Unexplainable Burdens in the Heat of the Night
Once upon a time
Not so long ago
I grew up in Rhode Island. Bluer than blue collar. Factory workers and mechanics. I drove a Chevy Cavalier. I knew every word to every Bon Jovi song (still do).
Tommy used to work on the docks
Unions been on strike
He’s down on his luck…it’s tough, so tough
Gina works the diner all day
Working for her man, she brings home her pay
For love - for love
We all knew that there had to be something better than this. Better than the life we had, the life our parents had, the life our grandparents had. We didn’t know that we were the same. Just like Scranton, PA, Booton, NJ, Albion, MI. Like some played out Billy Joel song. We were downeaster with thick accents that called us out with the first “ah”.
She says we’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
cause it doesn’t make a difference
If we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot
For love - well give it a shot
But we, we silly kids were lucky and stupid and stupidly lucky. My house that was a single family house, that had a distinct formal dining room, that had a side yard and a back yard, that had a private drive way setting the house off the street, that never housed distant relatives for extended periods of non-specific length, my house drew awe and admiration. I only saw where it was falling apart and the wood floors that left splinters.
Whooah, we’re half way there
Livin’ on a prayer
Take my hand and we’ll make it - I swear
Livin’ on a prayer
The promises were that we would fail. No one ever gets out. Everyone gets pulled back in. Really, they told us that we were only good enough to also run. Truthfully, they were right. Most of us did fail. Moved back to the place from where we were. Lived next to our parents and grandparent. The cyclical cycle to start again. Children born to parents who were too young to vote. Trapping a life and a future on a corrugated metal track to nowhere.
Tommy’s got his six string in hock
Now he’s holding in what he used
To make it talk - so tough, it’s tough
Gina dreams of running away
When she cries in the night
Tommy whispers baby it’s okay, someday
Running away from a past is futile. Running away from a future is useless. You never get to get anywhere and in the end, you’re just running. But you can’t tell us that. We’ve run. Far and fast and long and wide. We open our eyes and refuse to see what lays out in front of us. They say you can never go home again, but who wants to go home to that?
We’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
cause it doesn’t make a difference
If we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot
For love - well give it a shot
Home is where mom lived. Home is where dad left. Home was the gaping wounds that no one else saw, (remember the house?). Mom would have been such a nice person if she weren’t our mom. Medication would have gone along way in our house. Bipolar. Split-personality. Psychotic. Anti-psychotic. Borderline personality. Manic. Depressed. Narcissist. Bitch. Is there a pill for bitch?
Whooah, we’re half way there
Livin’ on a prayer
Take my hand and we’ll make it - I swear
Livin’ on a prayer
They say that mental illness is hereditary. She got it from someone, she gave it to others. Let’s be honest, she gave it to us. The fear is that we become what we know so well. My sister is thinking of having a child of her own. I love my sister. I fear her anger. It’s so deep and hot and quick to bubble over into burning rage. I see it in myself, although I direct it at people who hurt me. My sister directs it at people she wants to hurt.
We’ve got to hold on ready or not
You live for the fight when it’s all that you’ve got
I know I need to work on my deeply vindictive anger, that’s what Some Girl does. I have an outlet. I have a voice that let’s me flex my anger and impress my words upon those who won’t ever really see me seether. Knowing my anger, knowing from where it springs, knowing how it feels when I am triggered, and knowing that at my worst, I’ve come nowhere close to my sister’s emotion, I worry. I see her go from a serene, happy, coherent woman to a manipulative, selfish, vindictive, raving loon. I don’t think she would ever direct it at her own children, but I don’t know if she will be able to hide it from her children.
Whooah, we’re half way there
Livin’ on a prayer
Take my hand and we’ll make it - I swear
Livin’ on a prayer
When I told her that I was leaving, that I need to beat a path away from our collective daemons, I know that she understood the exact parameters of my words. I didn’t know that she would be so sad to know that I wouldn’t be there for her child. As I put some perspective on my move, I realize that I am the person I always wished would materialize for me. The safe haven my niece or nephew will need, the person that can explain the unexplainable, the one thing for which I prayed, is no longer going to be an option for my sister’s children. And this makes me so sad.