The first time I heard this song, I cried. Nobody but Martina McBride could make this song so moving. I think it describes Mac's childhood perfectly.
Disclaimer - The usual. I don't own Mac's character, but I wish I did. ;-) I don't own the lyrics of "Concrete Angel" either.
Please R&R.
0145 Zulu
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown
Mac couldn't sleep. For the third night in a row. This had been happening off and on a lot, lately, and she didn't know why. Oh, she could guess easily enough, but any form of certainty eluded her. The Marine paced round her apartment, hoping that if she exhausted herself physically, she might be able to sleep. It might help, too, if that damn flyboy was in town. But no, he was overseas somewhere. Not that he would be much help, anyway. No, he'd listen, give some advice, and ask if she was fine. She'd lie and say yes, then he'd be gone, and she'd be no better off. Why was he so slow to understand she wasn't fine, even though she said she was? It was so frustrating!
Restless, Mac flipped on the radio. She had found that music helped settle her mind. Better than he could. Now that was hardly fair! At least he tried. The whole relationship confused her. She alternately hated and loved him, depending his latest escapade. Mac sighed as she twisted the tuning knob, searching for a station she could stand. Tonight, she hoped for and needed that gentle sedative.
She was to be vastly disappointed.
'She walks to school with the lunch she packed
nobody knows what she's holding back
wearin' the same dress she wore yesterday
she hides the bruises with linen and lace...'
There was a flash in Mac's memory, and suddenly she was back in the place she never wanted to see again. Everything was as it had been: same house, same girl, same sense of hate, fear, and confusion. Mac saw herself walking - no, trudging - along the sidewalk, head down to hide her red-rimmed eyes. Behind her was a passed-out father and a sobbing mother. A single tear rolled down the girl's cheek, and Mac felt it too.
'... the teacher wonders, but she doesn't ask
it's hard to see the pain behind the mask
bearing the burdens of a secret storm
sometimes she wishes she was never born...'
Mac let out a strangled sound and lunged for the radio. For some reason, though, her body ceased obeying her and she stumbled. She hit her knees in front of the cabinet, one hand stretching toward the radio, the other covering her face. She remembered, dear God she remembered all too well. Sitting in class, trying not to let her pain show. It had become a chore to get up in the morning, knowing what she'd find downstairs. Why was this happening to her, now, after all this years? All she wanted was to be soothed, not have to relive this old hell. More tears found their way down her cheeks.
'... through the wind and the rain
she stands hard as a stone
in a world that she can't rise above
but her dreams give her wings
and she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete angel...'
A scream died in her throat. Why couldn't she stop this pain? She saw herself, now hiding under the covers with her only stuffed animal, listening to the shouting downstairs. Nighttime was the time she was most afraid. Her bear was the only thing she had for comfort. Now the dark was all around her, and that same old sense of terror was creeping back. She wished she had that bear now.
'...somebody cries in the middle of the night
the neighbours hear, but they turn out the light
a fragile soul caught in the hands of fate
when morning comes, it'll be too late...'
Silent screams echoed inside her head. Nobody would be coming to her rescue, she knew as she sobbed into her dirty pillow. Little Sarah despaired, but somewhere in the night, she made herself a promise. Mac remembered that promise, all these years later, and made it again. Somehow, she summoned the strength to finally turn off the radio, but still the tears fell like rain.
Mac managed to drag herself to her room and into her bed. She didn't know it yet, as she cried into her pillow, but she was finally going to able to sleep again.