She grew up with the children of the stars
in the Hollywood hills and the boulevards.
Her parents threw big parties. Everyone was there.
They hung out with folks like Dennis Hopper and Bob Seger and
Sonny and Cher.
Lily and I both grew up with producer and director parents. Her dad was infamous for his big parties that soon led to big, tabloid reported, obviously problematic affairs. Everyone was always at those parties, and it was hard to tell which affairs had really happened and which had not. I'd always been there for Lily, especially through her parent's divorce when we were eleven.
She feels safe now in this bar on Fairfax.
And from the stage I can tell that she can't let go and she can't
relax.
And just before she hangs her head to cry,
I sing to her a lullaby
I sing:
Miley and Lily, as well as the rest of the population of my school, was shocked to find that I, Oliver Oken, could sing and play guitar. Very well, may I so modestly add. I'm up on stage at some little bar on Fairfax, and she's sitting and watching me, looking so stiff and so uncomfortable, but still looking like she feels safe. So I sing to her the song I wrote just for her, two years ago, when we were fifteen.
Everything's gonna be all right.
Rockabye, rockabye.
Everything's gonna be all right.
Rockabye, rockabye, rockabye.
I'd wrote it after some stupid asshole guy had broken up with her after cheating on her and publicly humiliating her. Only the chorus had stayed the same over the years, in all its simplicity and the message the song was meant to send anyway; that I would be there for her no matter what. I had sung her to sleep with that song, two years ago, and now I'm singing it to her in a crowded L.A. bar. Funny how things can change.
She still lives with her mom outside the city
down that street about a half a mile.
And all her friends tell her she's so pretty
but she'd be a whole lot prettier if she smiled once in a while.
'Cause even her smile looks like a frown.
She's seen her share of devils in this angel town.
We'd grown up in L.A. together, and I'd helped her make the decision to stay with her mom. While her dad was a cheater, her mom was a drinker, and she never really had a very stable home life. I lived down the street, and my reasons for telling her to stay had been selfish; I couldn't stand to see her move to New York with her father.
Miley and Amy, two girls Lily hung out with, constantly told her how pretty she was, as she'd always been so self conscious. The only times I've seen her smile while watching her from a distance, there's something frownlike about the grin. Somehow, I feel like the only true smiles she holds are for me, and, guilty as I feel about it, I love knowing that I can put that true joy on her face.
For the City of Angels, Lily's sure as hell seen a whole lotta devils. She's been backstabbed by money grubbing girls, cheated on and almost raped by assortments of drunk, and sometimes sober, guys, and not to mention her mom's stupid boyfriend who molested her growing up and sometimes manages to force himself on her when I'm not around, and she's still lived through it all. I'm proud of her for it. She seems to relax as I begin to sing the chorus yet again, and I smile softly as she waves slightly, her face beginning to glow, like it did when we were younger.
Everything's gonna be all right.
Rockabye, rockabye.
Everything's gonna be all right.
Rockabye, rockabye, rockabye.
I told her I ain't so sure about this place.
It's hard to play a gig in this town and keep a straight face.
Seems like everybody's got a plan.
It's kind of like Nashville with a tan.
I'd been debating moving out of L.A., maybe to a quiet, nice little suburb. I can barely play music with a straight face; the people and events I witness are so ridiculously twisted that it's hilarious. Every single person I've met since the age of eleven all has a hidden agenda, and I've learned to trust no one but Lily, Miley, and Jake, my best friends. I look into Lily's blue eyes, and I wink at her as I begin the chorus again.
Everything's gonna be all right.
Rockabye, rockabye.
Everything's gonna be all right.
Rockabye, rockabye, rockabye.
And when I get off the stage, sweating slightly, exhausted, and ready to go home, wanna know where I consider home? Lily's arms that engulf me with pride as she kisses me full on the mouth to the wolf whistles of my band mates, Miley, and Jake.
I head back to my apartment with Lily, Miley, and Jake in tow as usual. We'd lived our lives so quickly that it seemed to us we were adults. My parents had bought me a little apartment of my own for my sixteenth birthday; the four of us practically lived together.
Lying with Lily in my bed (nothing like what you're thinking, I can assure you. Lily isn't that kind of girl at all), I can hear her sniffle slightly with the tears I know come every night. No doubt she's remembering the events of the abuse, and I mean abuse in every possible way, that her mom's boyfriend puts on her when she goes home, and the fact that she can just never cut a break.
Bending my head down to whisper in her ear, I sing softly, "Everything's gonna be all right,
Rockabye, Rockabye."
She smiles at me, cuddling up next to me, and soon, the tears are gone and Lily is breathing softly in her sleep, a soft, gentle smile dancing on her features.