garish and mocking her foolishness from the corner, and pulled it back on, not relishing the way the stale fabric felt against her skin. Where last night she had felt beautiful and sophisticated, she suddenly felt like a silly little girl playing dress-up. Before she left the hotel room, she wrote Alaric a note and left it where she knew he would find it, on top of his phone.
It read simply,
Your father called.
He would like to know when you will be home.
-Elizabeth
She went back to her own hotel room, packed her things, and left on the first flight home. It wasn’t until she got there, three hours later, staring at the picture she had taken as a naïve high school girl of a boy who was truly in love, that she let herself cry.
I swore so hard I tasted blood
And then I punched a wall
These words will never tell you
Anything at all
That stupid, condescending letter
You said you wrote for me?
It’s crap and we both know it
I dare you to disagree
People say rage is red
Now I know that it is blue
Burning hotter than the hottest flame
Just like your passion used to
Just like I used to burn for you
It’s blue just like your eyes
It’s blue just like your dress
The ones you wore when you gave me that letter
That stupid, fucking letter
And then walked away from me
Blue is what I thought I felt
When you didn’t say anything at all
But I had no idea
No real idea
Until I punched that wall
Which was appropriate, she decided. If one was stuck in a fairy tale, one should do as they do in fairy tales and fall in Love at First Sight. The only problem with that was that one was then stuck with the consequences-be they good or bad. Or just indifferent, which could potentially be the worst of all, because at least with love and hate there was passion, there was excitement, there was anticipation. She knew they had lust. But with indifference there is true rejection, because how could you reject someone more than by telling them that you didn’t care if they lived or died?
Elizabeth stood and padded very quietly back into the bedroom, light and silent on her bare feet. Feeling very daring, she glanced at the shadowy figure breathing gently on the king size bed (it was strange, she noted now with the clarity that hindsight provides, that his room was so much nicer than hers. The convention booked them all, so there really was no reason for this) and moved toward his suitcase, clothes from the night before slung haphazardly in it’s direction, showing her the way. She opened up the top, it was the type that laid on its back to be opened, and when stood up rolled behind it’s master like an obedient dog, but tended to flop over like a bug when filled beyond capacity and left unattended, and peeked gingerly inside, feeling a little like an intruder. But on seeing the contents she sighed to herself. What had she expected to find? A dead body? Naturally, the suitcase was filled with clothes, normal, everyday clothes that normal, everyday people would wear. She quietly flipped the lid all of the way open and poked around a little bit, unsurprisingly finding nothing but clothes.
A buzzing sound suddenly filled the room, and from the desk above the suitcase a light went on and began to flash. Jumping at the noise, and then fearing that it would wake Alaric, she quickly closed the suitcase, grabbed the phone, ran into the bathroom and then, not thinking, pushed the “answer” button.
“Hello?” she said, not being able to think of anything else under the circumstances.
“Hello there.” The person on the other end replied, “I suppose you are Alaric’s secretary for the time that he is in L.A…you know that it’s very bad form to answer with simply ‘hello,’ don’t you? You should really answer the phone, ‘hello, this is the office of Clandestine Enterprises, please hold.’ It’s much more professional.”
“I-” Elizabeth began, but was cut off by the very commanding male voice on the other end, which somehow reminded her of Alaric.
“No, don’t begin to make excuses about how this is your first day, and you just really need the money and yadda, yadda, yadda, I honestly don’t care. If I know my son, and I really think that I do, the only reason Alaric hired you is because you’re a pretty face and he’s trying to get you into bed, or he already did and you fed him the same sob story you were about to feed me to get him to give you a job. Anyway, this is his father. Just inform him that I am impatient for him to get home. The Kilgore affair needs to be completed, he has kept everyone waiting for far too long.”
“Uh-huh,” was all Elizabeth could manage, while thoughts along the lines of what? Father? Clandestine Enterprises? Kilgore affair? Raced through her head.
“Are you writing this down?” Alaric’s…father asked impatiently from the other end of the line, “because this is really very important. Be sure that you tell him immediately.”
“Um. Yes. Yes, sir.” Elizabeth replied, not knowing what else to say. How does one tell the father of the man that one just slept with that one just slept with his son? Oh, and that one is not really a secretary at all, and oh, by the way, your son is not in LA, in fact he’s not even on the West Coast at all, he’s in a small Marriott hotel in Greater Cincinnati?
Elizabeth realized that the man (she was having trouble thinking of him as Alaric’s father) had hung up on her, and that she still had the phone pressed to her ear as though it was the only thing keeping her head from falling against her shoulder and all of her thoughts and hopes and dreams from spilling out her ear. Which maybe it was.
Very gingerly, as though her bones were made of glass and her skin of papyrus, she lowered herself onto the toilet seat and stared at the phone in her hands. She sat there for a beat, two.
Then she began to shake, and pressed the button on the screen (it was a very nice phone-one of the ones which businessmen carry around that have an internet connection) and connected to the Internet. She wasn’t surprised when the window opened, of course he would have a WiFi connection in this very nice room of his. It took a bit to get used to the keyboard on the tiny phone, but she eventually managed to connect to a search engine and type in “Clandestine Enterprises.” She skipped the sponsored links and went to the Wikipedia page, wanting information about the owners and CEOs, not what the company did.
The first thing she saw was a picture of an incredibly handsome man. Alaric. He was standing next to an older version of himself, and a very beautiful woman. She had her arm through his and they stood very close. Not like siblings. She read some of the information on the page, and didn’t really absorb any of it except, “it has been known since their birth that Alaric Weller and Marissa Kilgore will be married when she turns twenty-one. This marriage would provide a valuable bond for their fathers’ companies, Clandestine Enterprises and Karma Incorporated, respectively.”
Everything inside of Elizabeth went numb. She didn’t think, she wouldn’t let herself think about what this meant.
She mechanically closed the window on the phone, went back into the bedroom and placed it where she found it. She located her dress, looking garish and mocking her foolishness from the corner, and pulled it back on, not relishing the way the stale fabric felt against her skin. Where last night she had felt beautiful and sophisticated, she suddenly felt like a silly little girl playing dress-up. Before she left the hotel room, she wrote Alaric a note and left it where she knew he would find it, on top of his phone.
It read simply,
Your father called.
He would like to know when you will be home.
-Elizabeth
She went back to her own hotel room, packed her things, and left on the first flight home. It wasn’t until she got there, three hours later, staring at the picture she had taken as a naïve high school girl of a boy who was truly in love, that she let herself cry.
I swore so hard I tasted blood
And then I punched a wall
These words will never tell you
Anything at all
That stupid, condescending letter
You said you wrote for me?
It’s crap and we both know it
I dare you to disagree
People say rage is red
Now I know that it is blue
Burning hotter than the hottest flame
Just like your passion used to
Just like I used to burn for you
It’s blue just like your eyes
It’s blue just like your dress
The ones you wore when you gave me that letter
That stupid, fucking letter
And then walked away from me
Blue is what I thought I felt
When you didn’t say anything at all
But I had no idea
No real idea
Until I punched that wall
20 October 2008
Imogen, Alaric and the end of Dave
IMOGEN
“thunk goes the head
thudsuck goes the knife
as you insure she’s dead
and forgive your wife.”
A girl walked resolutely along the side of the road, her head bowed, her footsteps measured. Were someone to look in her eyes they would see a sort of desperate calm, an intense concentration hovering on the edge of complete breakdown. Her badly dyed, spotted hair was almost too short, revealing her painfully thin, pointed pale face to the elements. If that someone to listen very intently, they might be able to catch a glimpse of her thoughts, so loud were they inside her head. The hills are turning purple in the distance, the sun is going down. I wonder why he can’t stand me, why he throws me around? I wish there was something left for me, I wish I didn’t have to leave. Someday, maybe you’ll understand, someday maybe you’ll see what I see…This dirge played over and over in her head, and as it became too loud for her to take, so loud that the cacophony obscured even her vision, her eyes filled with words and thoughts and colors, and finally the chemicals in her brain exploded in a burst of light. Simultaneously, she swerved, losing her focus and stumbling toward the middle of the road, careening out of control.
Headlights appeared at the crest of the hill and became a streak of light against the fading sky. A screech, a thump, a crash. Then, silence for one second, two.
The car veered away from the crime scene, leaving a crumpled bag of bones behind, while the boy driving turned his wide, young doe eyes to the road ahead, panicking quietly.
Later, he told people he hit a deer.
ALARIC
THANK YOU.
To my babytwin sister for dying and never knowing it. To my dad, for making me be everything I never wanted to. To my mom, for leaving my dad behind right when he needed her most. I hate this. I hate all of this music. Thanks to the record company for putting it all on an EP. I hate my life right now, and I hate that I can’t deal with it. I hate that I hate myself, and I hate that I hate myself. I’m sick of being that emo kid who might be famous someday for being in some band that wrote and performed bad music and then burned out on drugs or fame or money. Thanks to everyone who believed in me, though I’m not sure why you did. Thanks to the boys in my major, the ones who are going to be Successful Businessmen someday. You’re the only ones I really understand, and the only ones I want to understand me. This is the last attempt I’m making at music. If this fails like all the others, plummets into nothingness, into oblivion, I’ll become a business man and I’ll never look back. Here we go. Thanks to anyone who’s reading this right now, because it means you might have bought this. Thank you. My name is Alaric, and this is me giving up.
Once I knew a girl
Knew that she was meant to live
She was born at midnight, screaming loud
After I pushed my way out ahead
This girl was never happy
Could never understand
Why some other girls had moms and dads
That watched out for them- that held their hands
As the days kept growing longer
Her face grew longer, too
Until even I didn’t know her anymore,
(Though I thought I did) I didn’t have a clue.
I told myself she was just irresponsible,
That she was negligent, or unsure
But I thought she was smart, I thought I knew
Thought she had finally found a cure
And then one day she just started walking
All at once she walked away from me
Before she left she spoke to no one
She left no note that I could see
That girl-she’s all gone now
And she’s never coming back
I don’t know why she left here (I’ll never know)
All I know is that I ignored the only chance she had
Sometimes at sundown, and others late at night
While I sit alone-beer in hand
I swear I hear her whispering in my ear
Maybe she’s trying to help me understand?
Even though I do my best to listen
I know there’s really no way in
I’m too stuck in my own life and problems
There’s no way I could even begin
Hey, you, don’t forget we have a date!
Starts at seven, don’t be late
Put on some tight jeans and lace up your shoes
Get ready for a wild show
You’ve got more than just your voice to lose
I bet you weren’t expecting
Your face to get blown off right from the start
But since when did you ever give me a warning?
Could I have missed it?
The way you missed the part of the song where I offered you my heart?
You should have known you had it coming
Known that I could never let this go
Now’s your chance to start running
3,2,1…red, red, green…
Pause.
And go!
Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, it’s just what you do
I’m not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid idea
You know, the one that I could hold onto you?
The music’s playing louder
The band’s not ready to leave
Everybody here is dancing
Everybody except you and me
And I can see in your eyes that you’re anywhere
Anywhere but here
Anywhere but with me
Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, I guess I know that it’s just what you do
So I’m just really not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid, inane idea
You know which one I’m talking about?
The one that let me think that I could hold onto you
The interrogation lights are burning brighter
And now I’m starting to perspire
The detective is looming closer-
The best that money could acquire
I don’t have the answers to your questions
Even though I committed this crime
With your eyes you see right through me
Can you tell me what I’m hiding inside?
The clock keeps ticking louder and it triggers
A flashback that foreshadows of truths catching fire
The detective is pacing now,
So I know we’re getting down to the wire
I know you need the answers and they’re here!
I’ve got them somewhere
But I can’t tell you where I hid them
They’re somewhere lost in that mire
My life is falling apart
All because you branded me a liar
I’ve got nothing left to hope for
Because there’s no way to rid myself of your ire
Not much in life is worth waiting for
Not the sound of the town crier
Announcing the daybreak, announcing the hour
Rockabye, Rockabye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I’ll make everything just fine
The monsters can’t get you here
Of that I’ve made quite certain
Now close your eyes and go to sleep-
I’ll just turn my back for a second-
Less!
I just need to close the curtains
And when I turn around
Please say that you won’t be gone
Even though I should have seen it coming
Knew you were leaving all along.
Rockabye, Goodbye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I can’t make it all right this time
You gave your self up to the monsters
And the evil, screaming demons
The ones that hollered in your ear-
“You’re unsure-you’re a bad person!”
and no amount of begging
and no amount of pleading
could have saved you from your monsters
I guess I always knew that you were leaving.
(repeat)
Honor is a funny word
Means lots of different things
Means we’re stuck like trick horses
Jumping through flaming rings
Means I’m honor-bound to follow
Walk in your footsteps without regret
Means I’ve got no choice in where I’m going
Means I already know where my path ends
I guess I could have fought it
I guess I did right from the start
But when the chance came along to stop it
I didn't have the guts
So I'm stuck here writing songs
about things I'm too afraid to change
and others I've never been able to face
I don't feel like a prince
I've never felt like a knight
but every time I come home
you holler "honor, honor!"
and you always win the fight
But still I keep on coming
keep on doing what you expect
because how could I not?
without honor, what have I got?
DAVE
I never found out why she called me that night. We never talked about it. And, anyway, I was never sure she remembered, or that she had even been conscious of what she was doing at the time. But regardless, it was never spoken of, and we hadn’t been to the park together in a long time, so it was a surprise to hear her suggest it.
I pulled off the side of the road, into the weeds I had been parking in since I could drive, and climbed out of the car. Seeing that Cindy was still sitting and staring, I went over to her side and opened the door for her. To me, it’s not so much chivalry or being a man, it’s just common courtesy, and Cindy probably wasn’t going to get out of the car without some help, so I gave it to her.
She climbed out carefully, resting her hand lightly on the car for balance, every move deliberate and slightly pained. I wanted to reach for her, to gather her into my arms and hold her there and never let her go, but she looked so fragile, with her hair just barely curling out of her ponytail around her ears and down her neck, her ears standing in stark contrast to how thin her jaw and throat had become. How had I not noticed that? How had I not noticed that she was wasting away?
We picked our way over to a hunk of cement, me with my hands jammed in my pockets, trying not to look at her, trying not to walk too close, but afraid that if I didn’t stay near she would fall and I wouldn’t be able to catch her. She walked almost heedlessly, arms wrapped around herself, head down, blank eyes staring at the ground. I could tell she was trying not to cry again, so I waited until we got to our cement hunk before I said anything. When we were both settled, she beat me to the punch.
“Dave?”
“Yeah, Cindy? What’s on your mind?”
She turned to look at me, and as she stared me right in the eyes she said the words I had been dying to hear for as long as I had known girls didn’t have cooties. I wondered later why I wasn’t happier to hear them.
“Will you kiss me?”
It took me a second. Would I what? Then it hit me. And as I carefully, slowly, inched my lips toward hers, I whispered, “yes.”
Right at that moment, I couldn’t think of a more perfect ending. Everything I had ever wanted was being handed to me on a silver platter. Our lips met, and it was everything. Everything and nothing. To me, it was an extension of everything we already were, the logical next step in what we had. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for me, and the moment that this was caught up in was also far from perfect, but it also was perfect for us, for our mess of a relationship.
There was a noise, and she pulled away, startled. Though she was far from new at kissing, I liked to think that she was still the little girl I had befriended all those years ago on the inside. I liked to think that she still wanted to be a princess. I looked away from her and saw a girl sprawled on the ground. She got up, dusted herself off, and looked at us ashamedly.
“Sorry! I’m in a photography class, and a friend of mine told me about this place, and I didn’t really think there was anyone here! I’m just leaving! Don’t mind me!” She scurried off, clutching her camera, messenger bag embroidered with the initials “E.M.S.” knocking against the backs of her knees as she departed, traveling away from the road.
“I wonder where she thought she was going?” I mused aloud, and turned back to Cindy. She was still sitting in the same place, eyes fixed on me.
“Who cares?” As she said that she grabbed my shirt, pulled me toward her and kissed me again and again, until all I could think about was how lucky I was.
It wasn’t what most people considered a happy ending. For some, it might even have been a little sad. But to me, right then, it was a happily ever after, a dream come true. Cindy and I were everything I could have asked for…and more.
Elizabeth hurried away from that embarrassing encounter, wishing she was less awkward, less clumsy, less…her. She clutched her camera, carrying it as though it held the key to another world. In some ways it did. The love in the eyes of the boy in the picture she had taken was something she had never experienced, and didn’t think she ever would.
“thunk goes the head
thudsuck goes the knife
as you insure she’s dead
and forgive your wife.”
A girl walked resolutely along the side of the road, her head bowed, her footsteps measured. Were someone to look in her eyes they would see a sort of desperate calm, an intense concentration hovering on the edge of complete breakdown. Her badly dyed, spotted hair was almost too short, revealing her painfully thin, pointed pale face to the elements. If that someone to listen very intently, they might be able to catch a glimpse of her thoughts, so loud were they inside her head. The hills are turning purple in the distance, the sun is going down. I wonder why he can’t stand me, why he throws me around? I wish there was something left for me, I wish I didn’t have to leave. Someday, maybe you’ll understand, someday maybe you’ll see what I see…This dirge played over and over in her head, and as it became too loud for her to take, so loud that the cacophony obscured even her vision, her eyes filled with words and thoughts and colors, and finally the chemicals in her brain exploded in a burst of light. Simultaneously, she swerved, losing her focus and stumbling toward the middle of the road, careening out of control.
Headlights appeared at the crest of the hill and became a streak of light against the fading sky. A screech, a thump, a crash. Then, silence for one second, two.
The car veered away from the crime scene, leaving a crumpled bag of bones behind, while the boy driving turned his wide, young doe eyes to the road ahead, panicking quietly.
Later, he told people he hit a deer.
ALARIC
THANK YOU.
To my babytwin sister for dying and never knowing it. To my dad, for making me be everything I never wanted to. To my mom, for leaving my dad behind right when he needed her most. I hate this. I hate all of this music. Thanks to the record company for putting it all on an EP. I hate my life right now, and I hate that I can’t deal with it. I hate that I hate myself, and I hate that I hate myself. I’m sick of being that emo kid who might be famous someday for being in some band that wrote and performed bad music and then burned out on drugs or fame or money. Thanks to everyone who believed in me, though I’m not sure why you did. Thanks to the boys in my major, the ones who are going to be Successful Businessmen someday. You’re the only ones I really understand, and the only ones I want to understand me. This is the last attempt I’m making at music. If this fails like all the others, plummets into nothingness, into oblivion, I’ll become a business man and I’ll never look back. Here we go. Thanks to anyone who’s reading this right now, because it means you might have bought this. Thank you. My name is Alaric, and this is me giving up.
Once I knew a girl
Knew that she was meant to live
She was born at midnight, screaming loud
After I pushed my way out ahead
This girl was never happy
Could never understand
Why some other girls had moms and dads
That watched out for them- that held their hands
As the days kept growing longer
Her face grew longer, too
Until even I didn’t know her anymore,
(Though I thought I did) I didn’t have a clue.
I told myself she was just irresponsible,
That she was negligent, or unsure
But I thought she was smart, I thought I knew
Thought she had finally found a cure
And then one day she just started walking
All at once she walked away from me
Before she left she spoke to no one
She left no note that I could see
That girl-she’s all gone now
And she’s never coming back
I don’t know why she left here (I’ll never know)
All I know is that I ignored the only chance she had
Sometimes at sundown, and others late at night
While I sit alone-beer in hand
I swear I hear her whispering in my ear
Maybe she’s trying to help me understand?
Even though I do my best to listen
I know there’s really no way in
I’m too stuck in my own life and problems
There’s no way I could even begin
Hey, you, don’t forget we have a date!
Starts at seven, don’t be late
Put on some tight jeans and lace up your shoes
Get ready for a wild show
You’ve got more than just your voice to lose
I bet you weren’t expecting
Your face to get blown off right from the start
But since when did you ever give me a warning?
Could I have missed it?
The way you missed the part of the song where I offered you my heart?
You should have known you had it coming
Known that I could never let this go
Now’s your chance to start running
3,2,1…red, red, green…
Pause.
And go!
Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, it’s just what you do
I’m not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid idea
You know, the one that I could hold onto you?
The music’s playing louder
The band’s not ready to leave
Everybody here is dancing
Everybody except you and me
And I can see in your eyes that you’re anywhere
Anywhere but here
Anywhere but with me
Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, I guess I know that it’s just what you do
So I’m just really not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid, inane idea
You know which one I’m talking about?
The one that let me think that I could hold onto you
The interrogation lights are burning brighter
And now I’m starting to perspire
The detective is looming closer-
The best that money could acquire
I don’t have the answers to your questions
Even though I committed this crime
With your eyes you see right through me
Can you tell me what I’m hiding inside?
The clock keeps ticking louder and it triggers
A flashback that foreshadows of truths catching fire
The detective is pacing now,
So I know we’re getting down to the wire
I know you need the answers and they’re here!
I’ve got them somewhere
But I can’t tell you where I hid them
They’re somewhere lost in that mire
My life is falling apart
All because you branded me a liar
I’ve got nothing left to hope for
Because there’s no way to rid myself of your ire
Not much in life is worth waiting for
Not the sound of the town crier
Announcing the daybreak, announcing the hour
Rockabye, Rockabye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I’ll make everything just fine
The monsters can’t get you here
Of that I’ve made quite certain
Now close your eyes and go to sleep-
I’ll just turn my back for a second-
Less!
I just need to close the curtains
And when I turn around
Please say that you won’t be gone
Even though I should have seen it coming
Knew you were leaving all along.
Rockabye, Goodbye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I can’t make it all right this time
You gave your self up to the monsters
And the evil, screaming demons
The ones that hollered in your ear-
“You’re unsure-you’re a bad person!”
and no amount of begging
and no amount of pleading
could have saved you from your monsters
I guess I always knew that you were leaving.
(repeat)
Honor is a funny word
Means lots of different things
Means we’re stuck like trick horses
Jumping through flaming rings
Means I’m honor-bound to follow
Walk in your footsteps without regret
Means I’ve got no choice in where I’m going
Means I already know where my path ends
I guess I could have fought it
I guess I did right from the start
But when the chance came along to stop it
I didn't have the guts
So I'm stuck here writing songs
about things I'm too afraid to change
and others I've never been able to face
I don't feel like a prince
I've never felt like a knight
but every time I come home
you holler "honor, honor!"
and you always win the fight
But still I keep on coming
keep on doing what you expect
because how could I not?
without honor, what have I got?
DAVE
I never found out why she called me that night. We never talked about it. And, anyway, I was never sure she remembered, or that she had even been conscious of what she was doing at the time. But regardless, it was never spoken of, and we hadn’t been to the park together in a long time, so it was a surprise to hear her suggest it.
I pulled off the side of the road, into the weeds I had been parking in since I could drive, and climbed out of the car. Seeing that Cindy was still sitting and staring, I went over to her side and opened the door for her. To me, it’s not so much chivalry or being a man, it’s just common courtesy, and Cindy probably wasn’t going to get out of the car without some help, so I gave it to her.
She climbed out carefully, resting her hand lightly on the car for balance, every move deliberate and slightly pained. I wanted to reach for her, to gather her into my arms and hold her there and never let her go, but she looked so fragile, with her hair just barely curling out of her ponytail around her ears and down her neck, her ears standing in stark contrast to how thin her jaw and throat had become. How had I not noticed that? How had I not noticed that she was wasting away?
We picked our way over to a hunk of cement, me with my hands jammed in my pockets, trying not to look at her, trying not to walk too close, but afraid that if I didn’t stay near she would fall and I wouldn’t be able to catch her. She walked almost heedlessly, arms wrapped around herself, head down, blank eyes staring at the ground. I could tell she was trying not to cry again, so I waited until we got to our cement hunk before I said anything. When we were both settled, she beat me to the punch.
“Dave?”
“Yeah, Cindy? What’s on your mind?”
She turned to look at me, and as she stared me right in the eyes she said the words I had been dying to hear for as long as I had known girls didn’t have cooties. I wondered later why I wasn’t happier to hear them.
“Will you kiss me?”
It took me a second. Would I what? Then it hit me. And as I carefully, slowly, inched my lips toward hers, I whispered, “yes.”
Right at that moment, I couldn’t think of a more perfect ending. Everything I had ever wanted was being handed to me on a silver platter. Our lips met, and it was everything. Everything and nothing. To me, it was an extension of everything we already were, the logical next step in what we had. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for me, and the moment that this was caught up in was also far from perfect, but it also was perfect for us, for our mess of a relationship.
There was a noise, and she pulled away, startled. Though she was far from new at kissing, I liked to think that she was still the little girl I had befriended all those years ago on the inside. I liked to think that she still wanted to be a princess. I looked away from her and saw a girl sprawled on the ground. She got up, dusted herself off, and looked at us ashamedly.
“Sorry! I’m in a photography class, and a friend of mine told me about this place, and I didn’t really think there was anyone here! I’m just leaving! Don’t mind me!” She scurried off, clutching her camera, messenger bag embroidered with the initials “E.M.S.” knocking against the backs of her knees as she departed, traveling away from the road.
“I wonder where she thought she was going?” I mused aloud, and turned back to Cindy. She was still sitting in the same place, eyes fixed on me.
“Who cares?” As she said that she grabbed my shirt, pulled me toward her and kissed me again and again, until all I could think about was how lucky I was.
It wasn’t what most people considered a happy ending. For some, it might even have been a little sad. But to me, right then, it was a happily ever after, a dream come true. Cindy and I were everything I could have asked for…and more.
Elizabeth hurried away from that embarrassing encounter, wishing she was less awkward, less clumsy, less…her. She clutched her camera, carrying it as though it held the key to another world. In some ways it did. The love in the eyes of the boy in the picture she had taken was something she had never experienced, and didn’t think she ever would.
05 October 2008
Dave
65. “This is the difference between this and that.” The difference is that this is the way we are, the way we are raised. This is what we are supposed to be-what we’re born to be. This, this here? This is everything that we know is good and familiar. It’s here and now, it’s yesterday and the day before, it’s routine, comfort and familiarity. This is everything you know to be true. It consists of that which you’ve learned and that which you know you will learn. This comes with a healthy fear of that which you will not learn. This IS the fear- the idea that that which you do not know is scary and bad. For why else do we need routine other than to avoid doing new things?
That is everything we don’t understand. It’s other cultures, other people’s routines. That is the dark alley you pass on your way home that might be a short cut-or it could be the road to hell. That is everything and nothing, things that go bump in the night and the snatch of a terrified scream that you think you hear when you wake up with a start at midnight.
That is also the chance that the grass is greener, the possibility that things could get better if you give them a chance. That is the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, today is the day that things change, today is the day that girl you have had a crush on for as long as you can remember will wake up and notice you. The faint dream that suddenly she’ll realize that her true love has been right beside her all along.
But that comes with the unexpected-it is defined by the unexpected. That is that when the girl notices you, it’s not because you scored the winning touchdown or said something particularly witty in class. It’s that small chance, that minute possibility that she just needed a ride home and you were the first one to answer their phone, and also the only person she thought she could call. The only person she thought would stand beside her after she had done something you had always considered a crime.
This is what I consider familiar. My best friend, Cindy, who I’m too scared to tell that I’m in love with, riding home with me and complaining about her dick of a boyfriend. Dropping Cindy at her house and then going home. Being greeted by three small kids, two dogs, four cats, the smell of whatever Mom is making for dinner, and Mom herself. Getting swept up in the feel of my house, the bustle of people everywhere, the constant requests for homework help and the persistent noise that fills the whole house, every corner, propping it up where its otherwise fragile bones might seek to droop. This is my Church; spending time with the kids I grew up with, doing homework in the quiet, ancient corners to escape the noise at home. This is running out of things to do and spending the rest of the night worried sick about Cindy, where she is, who she’s with, what she’s doing. And finally this is the text I get when Cindy is finally safe, at home, in bed, “good-night, worrywart.”
This is not what happened that day. That day Cindy wasn’t at school, which wasn’t so unusual. Her parents weren’t big on making her do anything, in order to do that they’d have to notice her. School was normal. Joe, my best friend, had been acting jittery for a while, but he wouldn’t tell me why, and I was a firm believer that if someone wants help, they will seek it. You can’t force them to take it. It was what happened after school that made that day so completely…that. On my way home I got a text from Cindy, “can you come get me?” Just that. No teasing little note, no slightly unkind nickname, nothing.
It was when I read that text that I knew something was wrong. When I called her she could barely speak she was so upset. I could hear in her voice that she had been crying for a long time, it had a hollow quality to it, like she had let out everything in those tears, and for her, there was nothing left to say. All she said was, “I’m at Planned Parenthood. Can you come get me?”
So of course I did. How could anyone abandon their best friend in a situation like that? True, we hadn’t been as close recently as in previous years, Cindy had started partying harder and longer and Steve, the latest in a string of skeezy boyfriends, was demanding more and more of her time. She laughed it off, but only with me. I went to one of those parties once, a long time ago, because she begged me for hours to go, and the whole time-almost seven hours-she never once smiled. Well, okay, she smiled, but it wasn’t a good smile. Not one that comes from happiness. The only smile of hers I saw at that party, and the only one I had seen recently was a little cold and cynical. She seemed to almost be laughing at herself for pretending to be happy.
When I got to Planned Parenthood she was sitting outside in the fetal position on a bench, arms wrapped around her legs, blank eyes staring straight ahead. I pulled up in front of her, my crappy station wagon grunting with the effort, and without looking at me she got in, buckled her seat belt and continued to stare straight ahead. I watched her for a second, noticed her lips trembling ever so slightly, noticed her hands clenched in her lap, knuckles white. After a second, I looked away. Her pain was etched so deeply into her body it would have been impossible for me to look longer.
The radio seemed to violate the silence of the car, so I flicked it off and as soon as I did so every tiny motion, every sound became huge and un-ignorable. I could hear Cindy breathing, and with every breath I could feel her struggle to not cry anymore. As the silence grew louder it became more and more obvious that even though she thought she had no tears left to cry, there was a torrent left inside her, waiting to be unleashed.
Finally I could hear in the rhythm of her breathing that she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to start. So I started for her. “Anything you want to talk about?” it was normal conversation, how I always got her to start talking about what was bothering her.
She drew a shuddering breath. “I…don’t act like, like everything is all okay, Dave. It’s not. I’m not. I just…it…he…I…” she paused as the tears threatened to spill over.
Finally, “why?”
“Why what?”
“Just…why? Why did this happen to me? Am I really such a bad person? It’s not like I’m the only one who parties…I just…always seem to be the only one who ever has to feel the repercussions of it. It’s just…those girls are so pretty, and so perfect, and they seem so happy. I just wanted to be like them.. But they…I can’t, Dave. I can’t be what they want me to be. Why?”
“It’s God’s plan, Cindy. He just, wants us to be strong. He’ll be there to help when we can’t be, but sometimes He works in ways it’s hard for us to understand.”
She sat quietly after that, thinking about what I had told her. Cindy has never been the religious type. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in God, it’s more that she doesn’t believe in a God for her. She has no problem with other people finding solace with Him, she just doesn’t know how to herself.
The miles rolled by, and as we got nearer to her house she started to shake harder, and her breathing got more labored. As I was about to get off the highway she broke, “No. Don’t take me home. I can’t face it. The empty house, the expectant look on the faces of the clocks, the echoes. Take…go…Dave…” she started to cry tears of sorrow and pain and fear. And how could I ignore that? How could I let her go into that house, when it caused her so much pain? How could I resist being her hero?
I couldn’t. So we drove away.
“Where do you want to go?” this from me. Old habits die hard, and I just wanted to make Cindy happy, not cause drama by going somewhere that was going to make her feel worse.
She drew in a breath, closed her eyes. I could feel her gathering her façade, pasting what she thought I wanted to see on her face, and even though I didn’t like it, I had no clue how to make it stop. Once she had rearranged herself, carefully pushing the emotions she didn’t want me to see inside herself the way you sweep dust bunnies underneath the tablecloth when you’re cleaning and you’re in a hurry, she opened her eyes, and the look of determination there scared me, even though I had no idea what she could be so determined to do. “Let’s go to the park,” she said at last, not looking at me.
I focused myself on the road, willing myself to keep the feelings she didn’t want to know about inside and said, very quietly, very controlled, “okay.”
“The park” is basically just a vacant lot. I think that once, a long time ago, the city was going to build something there, but they bought all of the materials, plunked them in the nice, open space, and then forgot about it. By the time Cindy and I discovered it, there were plants growing up and around all the cement pipes, wire frames and various other building materials, making it a kind of hidden fantasy world we could escape to. Throughout our childhoods it served as a mystical fairyland, a domesticated house, a school on another planet, a battleground, a castle, and countless other things, but it was always a haven, always a place we knew we could go to get away, until.
Until one night in the tenth grade I got a call, an unintelligible call, from Cindy. A call that convinced me that she was lost and alone and needed help. That she was in need of serious help and was at the park. So I went to the park, and there she was. She was there all right, there with all of her “friends.” All of her “friends were there, and they were all talking and laughing and having a good ol’ time. Having a good ol’ time trashing our sacred haven, desecrating it with their sin. Desecrating our sanctuary with their alcohol and their joints (which Cindy had tried to convince me, several times, were “not drugs. They’re different”). They were all wasted out of their minds, dancing to a pagan beat, with Cindy’s “best friend,” the queen bee, the bitch of the bunch, Evelyn, in the middle at the top. Perched on the top of the tallest cement pipe, bonfire throwing her face into stark relief, highlighting her cheekbones and casting her eyes into shadow, giving her a skull-like mask for a face. Her fake-blonde hair danced around her, picking up red highlights, her skin glowed gold, and she danced sexually, grinding her hips against the air, shaking her breasts. With the fire and the dark and the amount of skin she was showing (wearing only a black, lacey bra and a tiny, jean miniskirt, she was barely clad at all) she seemed to represent sin itself, to be the devil incarnate.
And then. And then Cindy was there, too, throwing her arms in the air, grinding against Evelyn, removing her clothing so she was just as scantily clad, and reveling in the sin she was accepting in her life. Below them on the ground the guys danced a little, talked a little, weaved and bobbed in a drunken pattern, making their shadows dance and spin and twirl. To me, it felt as though I had just stepped into hell. It felt as though all my hoping and wishing, as though all of my praying had been for naught, because a simple phone call had condemned me to hell, when all I ever wanted to do was save my best friend from it.
And as I stood there, as I stood there and watched, I knew how Orpheus must have felt. Though we risked completely different things, at the same time, we both risked everything. Neither of us should have ever looked. But such is humanity. To sin, to err, to make mistakes- it’s what we do best and most often. My oldest friend saw me, did a double take…and then looked away. And I realized that my deepest wish, the thing I wanted most, it was never going to happen. At least, not the way I wanted, anyway. Cindy would never love me the way I loved her.
That is everything we don’t understand. It’s other cultures, other people’s routines. That is the dark alley you pass on your way home that might be a short cut-or it could be the road to hell. That is everything and nothing, things that go bump in the night and the snatch of a terrified scream that you think you hear when you wake up with a start at midnight.
That is also the chance that the grass is greener, the possibility that things could get better if you give them a chance. That is the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, today is the day that things change, today is the day that girl you have had a crush on for as long as you can remember will wake up and notice you. The faint dream that suddenly she’ll realize that her true love has been right beside her all along.
But that comes with the unexpected-it is defined by the unexpected. That is that when the girl notices you, it’s not because you scored the winning touchdown or said something particularly witty in class. It’s that small chance, that minute possibility that she just needed a ride home and you were the first one to answer their phone, and also the only person she thought she could call. The only person she thought would stand beside her after she had done something you had always considered a crime.
This is what I consider familiar. My best friend, Cindy, who I’m too scared to tell that I’m in love with, riding home with me and complaining about her dick of a boyfriend. Dropping Cindy at her house and then going home. Being greeted by three small kids, two dogs, four cats, the smell of whatever Mom is making for dinner, and Mom herself. Getting swept up in the feel of my house, the bustle of people everywhere, the constant requests for homework help and the persistent noise that fills the whole house, every corner, propping it up where its otherwise fragile bones might seek to droop. This is my Church; spending time with the kids I grew up with, doing homework in the quiet, ancient corners to escape the noise at home. This is running out of things to do and spending the rest of the night worried sick about Cindy, where she is, who she’s with, what she’s doing. And finally this is the text I get when Cindy is finally safe, at home, in bed, “good-night, worrywart.”
This is not what happened that day. That day Cindy wasn’t at school, which wasn’t so unusual. Her parents weren’t big on making her do anything, in order to do that they’d have to notice her. School was normal. Joe, my best friend, had been acting jittery for a while, but he wouldn’t tell me why, and I was a firm believer that if someone wants help, they will seek it. You can’t force them to take it. It was what happened after school that made that day so completely…that. On my way home I got a text from Cindy, “can you come get me?” Just that. No teasing little note, no slightly unkind nickname, nothing.
It was when I read that text that I knew something was wrong. When I called her she could barely speak she was so upset. I could hear in her voice that she had been crying for a long time, it had a hollow quality to it, like she had let out everything in those tears, and for her, there was nothing left to say. All she said was, “I’m at Planned Parenthood. Can you come get me?”
So of course I did. How could anyone abandon their best friend in a situation like that? True, we hadn’t been as close recently as in previous years, Cindy had started partying harder and longer and Steve, the latest in a string of skeezy boyfriends, was demanding more and more of her time. She laughed it off, but only with me. I went to one of those parties once, a long time ago, because she begged me for hours to go, and the whole time-almost seven hours-she never once smiled. Well, okay, she smiled, but it wasn’t a good smile. Not one that comes from happiness. The only smile of hers I saw at that party, and the only one I had seen recently was a little cold and cynical. She seemed to almost be laughing at herself for pretending to be happy.
When I got to Planned Parenthood she was sitting outside in the fetal position on a bench, arms wrapped around her legs, blank eyes staring straight ahead. I pulled up in front of her, my crappy station wagon grunting with the effort, and without looking at me she got in, buckled her seat belt and continued to stare straight ahead. I watched her for a second, noticed her lips trembling ever so slightly, noticed her hands clenched in her lap, knuckles white. After a second, I looked away. Her pain was etched so deeply into her body it would have been impossible for me to look longer.
The radio seemed to violate the silence of the car, so I flicked it off and as soon as I did so every tiny motion, every sound became huge and un-ignorable. I could hear Cindy breathing, and with every breath I could feel her struggle to not cry anymore. As the silence grew louder it became more and more obvious that even though she thought she had no tears left to cry, there was a torrent left inside her, waiting to be unleashed.
Finally I could hear in the rhythm of her breathing that she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to start. So I started for her. “Anything you want to talk about?” it was normal conversation, how I always got her to start talking about what was bothering her.
She drew a shuddering breath. “I…don’t act like, like everything is all okay, Dave. It’s not. I’m not. I just…it…he…I…” she paused as the tears threatened to spill over.
Finally, “why?”
“Why what?”
“Just…why? Why did this happen to me? Am I really such a bad person? It’s not like I’m the only one who parties…I just…always seem to be the only one who ever has to feel the repercussions of it. It’s just…those girls are so pretty, and so perfect, and they seem so happy. I just wanted to be like them.. But they…I can’t, Dave. I can’t be what they want me to be. Why?”
“It’s God’s plan, Cindy. He just, wants us to be strong. He’ll be there to help when we can’t be, but sometimes He works in ways it’s hard for us to understand.”
She sat quietly after that, thinking about what I had told her. Cindy has never been the religious type. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in God, it’s more that she doesn’t believe in a God for her. She has no problem with other people finding solace with Him, she just doesn’t know how to herself.
The miles rolled by, and as we got nearer to her house she started to shake harder, and her breathing got more labored. As I was about to get off the highway she broke, “No. Don’t take me home. I can’t face it. The empty house, the expectant look on the faces of the clocks, the echoes. Take…go…Dave…” she started to cry tears of sorrow and pain and fear. And how could I ignore that? How could I let her go into that house, when it caused her so much pain? How could I resist being her hero?
I couldn’t. So we drove away.
“Where do you want to go?” this from me. Old habits die hard, and I just wanted to make Cindy happy, not cause drama by going somewhere that was going to make her feel worse.
She drew in a breath, closed her eyes. I could feel her gathering her façade, pasting what she thought I wanted to see on her face, and even though I didn’t like it, I had no clue how to make it stop. Once she had rearranged herself, carefully pushing the emotions she didn’t want me to see inside herself the way you sweep dust bunnies underneath the tablecloth when you’re cleaning and you’re in a hurry, she opened her eyes, and the look of determination there scared me, even though I had no idea what she could be so determined to do. “Let’s go to the park,” she said at last, not looking at me.
I focused myself on the road, willing myself to keep the feelings she didn’t want to know about inside and said, very quietly, very controlled, “okay.”
“The park” is basically just a vacant lot. I think that once, a long time ago, the city was going to build something there, but they bought all of the materials, plunked them in the nice, open space, and then forgot about it. By the time Cindy and I discovered it, there were plants growing up and around all the cement pipes, wire frames and various other building materials, making it a kind of hidden fantasy world we could escape to. Throughout our childhoods it served as a mystical fairyland, a domesticated house, a school on another planet, a battleground, a castle, and countless other things, but it was always a haven, always a place we knew we could go to get away, until.
Until one night in the tenth grade I got a call, an unintelligible call, from Cindy. A call that convinced me that she was lost and alone and needed help. That she was in need of serious help and was at the park. So I went to the park, and there she was. She was there all right, there with all of her “friends.” All of her “friends were there, and they were all talking and laughing and having a good ol’ time. Having a good ol’ time trashing our sacred haven, desecrating it with their sin. Desecrating our sanctuary with their alcohol and their joints (which Cindy had tried to convince me, several times, were “not drugs. They’re different”). They were all wasted out of their minds, dancing to a pagan beat, with Cindy’s “best friend,” the queen bee, the bitch of the bunch, Evelyn, in the middle at the top. Perched on the top of the tallest cement pipe, bonfire throwing her face into stark relief, highlighting her cheekbones and casting her eyes into shadow, giving her a skull-like mask for a face. Her fake-blonde hair danced around her, picking up red highlights, her skin glowed gold, and she danced sexually, grinding her hips against the air, shaking her breasts. With the fire and the dark and the amount of skin she was showing (wearing only a black, lacey bra and a tiny, jean miniskirt, she was barely clad at all) she seemed to represent sin itself, to be the devil incarnate.
And then. And then Cindy was there, too, throwing her arms in the air, grinding against Evelyn, removing her clothing so she was just as scantily clad, and reveling in the sin she was accepting in her life. Below them on the ground the guys danced a little, talked a little, weaved and bobbed in a drunken pattern, making their shadows dance and spin and twirl. To me, it felt as though I had just stepped into hell. It felt as though all my hoping and wishing, as though all of my praying had been for naught, because a simple phone call had condemned me to hell, when all I ever wanted to do was save my best friend from it.
And as I stood there, as I stood there and watched, I knew how Orpheus must have felt. Though we risked completely different things, at the same time, we both risked everything. Neither of us should have ever looked. But such is humanity. To sin, to err, to make mistakes- it’s what we do best and most often. My oldest friend saw me, did a double take…and then looked away. And I realized that my deepest wish, the thing I wanted most, it was never going to happen. At least, not the way I wanted, anyway. Cindy would never love me the way I loved her.
21 September 2008
Forever After (Elizabeth)
Tomorrow is never coming.
Our lives are never ending and
The world is always turning.
The sun is always setting and
The night is never ending
Your car is ever shrinking and
The silence just keeps going.
Our hands are always meeting and
Your car is ever running
Our knees just keep on brushing and
Our feet are disappearing
This song is everlasting but
Our love is a train wreck-always crashing.
Your words are just like arrows-
Ever piercing, ever scarring
My heart is like a target-
Always painted, never winning
We fit together like a broken glass-
Always glued, never sticking
My tears are like the beat
Always hurting, always falling.
I don’t know why we do this
Know I’ll never understand
Why I ripped my beating heart out
And I placed it in your hand
And as you slowly squeezed it harder-
Harder, until it popped
I swear I never really thought it hurt-
Never felt the pain-
Until you stopped.
Once upon a time…
I was supposed to live happily ever after. I met my Prince, fell in Love at First Sight, and my hair was perfect. So what went wrong? Right from the Once Upon a Time I knew it was meant to be. I knew that it was perfect-we were perfect.
So where’s my Happily Ever After?
Dead. On a road. In the Middle-of-Nowhere, Ohio. Bloodied and flattened.
Roadkill.
That’s where my freaking Happy Ending is. It got hit by a car a decade ago. I never had a shot at saving it-it was out of my hands before I even knew it was in them. It’s no one’s fault. But, God, do I wish I had someone to blame.
Elizabeth was full of hope. She knew it was silly, knew that hope only lets you down harder, but she was hopeful, nonetheless. The convention was going well. It was a little dull, but then that was practically a tradition. While English teachers all think that they themselves are very interesting people, they rarely think their colleagues are anything remarkable. And all good English teachers can give a stirring lecture about the importance of correct grammar, spelling and MLA format, no one really wants to listen to such lectures.
Despite a permeating mood of resignation to mediocrity and slight boredom, Elizabeth remained optimistic. Of course, her optimism didn’t spring from nowhere, though. She had met someone. A tall, handsome, funny, modest, charming, too-good-to-be-true someone. A someone who, from first sight (as silly as it sounds) she thought she could be with forever. A someone she thought she could Love. If she didn’t already.
Miraculously, Alaric (for that was the someone’s name, Alaric) seemed to think she, boring Elizabeth Cunningham, High School English teacher, was someone, too. And even though they had only known each other for six days, it felt like it had been forever.
As always, Elizabeth was (painfully) aware of the chance that he would realize that they really weren’t good for each other-that he would suddenly come to his senses, give her a strange look, and walk away.
It had happened before.
But still, she remained-obnoxiously, even to herself- hopeful. As she put on the dress she had bought (rather foolishly, it wasn’t really something she could afford) just for tonight, carefully applied her make-up and arranged her hair, her heart was swollen with all of the hoping and singing that was going on. She sang “Wonderful Tonight” to herself, and felt foolish, but couldn’t get the hopeful smile off of her face.
Honesty wasn’t something she found often. Her high school students were rarely honest, which was understandable, they looked out for themselves first and foremost, so lying came naturally. Her parents, while essentially good people, had been together for all the wrong reasons, had lied to themselves and each other when they got married, and kept lying when they found out about Elizabeth, lying that she was a good thing, that she could strengthen a marriage made of lies and held together by frayed nerves. They divorced early in her childhood. Her mother had never really wanted kids, Elizabeth was just another lie she had told her husband, and when they got their divorce she didn’t even pretend to fight for custody. So Elizabeth grew up with her father, a good-natured man who would rather spend time with his plants than with people. Her mother sent her money on her birthdays until she turned 18, but was only a shadowy memory punctuated but the sharp stops of high-heels on slightly creaky wood floors and the smell of expensive perfume-impressions so alien to her father’s quiet nursery that Elizabeth knew there was no one but her mother who could have made them.
In Alaric she had found honesty. He had told her about the tragedy of his young-adulthood- losing his twin sister to a drunk driver and the emotional scars left behind right from the start. She knew that because of this event, so hard for anyone to handle, let alone a seventeen-year-old boy made it hard for him to put himself out there, made it hard for him to love. He had a shy, hesitant smile that seemed to come right from his soul, and his blue eyes sparkled when he saw the humor in something. He had told her that he was an English teacher from a small town in Ohio, not so very far from where she had grown up, and that he, like her, had grown up to realize that the small town living that had once strangled him now embraced him, that there were worse things than never leaving home. To her it seemed that he was the most genuine person she had ever met, that compared to Alaric everyone else might as well have been wearing masks and costumes and speaking from a script. His mix of sincerity and a strange, strong vulnerability was shattering.
Elizabeth floated down the stairs to dinner. For the second-to-last night of the convention they were holding a formal dinner with dancing, a tradition Elizabeth had never appreciated until this year, this moment. On the schedule it was always marked as a “ball.” When she received the schedule in the mail originally, back in her quiet little town, Elizabeth had laughed at the use of the antiquated term like she did every year prior. But here, now, it seemed perfect. She felt like Cinderella-so why shouldn’t she be attending a ball?
She alighted at the bottom of the stairs and there he was, her Prince Charming. He smiled in relief when he saw her, and came to meet her.
Our lives are never ending and
The world is always turning.
The sun is always setting and
The night is never ending
Your car is ever shrinking and
The silence just keeps going.
Our hands are always meeting and
Your car is ever running
Our knees just keep on brushing and
Our feet are disappearing
This song is everlasting but
Our love is a train wreck-always crashing.
Your words are just like arrows-
Ever piercing, ever scarring
My heart is like a target-
Always painted, never winning
We fit together like a broken glass-
Always glued, never sticking
My tears are like the beat
Always hurting, always falling.
I don’t know why we do this
Know I’ll never understand
Why I ripped my beating heart out
And I placed it in your hand
And as you slowly squeezed it harder-
Harder, until it popped
I swear I never really thought it hurt-
Never felt the pain-
Until you stopped.
Once upon a time…
I was supposed to live happily ever after. I met my Prince, fell in Love at First Sight, and my hair was perfect. So what went wrong? Right from the Once Upon a Time I knew it was meant to be. I knew that it was perfect-we were perfect.
So where’s my Happily Ever After?
Dead. On a road. In the Middle-of-Nowhere, Ohio. Bloodied and flattened.
Roadkill.
That’s where my freaking Happy Ending is. It got hit by a car a decade ago. I never had a shot at saving it-it was out of my hands before I even knew it was in them. It’s no one’s fault. But, God, do I wish I had someone to blame.
Elizabeth was full of hope. She knew it was silly, knew that hope only lets you down harder, but she was hopeful, nonetheless. The convention was going well. It was a little dull, but then that was practically a tradition. While English teachers all think that they themselves are very interesting people, they rarely think their colleagues are anything remarkable. And all good English teachers can give a stirring lecture about the importance of correct grammar, spelling and MLA format, no one really wants to listen to such lectures.
Despite a permeating mood of resignation to mediocrity and slight boredom, Elizabeth remained optimistic. Of course, her optimism didn’t spring from nowhere, though. She had met someone. A tall, handsome, funny, modest, charming, too-good-to-be-true someone. A someone who, from first sight (as silly as it sounds) she thought she could be with forever. A someone she thought she could Love. If she didn’t already.
Miraculously, Alaric (for that was the someone’s name, Alaric) seemed to think she, boring Elizabeth Cunningham, High School English teacher, was someone, too. And even though they had only known each other for six days, it felt like it had been forever.
As always, Elizabeth was (painfully) aware of the chance that he would realize that they really weren’t good for each other-that he would suddenly come to his senses, give her a strange look, and walk away.
It had happened before.
But still, she remained-obnoxiously, even to herself- hopeful. As she put on the dress she had bought (rather foolishly, it wasn’t really something she could afford) just for tonight, carefully applied her make-up and arranged her hair, her heart was swollen with all of the hoping and singing that was going on. She sang “Wonderful Tonight” to herself, and felt foolish, but couldn’t get the hopeful smile off of her face.
Honesty wasn’t something she found often. Her high school students were rarely honest, which was understandable, they looked out for themselves first and foremost, so lying came naturally. Her parents, while essentially good people, had been together for all the wrong reasons, had lied to themselves and each other when they got married, and kept lying when they found out about Elizabeth, lying that she was a good thing, that she could strengthen a marriage made of lies and held together by frayed nerves. They divorced early in her childhood. Her mother had never really wanted kids, Elizabeth was just another lie she had told her husband, and when they got their divorce she didn’t even pretend to fight for custody. So Elizabeth grew up with her father, a good-natured man who would rather spend time with his plants than with people. Her mother sent her money on her birthdays until she turned 18, but was only a shadowy memory punctuated but the sharp stops of high-heels on slightly creaky wood floors and the smell of expensive perfume-impressions so alien to her father’s quiet nursery that Elizabeth knew there was no one but her mother who could have made them.
In Alaric she had found honesty. He had told her about the tragedy of his young-adulthood- losing his twin sister to a drunk driver and the emotional scars left behind right from the start. She knew that because of this event, so hard for anyone to handle, let alone a seventeen-year-old boy made it hard for him to put himself out there, made it hard for him to love. He had a shy, hesitant smile that seemed to come right from his soul, and his blue eyes sparkled when he saw the humor in something. He had told her that he was an English teacher from a small town in Ohio, not so very far from where she had grown up, and that he, like her, had grown up to realize that the small town living that had once strangled him now embraced him, that there were worse things than never leaving home. To her it seemed that he was the most genuine person she had ever met, that compared to Alaric everyone else might as well have been wearing masks and costumes and speaking from a script. His mix of sincerity and a strange, strong vulnerability was shattering.
Elizabeth floated down the stairs to dinner. For the second-to-last night of the convention they were holding a formal dinner with dancing, a tradition Elizabeth had never appreciated until this year, this moment. On the schedule it was always marked as a “ball.” When she received the schedule in the mail originally, back in her quiet little town, Elizabeth had laughed at the use of the antiquated term like she did every year prior. But here, now, it seemed perfect. She felt like Cinderella-so why shouldn’t she be attending a ball?
She alighted at the bottom of the stairs and there he was, her Prince Charming. He smiled in relief when he saw her, and came to meet her.
07 September 2008
“thunk goes the head
thudsuck goes the knife
as you insure she’s dead
and forgive your wife.”
A girl walked resolutely along the side of the road, her head bowed, her footsteps measured. Were someone to look in her eyes they would see a sort of desperate calm, an intense concentration hovering on the edge of complete breakdown. Her badly dyed, spotted hair was almost too short, revealing her painfully thin, pointed pale face to the elements. If that someone to listen very intently, they might be able to catch a glimpse of her thoughts, so loud were they inside her head. The hills are turning purple in the distance, the sun is going down. I wonder why he can’t stand me, why he throws me around? I wish there was something left for me, I wish I didn’t have to leave. Someday, maybe you’ll understand, someday maybe you’ll see what I see…This dirge played over and over in her head, and as it became too loud for her to take, so loud that the cacophony obscured even her vision, her eyes filled with words and thoughts and colors, and finally the chemicals in her brain exploded in a burst of light. Simultaneously, she swerved, losing her focus and stumbling toward the middle of the road, careening out of control.
Headlights appeared at the crest of the hill and became a streak of light against the fading sky. A screech, a thump, a crash. Then, silence for one second, two.
The car veered away from the crime scene, leaving a crumpled bag of bones behind, while the boy driving turned his wide, young doe eyes to the road ahead, panicking quietly.
Later, he told people he hit a deer.
Today is never over and
Tomorrow is never coming
Our lives are never ending and
The sun is always setting
The stars are always shooting and
The wishes just keep coming
Our hands are always meeting and
Your car is ever running
This song is everlasting but
Our love is a train wreck-always crashing.
Your words are just like arrows-
Ever piercing, ever scarring
My heart is like a target-
Always painted, never winning
We fit together like a broken glass-
Always glued, never sticking
My tears are like the beat
Always hurting, always falling.
I don’t know why we do this
Know I’ll never understand
Why I ripped my beating heart out
And I placed it in your hand
And as you slowly squeezed it harder-
Harder, until it popped
I swear I never really thought it hurt-
Never felt the pain-
Until you stopped.
This one time I knew a girl
Knew that she was meant to live
She was born at midnight, screaming loud
Because I pushed my way out ahead
This girl was never happy
Could never understand
Why some girls had moms and dads
That watched out for them-held their hands
As the days kept growing longer
Her face grew longer, too
Until I didn’t know her anymore,
Didn’t have a clue.
I told myself she was irresponsible,
Negligent, unsure
I thought she was smart, I thought I knew
Thought she had finally found a cure
Then one day she started walking
She walked away from me
Before she left-she did no talking
Left no note that I could see
That girl-she’s all gone now
And she’s never coming back
I don’t know why she left here
All I know is that I ignored the only chance she had
Sometimes late at night
While I sit alone-beer in hand
She whispers in my ear
Tries to help me understand
But though I try really hard to listen
I know I haven’t got a chance
I’m too stuck in my own problems-
There’s no way I could even begin
Hey, you, don’t forget we have a date
Starts at seven, don’t be late
Put on a dress, shine up your shoes
Get ready for a roller coaster-
You’ve got more than just your dinner to lose
I bet you weren’t expecting
These twists and turns right from the start
But since when did you ever give me a chance?
Since when did you ever think about my feelings?
For sure not when you ripped out my heart.
You should have known you had it coming
Known that I could never let this go
Now’s your chance to start running
3,2,1…red, red, green…
pause.
And go!
Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, it’s just what you do
I’m not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid idea
You know, the one that I could hold onto you?
The music’s playing louder
The band’s not ready to leave
Everybody here is dancing
Everybody except you and me
I can see in your eyes that you’re anywhere
Anywhere but here
Anywhere but with me
Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, it’s just what you do
So I’m just really not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid, inane idea
You know which one I’m talking about?
The one that let me think that I could hold onto you
Sometimes I wish I could hate you
Because you’re the reason I always fail
But I can’t-can’t do that to you
Because it’s my fault-not yours
That I’m locked up here in jail
Or really, maybe it’s just limbo
I really, really don’t know
All I know is that I’m stuck
And I’m sorry that you’re stuck, too
Stuck as my scapegoat
It’s like running in quicksand
Like running underwater
Like I’m stuck in a nightmare
And I can’t get away from the monster
It’s like running on a treadmill
Or riding a stationary bike
Maybe, if I keep going harder,
I’ll get somewhere this time.
Can you help me? can you save me?
Can somebody give me a hand?
Because I’m slipping
Now I’m falling
And because of you-I never had a chance
The interrogation lights are burning brighter
And now I’m starting to perspire
The detective is looming closer-
The best that money could acquire
I don’t have the answers to your questions
Even though I committed this crime
With your eyes you see right through me
Can you tell me what I’m hiding inside?
Can you help me? Can you save me?
Can somebody give me a hand?
Because I’ve slipped
And now I’m falling-plummeting-
To the ground
And all because of you-I never had a chance
Never had a chance to grab somebody’s hand
Rockabye, Rockabye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I’ll make everything just fine
The monsters can’t get you here
Of that I’ve made quite certain
Now close your eyes and go to sleep-
I’ll just turn my back for a second-
Less!
I just need to close the curtains
And when I turn around
Please say that you won’t be gone
Even though I should have seen it coming
Knew you were leaving all along.
Rockabye, Goodbye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I can’t make it all right this time
You gave your self up to the monsters
And the evil, screaming demons
The ones that hollered in your ear-
“You’re unsure-you’re a bad person!”
and no amount of begging
and no amount of pleading
could have saved you from your monsters
I guess I always knew that you were leaving.
thudsuck goes the knife
as you insure she’s dead
and forgive your wife.”
A girl walked resolutely along the side of the road, her head bowed, her footsteps measured. Were someone to look in her eyes they would see a sort of desperate calm, an intense concentration hovering on the edge of complete breakdown. Her badly dyed, spotted hair was almost too short, revealing her painfully thin, pointed pale face to the elements. If that someone to listen very intently, they might be able to catch a glimpse of her thoughts, so loud were they inside her head. The hills are turning purple in the distance, the sun is going down. I wonder why he can’t stand me, why he throws me around? I wish there was something left for me, I wish I didn’t have to leave. Someday, maybe you’ll understand, someday maybe you’ll see what I see…This dirge played over and over in her head, and as it became too loud for her to take, so loud that the cacophony obscured even her vision, her eyes filled with words and thoughts and colors, and finally the chemicals in her brain exploded in a burst of light. Simultaneously, she swerved, losing her focus and stumbling toward the middle of the road, careening out of control.
Headlights appeared at the crest of the hill and became a streak of light against the fading sky. A screech, a thump, a crash. Then, silence for one second, two.
The car veered away from the crime scene, leaving a crumpled bag of bones behind, while the boy driving turned his wide, young doe eyes to the road ahead, panicking quietly.
Later, he told people he hit a deer.
Today is never over and
Tomorrow is never coming
Our lives are never ending and
The sun is always setting
The stars are always shooting and
The wishes just keep coming
Our hands are always meeting and
Your car is ever running
This song is everlasting but
Our love is a train wreck-always crashing.
Your words are just like arrows-
Ever piercing, ever scarring
My heart is like a target-
Always painted, never winning
We fit together like a broken glass-
Always glued, never sticking
My tears are like the beat
Always hurting, always falling.
I don’t know why we do this
Know I’ll never understand
Why I ripped my beating heart out
And I placed it in your hand
And as you slowly squeezed it harder-
Harder, until it popped
I swear I never really thought it hurt-
Never felt the pain-
Until you stopped.
This one time I knew a girl
Knew that she was meant to live
She was born at midnight, screaming loud
Because I pushed my way out ahead
This girl was never happy
Could never understand
Why some girls had moms and dads
That watched out for them-held their hands
As the days kept growing longer
Her face grew longer, too
Until I didn’t know her anymore,
Didn’t have a clue.
I told myself she was irresponsible,
Negligent, unsure
I thought she was smart, I thought I knew
Thought she had finally found a cure
Then one day she started walking
She walked away from me
Before she left-she did no talking
Left no note that I could see
That girl-she’s all gone now
And she’s never coming back
I don’t know why she left here
All I know is that I ignored the only chance she had
Sometimes late at night
While I sit alone-beer in hand
She whispers in my ear
Tries to help me understand
But though I try really hard to listen
I know I haven’t got a chance
I’m too stuck in my own problems-
There’s no way I could even begin
Hey, you, don’t forget we have a date
Starts at seven, don’t be late
Put on a dress, shine up your shoes
Get ready for a roller coaster-
You’ve got more than just your dinner to lose
I bet you weren’t expecting
These twists and turns right from the start
But since when did you ever give me a chance?
Since when did you ever think about my feelings?
For sure not when you ripped out my heart.
You should have known you had it coming
Known that I could never let this go
Now’s your chance to start running
3,2,1…red, red, green…
pause.
And go!
Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, it’s just what you do
I’m not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid idea
You know, the one that I could hold onto you?
The music’s playing louder
The band’s not ready to leave
Everybody here is dancing
Everybody except you and me
I can see in your eyes that you’re anywhere
Anywhere but here
Anywhere but with me
Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, it’s just what you do
So I’m just really not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid, inane idea
You know which one I’m talking about?
The one that let me think that I could hold onto you
Sometimes I wish I could hate you
Because you’re the reason I always fail
But I can’t-can’t do that to you
Because it’s my fault-not yours
That I’m locked up here in jail
Or really, maybe it’s just limbo
I really, really don’t know
All I know is that I’m stuck
And I’m sorry that you’re stuck, too
Stuck as my scapegoat
It’s like running in quicksand
Like running underwater
Like I’m stuck in a nightmare
And I can’t get away from the monster
It’s like running on a treadmill
Or riding a stationary bike
Maybe, if I keep going harder,
I’ll get somewhere this time.
Can you help me? can you save me?
Can somebody give me a hand?
Because I’m slipping
Now I’m falling
And because of you-I never had a chance
The interrogation lights are burning brighter
And now I’m starting to perspire
The detective is looming closer-
The best that money could acquire
I don’t have the answers to your questions
Even though I committed this crime
With your eyes you see right through me
Can you tell me what I’m hiding inside?
Can you help me? Can you save me?
Can somebody give me a hand?
Because I’ve slipped
And now I’m falling-plummeting-
To the ground
And all because of you-I never had a chance
Never had a chance to grab somebody’s hand
Rockabye, Rockabye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I’ll make everything just fine
The monsters can’t get you here
Of that I’ve made quite certain
Now close your eyes and go to sleep-
I’ll just turn my back for a second-
Less!
I just need to close the curtains
And when I turn around
Please say that you won’t be gone
Even though I should have seen it coming
Knew you were leaving all along.
Rockabye, Goodbye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I can’t make it all right this time
You gave your self up to the monsters
And the evil, screaming demons
The ones that hollered in your ear-
“You’re unsure-you’re a bad person!”
and no amount of begging
and no amount of pleading
could have saved you from your monsters
I guess I always knew that you were leaving.
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