Legal
Stuff - I don't own the song (wallflowers do) Don't own the characters (Disney
does)
Irene had been dreading this
moment and found a thousand excuses and reasons over the years. But it was time to do it. Taking a deep breath as if trying to suck in
hope that might be floating around the atmosphere she enters her youngest son's
bedroom. Everything was the same way as
it had been that day, even the can of coke sat on the desk half full, but
surely undrinkable. She looks around
not knowing where to begin and decides to start with his top dresser
drawer. Falling on to the ground as if
it had been waiting for the day of freedom since it was shut away, was a piece
of paper. Careful not give it any
wrinkles Irene picks it up and reads.
Do you ever stop to count all the invitations
At the end of the day when it comes down to one decision
Of dead beat girls and freaks at a peoples convention,
All these sugars with no vitamin sensation.
It was a poem, or perhaps lyrics to a song. No matter what exactly they were created to
be Irene didn't know. Just that it was
Clu's and she instantly loved it.
College was hard for him, he pretended it was just fine, but as a mother
she knew. Both her children were good
looking and girls always had their eyes on him. Maybe he had tried too hard and too fast.
Do you ever stop to look over old relations,
Or look to the belly of another one's emotions,
Someone young in the winds of a revolution
Trying to save his face in the evolution.
Thinking of her baby in all that deep hidden
emotional pain killed Irene all over again.
Clu was screaming out for help, why didn't anyone come to the
rescue!? Has his mother she felt the
guilt and blame should lie directly with her.
Was it Carey that he wanted to escape from? Didn't want to be just like his brother but somewhere along the
way lost his identity.
He's kept alive in the chain of
mental starvation,
Bone rail skinny, only feeding off frustration.
Unlike you who seem bred from corruption
Feeding off the plates of an ununited nation.
Irene momentarily sets the paper down and scans the
room. How could these words be coming
from the head of the boy who still had cartoon posters and comic books spread
around? Clu being sad wasn't a question
but the suavity of it had been. This
verse gave her some insight though.
With a lover in the street whose waiting to make a connection
To be the mother to the soul of your next abortion,
She'll steal your money with the eyes of a baby's complexion
Then she'll laugh at you and your sexual invention.
He had a girlfriend, talked about her, as she was both the
sun and the moon. Pictures were all
they had, never having been granted permission to see her for real. Then suddenly like he started talking about
her the conversations with her name had vanished. Irene hoped to God this wasn't the reason of why.
Smelling like a rose, in the flowers of devotion,
Devoted the heat of a spotlight in motion,
With a face full of mud even though you were only joking
As if you really understood the value of isolation.
When the mysterious girl left was when Clu began to
spill away too. He no longer held the
same smile, his laugh had died.
Thinking back Irene couldn't help to see the warning signs. The people on TV and other at risk ads say
watch for signs. But why don't they
come clear until it's too late?
Asleep at the wheel,
No windshield,
But you know that the streets
Here don't change.
He was right, things never changed. People might come and go like he had, but
when it comes down to it everything was same.
The saying life is a carousel held true. Spinning you into a circle, at times too fast that you feel
sick. Others too slow and completely
boring. Then it stops and you simply
fall off. Clu's ride had ended much too
soon.
Your tongue so fast like a freight train coming on rollin'
Every smile you give's just to keep your mouth from clothin'
Every engine burns as a sign of the explosion
Locked in neutral your engines are broken.
Irene traces her hand over the words, trying to
touch a piece of her son. To hold him
again, if only for one hug and one final I love you. She swore even though it had been years since she had seen into
his eyes, he was always near. Just she
couldn't reach him.
Like candle wax that sun melts into the ocean,
Like the moon that lights the tracks of the old train station,
You can color in the lines of mother earth's addictions,
And not hold a gun in the face of the Earth's abduction
Not caring about persevering wrinkles Irene swats
the paper away onto the ground. The
anger was creeping in, almost pure hatred.
Last week she attended her oldest granddaughter's 7th
birthday party and heard the precious term I love you granny. Carey was blessed with three great kids and
had become a wonderful person in society.
And Clu didn't have that. All he
had was a pine box buried with him inside deep into the ground. With him died possible grandkids, perhaps
the instructions of a new infection or cure.
No one would know because he dealt with the depression by holding that
gun to his temple.
Irene picks the letter back up
and returns it to dresser drawer.
Leaving the room not wanting to discover more answers to the great
mystery of why. Nine years ago and
still the room like the streets hadn't changed.
