T & K

Little tale ‘bout a girl
we’ll call her “T”
growin’ up in the ‘burbs
in 1973

she’s the freckle-face kid
lives down the street
she is cute
she is funny
and o-so sweet

she was kind of a tom
she was younger than me
she could sing like a bird
she could climb a tree

but people grow
and people change
and they move on
now T’s a woman
she’s a wife
and she’s a mom

and she’s livin’ the life
kinda likin’ it that way
and she’s singin’ in a club
and she’s acting in a play

and the years fly by
but we stay in touch
and T’s keepin’ it together
but, not by much

seems her oil and water marriage
is in a fix
‘cause no matter how you try
some people just don’t mix

and it’s nobody’s fault
it just is what it is
morning coffee with your spouse
thinkin’ “who is this?”

worked on workin’ it out
but they have to face facts
soon they’re makin’ arrangements
then they’re makin’ tracks

but people grow
and people change
and they move on
single woman
not a wife
still a mom

now she’s livin’ apart
kinda likin’ it that way
and she’s singin’ in a club
and she’s acting in a play

well, one night she spies a pirate
in the footlight glow
gonna steal her heart
as yet she doesn’t know

wearin’ black leather boots
and a rapier wit
and he flashes a smile
and T thinks “this is it”

he takes off his bandanna
and says “my name is “K"
she says “T” is what they call me
and they sail away

then they kiss
and then it’s bliss
and all is well
and yet T
she doesn’t see
there’s more to tell

she didn’t know
he got a monkey on his back
bloody teeth
sharp claws
K calls him krak

sometimes the monkey’s in his cage
sometimes he’s out
T didn’t understand
what the change was all about

because K, he kept the monkey
in a can
a secret little pet
or the master of the man

he would please it
he’d appease it
it was under control
but the monkey’s getting stronger
K’s getting closer to the hole

he can’t afford to feed it
he can’t afford the ride
but the monkey’s evil trainers
are happy to provide

they’re the scum of the earth
the takers of souls
they’re the evil undertakers
the diggers of holes

and the monkey’s getting stronger
and K needs a rest
the monkey’s poison claws
digging into his chest

and the monkey slips his cage
and steps into the light
and T sees what it is
and it fills her with fright

she can see the bloody talons
she avoids the evil gaze
how long has this been haunting K?
she can’t even count the days

she braces for a fight
tells the trainers “stay away”
and she closes the door
and she tries to rescue K

but the scars are too deep
and the monkey's too strong
and the man is too weak
and the days are too long

and shadows grow
and monkeys feed
and trainers lurk
life takes its toll
T’s in despair
love doesn’t work

the sickness is growing
and T finally reaches out
to family and friends
but there’s no one about
who can handle the monkey
who can handle the man
‘cause K, he still believes
that the monkey’s in the can

T risks her family
while her own health slips away
jeopardizing sanity
to try and save K

there are those whose obligations
bound by friendship and time
bound by family and blood
who were partners in crime

they stood back and let it happen
let the monkey take control
let T shoulder the burden
while the sickness took its toll

and K got closer to the edge
and T tried to block his way
and K stepped out on the ledge
and T knew he couldn’t stay

so T, she stepped aside
and the K man was at peace
for the first time in a long time
and T felt the release
of the grip of the monkey
of the trainer and thief
of the burden of sickness
T found healing in grief

so she gathered together
with friends and relations
and in story and song
they had a celebration
of the man we knew too little
of the man we knew too well
of the man whose life was brittle
though none of us could tell
‘cause we didn’t want to look
while the monkey killed K
‘cause ignorance is bliss
and we like it that way

now when T thinks of K
she thinks, there was a man
who I loved with all my heart,
though some didn’t understand

and people grieve
and people heal
and on they live
now T’s alone
but K is there
with more to give

she hears his voice in a note
feels his soul in the breeze
when she sings in a club
or walks among the trees

Jerry Russell
7/24/2008

~for T

A phone call at 2am

[Mar. 26th, 2004|03:19 am]
. . .

My son is the most precious person in my life.

More precious than my wife, who I love deeply.
More precious than myself,
who I would gladly sacrifice
to spare my son.

A short story with a point.
(Note: Timeline may be a little off - but the big picture is what's important)

When I was in college, I was living at home, commuting to school and working.
One night, I was lying on the living room rug. I had fallen asleep watching TV, after class, after work.

At a little past 2am, the phone rang. It woke me up, but my mother had already answered it.
I couldn't hear the conversation, but even before my mother had time to react, I knew it was terrible news.
It was the police. They told my mother that my brother (2 years older), was struck by a police car while he was crossing the street and that he was being transported by ambulance to the hospital.

While my parents frantically scrambled to get dressed and out of the house, I drove myself to the hospital to find out how bad it was.

My brother had been struck by a police car traveling, without flashing lights or siren, at 50mph -- clipped by the right front bumper and thrown 30 feet through the air. He landed on the back of his head.
He suffered a broken hip, a shattered femur, several other fractures and brain damage. He was in a coma for 2 weeks. He was in a body cast for over a month, and in physical therapy for over a year. He had to re-learn to walk and talk. (Again, the details may be off, but the broad strokes are there).


My point.

The feeling I had when I reached the hospital, when I talked to the doctor,
and when I saw my brother on life support,
was completely and utterly overwhelming.
I'm his brother.
I can't even fathom the depth of emotion my parents must have felt.


That feeling,
that precise feeling that I had when I saw my brother,
is the one that jars me from a sound sleep sometimes now.

It jars me as I write this -- out of fear that some night I'll get that same phone call, except this time,
it will be MY son.

Car crash.
Drug overdose.
Stabbed.
Shot.
Suicide.

My love for my son is profound.

He knows I love him because I tell him so.
He knows I'm proud of him, because I tell him so.

He's funny, smart, handsome, kind and caring.
He looks to the future.
I think he's happy.
I hope he's careful.

I try my best to keep track of where he is and who he befriends.
I try to engage him in conversation about the risks involved in drinking, drugs and sex.
I try to steer him in the right direction, because there are SO many negative influences trying to steer him in the wrong direction. Far more than when I was his age.

-- I was surprised to find that he uses the term "motherf**ker" in casual written conversation.
-- I was alarmed to find that he has considered dying.
-- I am afraid that I don't know enough,
that I'll miss a clue,
that I'll say "I should have seen the signs"...

Kids think parents don't care.
That we don't understand.
That we're stupid.

You forget that we we once your age.
That we rebelled.
That we protested.
That we locked ourselves in our rooms
and were positive that our parents couldn't possibly
even begin to understand how we felt.

We do understand. We've been there.
We did stupid things in our youth.
We did amazing things.
We were invincible once.
We're here for you, but can't help if you don't let us in -- just a little.

Most of us are simply doing everything we can
to keep the phone from ringing
at 2am.

. . .