A i n ’ t n o s u n s h i n e w h e n s h e ’ s g o n e
We were in the backyard, refugees among the pristine landscape he designed, when she asked me.
I t ’ s n o t w a r m w h e n s h e ’ s a w a y
Even as I let her sorrow splash down over me, once again feeling the suffocation of an eldest child turned parental confidant I didn’t anticipate the added weight her query placed on my sternum.
A i n ’ t n o s u n s h i n e w h e n s h e ’ s g o n e
“I don’t know what to do.” her eyes implored me, looking for a release. “Do you think we should go, move away?” Her body was tight and I could see the strain, the tight strand between being our mother and being his wife ready to snap.
A n d s h e ’ s a l w a y s g o n e t o o l o n g
“We can’t go on like this.” I muttered lamely. The best course of action was to state the obvious. Let her bounce the thoughts off me, try to be the rubber from that old children’s rhyme
A n y t i m e s h e g o e s a w a y
and avoid any responsibility for the aching rip forming where it had folded more times than even rubber could take.
W o n d e r t h i s t i m e w h e r e s h e ’ s g o n e
Moving seemed the only course of action that might let us all start again, might allow our wounds a chance to heal.
W o n d e r i f s h e ’ s g o n e t o s t a y
I didn’t know we could never move far enough to stop hearing the music.
A i n ’ t n o s u n s h i n e w h e n s h e ’ s g o n e
It was pouring from the house through the windows left open to allow summers’ lazy attempt at an evening breeze to enter the airless home.
A n d t h i s h o u s e j u s t a i n t n o h o m e
He was there. He will always be there in my mind, trapped in the choice I made.
A n y t i m e s h e g o e s a w a y
It was important to track his movements, and I watched through the windows as he made his way back toward an ashtray and carefully tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette.
I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w
I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w
I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w
I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w I k n o w
I saw the way he shook his head along to the “I know-I know-I know-I knows” in the soul ripping song as he stumbled with alcohol enhanced emotion before lowering himself into the wicker chair and cracking the top on a fresh, cold can of beer.
H e y I w a n n a l e a v e t h e y o u n g t h i n g a l o n e ,
b u t t h e r e a i n t n o s u n s h i n e w h e n s h e ’ s g o n e
His attempt to send the despair outward by blasting the music would fail. All of his attempts to escape, numb, or ignore the blanket of depression failed.
A i n t n o s u n s h i n e w h e n s h e ’ s g o n e
She drew me back outside, into her. “I just don’t think I can help him anymore.” her voice shook with the effort of containing the guilt beast but she swallowed it down, it was an innate ability I never mastered.
O n l y d a r k n e s s e v e r y d a y
“You can’t change other people, Mom. You can only change yourself.” I still retained the ability of a child to state great truths without knowing the more subtle nuances they foretold.
A i n t n o s u n s h i n e w h e n s h e ’ s g o n e
She nodded and wiped tears from her face with shaky hands. It was getting dark and she sent me away so she could think. There were things to put in boxes, and changes to make.
A n d t h i s h o u s e j u s t a i n t n o h o m e
I couldn’t find a way to approach him. He had a way of sitting in the dark I didn’t want to see.
A n y t i m e s h e g o e s a w a y
A n y t i m e s h e g o e s a w a y
A n y t i m e s h e g o e s a w a y. . . . . . .
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Measuring a Man
He’s been hanging around in the back of my mind. I see him the way he was when he was working. Worn-in 501 Levis held up with a brown leather belt. Plain t-shirt with a pocket holding his menthols. A tool belt hangs off his hips, heavy with capability. He tucks a pencil behind one ear, at the ready for the next measurement or idea. The wet of perspiration coaxes his wavy dark hair into curls on the back of his head and drips off his body as he exerts himself.
“Six and three-eights.” He would say distractedly. I hung around to smell the wood as it was cut, I hung around waiting to be useful. It was my job to remember the number. A mantra to earn his approval.
‘Six and three eights six and three eights six and three eights six and three eighths six and three eighths.’
When I would forget, and it amazes me how often this was, it felt the way it did when I somehow couldn’t find what he was pointing at. Standing in the sand on the beach right in front of him, his arm extended out into the beyond over my shoulder, trying to make me see the log or whale or star. I stood still as the air at three am next to him. My eyes carefully followed his arm down to the end of his finger and frantically scoured the horizon. This was it. A chance to share something magical.
My mind raced with the idea that a moment had come upon me, I was on stage and it was time to say my line. Caught up in all this I couldn’t see anything. I didn’t even have the words to form the thought “All I can see is you” or he might have understood. I won’t ever know now.
It was like that the last time I spoke to him, when he called me to stop him. I could hear that he was crying but I refused to acknowledge it. I ignored the measurements, I turned to face him instead of following his finger and I brushed him off. My thoughts formed the words “Let me stop seeing you.” but I don’t believe he ever thought I did see him. It didn’t seem like much to ask for. Just five minutes not wondering when or if he would pull that trigger.
He had that in him. Something he couldn’t make anyone see, something no one wants to remember. It lies tangled in my guts now. It rises as a lump in my throat unexpectedly choking me but I swallow it down. I stand stiff with his finger pointing over my shoulder. I don’t have to wonder anymore. I don’t have to see and I don’t have to remember. But of course I do.
2008
“Six and three-eights.” He would say distractedly. I hung around to smell the wood as it was cut, I hung around waiting to be useful. It was my job to remember the number. A mantra to earn his approval.
‘Six and three eights six and three eights six and three eights six and three eighths six and three eighths.’
When I would forget, and it amazes me how often this was, it felt the way it did when I somehow couldn’t find what he was pointing at. Standing in the sand on the beach right in front of him, his arm extended out into the beyond over my shoulder, trying to make me see the log or whale or star. I stood still as the air at three am next to him. My eyes carefully followed his arm down to the end of his finger and frantically scoured the horizon. This was it. A chance to share something magical.
My mind raced with the idea that a moment had come upon me, I was on stage and it was time to say my line. Caught up in all this I couldn’t see anything. I didn’t even have the words to form the thought “All I can see is you” or he might have understood. I won’t ever know now.
It was like that the last time I spoke to him, when he called me to stop him. I could hear that he was crying but I refused to acknowledge it. I ignored the measurements, I turned to face him instead of following his finger and I brushed him off. My thoughts formed the words “Let me stop seeing you.” but I don’t believe he ever thought I did see him. It didn’t seem like much to ask for. Just five minutes not wondering when or if he would pull that trigger.
He had that in him. Something he couldn’t make anyone see, something no one wants to remember. It lies tangled in my guts now. It rises as a lump in my throat unexpectedly choking me but I swallow it down. I stand stiff with his finger pointing over my shoulder. I don’t have to wonder anymore. I don’t have to see and I don’t have to remember. But of course I do.
2008
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