Once there was a way,
To get back homeward.

A figure stood over the girl who lay sleeping on the bed. She sang a wordless song that seemed to bless the girl as she slept; not so much sleeping as languishing in a stupor from little food and way too much Jim Beam.

“I’m sorry.”

Ashland, Ohio...1988

“Mommy? Look at what I can do,” Joey waved at his mother. She looked over at the boy, who stood precariously in her best shoes, barely managing to keep upright while teetering on three-inch heels.

“That’s nice, sweetie,” she said before returning her attention to her computer.

1994

“Mommy, you got some time?”

The smallish boy stood in the doorway of the garage. Delia Cardone looked up from behind the wheel of the Audi and smiled as she pulled off her gloves and placed them in her purse.

“Sure, honey. Just give me a moment,“ The boy nodded and took a step down into the garage but stopped as he saw a familiar figure walk into the garage from the front yard.

“Hey, Delia, if you like, I can keep an eye on Joey here so you don’t miss your meeting,” the man said with a smile. The boy shrugged his shoulders as his mother walked up and past him into the kitchen.

“Joey, honey? Can this wait?” She spoke hurriedly as she looked in her purse for the keys to the car. The boy nodded almost lethargically as his mother once again squeezed past him and got into her car, which was parked in the driveway out front. A moment later she had driven off, leaving Joey and his uncle alone.

“Hey...since your mom is going to be gone for a while, maybe we can spend some time together.” His voice was almost sing-song; soothing and inviting, which sent a chill up the boy’s spine as his uncle ushered him into the house.

Sleep, pretty darling,
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

1995

“Mom…can we talk?”

The boy sat down at the kitchen table. Delia placed two bowls of chili down and returned to the counter to retrieve the cheese and sour cream. The boy smiled in anticipation, looking down at his hands, which were hidden under the table. The clear polish seemed to shine; his best friend Trish had suggested to start small so as to not startle his mother. He pulled his hands out from under the table and was about to speak when his Uncle Dave walked into the kitchen and sat down. The boy quickly placed his hands under the table once again.

1997

“Honey? I’ve got to run out for a while. There’s a twenty on the counter and there’s Coke and some Snapple in the fridge. I should be back in about three hours. I’m sorry, but we can have dinner together tomorrow, okay?”

He didn’t bother to answer, but instead waited until he heard the car start and drive off. Looking in his dresser mirror, he applied the eyeliner before nodding in approval. Not quite an emo girl, but certainly not an emo boy, either.

"Hey Mom...can we talk?" He laughed but the frown on his face grew and tears began to well in his eyes. He opened the drawer on his nightstand and grabbed the flask of gin and put it in his bag before walking out the door.

1998

"Mom...you got time to talk?" Joey leaned on the hallway wall and waited for a responds.

“Baby, Mommy has a headache, and I have to lie down,” Delia called from her bedroom.

Joey listened for the sag of the bedsprings. He walked down the hall slowly and stopped by her bedroom door and listened. Hearing a loud snore, he breathed a sigh of relief. Joey had never really cared for the carpet in the townhouse, but he was glad for the softness as it deadened the sound of his boot heels; no telltale click as he walked up the hall way. He stopped in front of the hall mirror and gave himself a once-over, noting that his hair had grown to a nice length, which complemented his slender graceful neck.

“You’re looking really nice tonight,” he said to himself as he admired the subtle pattern on his tights and the satin underlay that adorned his knitted jacket and skirt.

“Why waste time going out,” the voice spoke softly from behind. He felt his hand being pulled back down the hallway. He would have protested, but the voice was so inviting and he already had been pushed way too much down that path by the fifth of vodka he put away throughout the afternoon. He felt himself whisked away on a magic carpet that was woven by deceit and misplaced guilt, but he offered no resistance as his uncle pulled him into the bedroom and closed the door.

1999

“Mom, I have something I have to tell you.”

The boy sat on the couch, his hands folded in front of him. Better not to shock her, he wore some torn jeans and an oversized black tee. His hair was cut to just above his collar, but erratically and dyed black and magenta. The eyeliner was applied frugally, and was streaked only a little under his lower eyelashes. But somehow his mother barely noticed.

“Sure, Joey…just give me about an hour. I’ve got to run out for a bit, but we can talk when I get back.”

Joey watched as his mother ran quickly out of the house. A moment later he was in the kitchen, reaching under the sink to push the cleaner caddy aside to grab a bottle of Smirnoffs. He stood up and walked down the hallway toward his room, but his uncle stepped out of the bathroom and stood in his path.

“I’ve got some weed we can have to go with that,” he said, pointing to the bottle in Joey’s hand. Joey teetered down the hallway, his balance impeded by the bourbon he had drunk earlier that morning. His uncle put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Your hair looks nice; I like the colors…makes you look…pretty.” Joey went to pull away, but his uncle grabbed his other shoulder and pushed him along down the hallway and into his room and shut the door.

2001

“Mom, can we talk?”

The girl looked up at the ceiling, mouthing familiar words with a slur; her face was twisted in grief and shame as she lay back, waiting for the man to return from the bathroom. She blinked back some very cold tears and sat up wondering if it was worth it to buy the cheaper gin and have more. Recalling the taste in her mind always helped numb the taste in her mouth after nights like that. She grimaced as the man walked back into the room and nearly fell on the bed beside her; his penis was already out and he clamped his hand on the back of her neck and forced her head downward.

Golden slumbers,
Fill your eyes
Smiles await you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

Next: Sleep Pretty Darling, Do Not Cry…

Golden Slumbers
Words and Music by
John Lennon and
Paul McCartney
as performed by
Nungan
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9ljjPa9w_U