I thought I saw her yesterday. Last night, through the inky atmosphere
of the small club, I could have sworn I saw her standing in the doorway,
watching me. She was the same, but not. Superficially, she could have been
the same exact girl I spent years dreaming about. But it's the details that
make me think maybe, just maybe, it was really her, that maybe what I've been
waiting years for is finally happening.
could feel the difference in them. They were filled with sadness, regret,
with wishes that life could be what we wanted it to. I looked into them, and
I saw, for the briefest of moments, what could have been.
That's why I think I'm beginning to go insane. I mean, once your dreams
start becoming reality it's all over, right? I've dreamed a thousand times
that she would walk back into my life, that someday I would see her again.
Of course, Liz always used to tell me that the people who are still coherent
enough to think they're going crazy aren't there yet. Like she ever knew
anything about psychology....
I saw her, or at least my mind conjured up some image of her to torment
me with, and I fell apart. Again. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her
what their leaving did to us all. I wanted to hit her, as if physical
violence could even come close to approximating the misery I've endured, that
has become my everyday existence. I want her to suffer. I want all of them
to suffer. I want the four of them to see us, what is left of us, and I want
them to know how hard it's been for us, for me. I want them to know that I
blame them for everything that's happened. I want them to feel guilty, and I
want them to beg for my forgiveness, and I want them to know that that
forgiveness will never come.
I didn't fall apart so that anyone at the club noticed. Not even the
guys in the band, and they're probably the ones who know me best, now, which
isn't saying all that much. No, I've gotten very good at controlling my
breakdowns until I'm alone, safely cocooned in my apartment, hidden under
layers upon layers of blankets, or standing underneath the shower, so that
one tiny innocent girl is the only one who can hear my sobs, no matter how
hard I try to hide them even from her.
Right now, I'm standing in the shower, sobbing so much that I can barely
hear myself think. God damn her, God damn all of them, if only I believed in
God or hell. Maybe I'll start to believe again, if only for the satisfaction
of imagining their eternal torture.
It's been a while since I thought about them. I'd been doing pretty
well, actually. And then she has to show up...I'm sure that was really
her...there's no way I would have imagined her looking like that. The girl in
my mind still looks like she did when we were all sixteen, when I dared to
think she actually loved me. Sixteen, when she left me, when they left all
of us. It had to really be her. It had to be, because I'm fine. I'm fine.
I haven't had those visions, those hallucinations, in years. I won't have
those visions, because I have to be strong. I will not let them control my
life anymore. I'm fine, so it had to really be her.
The visions...well, I hate her for those too. Hate all of them. Hate is a
refreshing emotion, isn't it? You can't sympathize with someone you hate,
can't hope they're doing well, that they're happy.
And for so long, whenever I've thought of her, of them...the only emotion
I've felt has been hate. I sing, and I think of Maria, and of Liz, and of my
baby girl who I'm raising alone, and whose life I'm screwing up just as
surely as they screwed up ours, and I hate. I hate, and I rage, and I throw
things against walls and take comfort in the sounds of shattering glass, and
I think no one would even recognize the me from all those years ago, the
years when I sang with The Whits and humored Maria by playing all of those
nice pop songs.
Maria.... It still hurts to think about her. When Liz...at least then I
had someone to turn to. With Maria, I had no one. She left me all alone.
That's what keeps me hating them. On those days when I don't feel the
burning so strongly, when I think that maybe I might feel some sympathy
towards them, that maybe I have started to forgive them, I think of Liz, and
then of Maria, and the hate flares just as brightly as it ever has.
Liz...well, Liz went first. They took her. They took her to try to get to
Max, and there was nothing Maria or Kyle or I or even Sheriff Valenti could
do to save her, even though we tried our best. When she came back to us, it
was in a canvas bag that reeked of blood and sweat and fear and pain. I wish
Max had been here. I wish that I could hand him that bag, wrapped up in a
pretty box to hide its grisly secrets. I wish I could see him, watch his
reaction as he discovered what they did to her, what his leaving did to her.
I want to watch as he opens that box, watch as he wonders at that bag, watch
as he realizes what the weight of it means. I want him to be haunted by the
images of Liz's body like I am. I want him to know what they did to her, and
know that he could have stopped it if only they weren't all such cowards. I
want him to know that our blood is on his hands....
Maria lasted the longest, but she was never really here once they left,
and especially not after Liz went. She put on a good act, but there was a
glaze over her eyes that exposed her. She never quite paid attention to what
was going on around her, never quite heard anyone talking to her, never quite
cared enough to put any effort into living. His name was always on the tip
of her tongue; it was always him she was thinking about. It got to the point
that she didn't even see me anymore, would look right past me as though he
were standing just beyond me, as though one of her memories had come to life.
I hate him because she didn't even have very many happy memories to retreat
to. She wasted away slowly but surely, and there was nothing I could do to
stop her. How was I supposed to, when I longed for death myself?
I want to take them to the cemetery, to show them Liz and Maria's graves.
I want them to see the marble angels that watch over my girls, and I want
them to know that they never were anything good to any of us, and that we all
would have been better off if they never existed, that even Liz would have
been better off dying in the CrashDown that day.
The only good that came of our lives is her. Our sweet beautiful
innocent angel girl, born of so much pain and fear and ruin.
Maybe it sounds callous, but my daughter is almost nothing more than a
minor concern in my life. I love her; I love her more than I can stand. It
hurts me, hurts me to feel anything other than pain and torment. I love her
so much that I want to protect her from what I am. I only hope that someday
she'll be able to understand what I've done, that she won't be ashamed of me.
I can't help what I am, what I've become. The only thing I can do is try to
protect her from me.
I love my daughter. I love her, but I live for them. I live in hopes
that one day the four of them will finally get up the courage to come back.
I live so that I can tell them what's happened to us, what they've done to
us. Once I finish this, I can stop everything.
I know that was really her at the club last night, I know she saw me, I
know she'll come for me, and then it will be just a little longer until all
of this torment is over.
There's the knock on the door now....
"Well I woke up in mid-afternoon
'Cause that's when it all hurts the most.
I dream I never know anyone at the party
And I'm always the host.
If dreams are like movies then memories are films about ghosts
You can never escape
You can only move south down the coast
I am an idiot
Walking a tightrope of fortune and fame
I am an acrobat
Swinging trapezes through circles of flames
If you've never stared off into the distance
Then your life is a shame
And though I'll never forget your face sometimes I can't remember my name
Hey Mrs. Potter don't cry
Hey Mrs. Potter I know why
But hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me
There's a piece of Maria in every song that I sing
And the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings
And there is always one last light to turn out
And one last bell to ring
And the last one out of the circus has to lock up everything
Or the elephants will get out and forget to remember what you said
Oh and the ghosts of the tilt-a-whirl will linger inside of your head
When the Ferris wheel junkies will spin there forever instead
When I see you a blanket of stars covers me in my bed
Hey Mrs. Potter don't go
I said hey Mrs. Potter I don't know
But hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me
All the blue light reflections
They color my mind when I sleep
And the lovesick rejections that accompany the company I keep
All the razor perceptions that cut just a little too deep
Hey I can bleed as well as anyone but I need someone to help me sleep
Ah so I throw my hand into the air
And it swims in the breeze
It's just a brief interruption
Of the swirling dust sparkled jet stream
Well I know I don't know you
And you're probably not what you seem
Ah but I'd sure like to find out
So why don't you climb down off that movie screen
Hey Mrs. Potter don't turn
Hey Mrs. Potter I burn for you
Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me
When the last king of Hollywood
Shatters his glass on the floor
And orders another will he wonder what he did that for?
'Cause when I know that I have to get out 'cause I have been there before
So I gave up my seat at the bar and I headed for the door
We drove out to the desert just to lie down beneath this bowl of stars
We stand up in the palace like it's the last of the great pioneer town bars
Ah we shout out these songs against the clang of electric guitars
Yeah you can see a million miles tonight but you can't get very far
Ah you can see a million miles tonight but you can't get very far
Hey Mrs. Potter I won't touch
And hey Mrs. Potter it's not much
But hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me
Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me?
Hey Mrs. Potter won't you talk to me?"
- "Mrs. Potter's Lullabye," Counting Crows