Don't Let Morning Come
5:04
5:04 - Misery
Virginia was a lot lizard from FLA
She had a compound fracture in the trunk
It started when she ran away
Thumbs out on the interstate
She hitched a ride to misery
Mr Whirly had a catastrophic incident
He fell into the city by the bay
He liquidated his estate
Now he sleeps up on the hate
Panhandling misery
And he's gonna get high high high
When he's low low low
The fire burns from better days
And she screams why o why
I said I don't know
The catastrophic hymns from yesterday
Of misery
When I was seven, my Mum asked my Dad why he couldn't write songs about something cheerful for a change. My Dad said life wasn't like that, and he wasn't going to turn into some cheesy twit, singing about rainbows and how great everything was. My Mum said he did far too much moaning, or words to that effect. He said no wonder, with a nag like her for a wife. There were a lot of arguments like that, but I learned to ignore them. They always sorted everything out in the end.
I'm starting to argue with myself now; there are two sides of me battling away in the darkness. Part of me knows that this is it, that I might as well curl up and sleep. But part of me wants to stay awake, just to prove I can. Prove that even if I can't fight the so called justice system, I still have it in me to fight that need to forget. I'm getting to that part of the night where you're all jittery and your mouth tastes funny you've been awake so long. Jakob's had thirteen years of sleepless nights, surely I can survive one. Don't sleep Joey, stay awake. Only 176 minutes, then you can sleep forever.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
There was another argument when we got back from the police station. Only this time, I didn't run and hide like a two year old. I sat, stiff and staring on the broad leather sofa.
"No wonder he's turned out like he has" my Mum screamed, "You don't exactly set a good example, do you? You sat there night after night, saying you wished you could wring Frankito's neck. Now Jakob's done it for you, is that what you wanted Billie?"
My Dad shook his head, his uncombed hair falling in front of his eyes. He didn't look all tough like he usually did. He looked like a lost little boy, younger than me, younger even than Jakob. Just for a second, I wondered how small and pathetic Frankito must have felt when my brother flew at him with a knife. But I shut my eyes tight, trying not to think about it. It was done, and all I wanted to do was help Jakob.
"I didn't know-" my Dad mumbled, "I never thought he'd -"
He sat down beside me and looked into my eyes.
"Joey" he whispered, "Jakob didn't . . . tell you anything did he? He didn't talk about Frankito with you did he?"
I didn't know what to say. He'd told me he hated Frankito, but that was all. I had no idea he'd even think about murder.
"No" I muttered, "He never said anything"
My Mum sat down beside us on the couch and put an arm around me. I relaxed a little.
"It's alright Joey" she reassured me, "We'll figure something out, we'll get him a good lawyer. And the judge usually goes a bit easier on you if you confess"
I nodded, knowing the same fear was swirling I everyone's stomachs. Jakob had committed murder, and in California, that was punishable by death. Sure, Jakob was only fourteen, but criminals could be kept on death row for ten or twenty years. He would be more than old enough to be executed by that point. They used those lethal injections, but Jakob was terrified of needles. When we'd had jags at school, he'd fainted every time. The nurse had always found him a biscuit and a drink of lemonade. But the executioner would just shove the needle in whether he was conscious or not. As far as they were concerned, it made their job easier. They let them chose a lat meal didn't they? Jakob was an incredibly fussy eater, he would only really eat our Mum's cooking. He never touched school dinners, instead using the money to buy sweets. And half the time, Frankito swiped them.
My Mum got to her feet, giving me a final pat on the back. God, she looked so different too, like she'd been slapped in the face.
"I'm going for a walk" she told us, "I need some air, we'll talk about this later, right?"
She pulled on a long, black coat she'd had for years. Jakob had worn it on Halloween, when he dressed up as a vampire. I'd been a television. My Dad helped me make the costume, and joked that he would be fitting a volume control button if I got too noisy.
"I don't think I'll be long" my Mum said, pulling me into a hug, "Look after yourself Joey, and look after Jakob. Keep him strong for me. And don't forget what you promised him, I think Ramona deserves an explanation."
I wondered why she was launching into a big speech if she was only going for a walk.
"Don't start smoking" she continued, "The house smells bad enough with your Dad puffing away like a chimney. And look after Laurie; she'll stand by you Joey, if you'll let her. She won't give up on Jakob either; maybe she can help him, like she used to help you all with your homework. Remember the day Jakob won the Impossible Fifty? Think about that when it starts to hurt Joey, keep that happy memory alive"
She was talking like one of those fortune tellers you see on the beach. The ones locked away in caravans, their faces pale because they never venture outside. My Mum looked like she wanted to hide away too, and never come out again. I knew what was happening, I could sense the sadness in the air, but I didn't know how to stop it. I looked at my Dad desperately, silently begging him to do something. But he stared back woodenly, his expression blank. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I just let my Mum walk out the door, into the engulfing night. The rain was lashing down, bouncing off the pavements. Thunder was rumbling over the hills, lightning crackling across the black sky. And I just let her go.
We waited until three in the morning for her to return, then I called the police.
There was a huge search, dozens of officers with dogs or on horses. Neighbors volunteered to help as well, even Miss Baskerville. My Uncle Tre never came, nor did Ramona. I didn't blame them, but I missed them. I'd only caught a glimpse of Ramona, looking out her window, as we drove back from the police station. We hadn't heard from Stella either, thought Uncle Mike joined the search operation. He didn't poke around in nearby forests like everyone else, he stayed close to me, telling me everything would be okay. But my Mum had said the same thing when she visited me in hospital, and now she was probably dead and my brother was locked up.
"We'll find her Joey" everybody kept saying, "We're all looking, someone's bound to find her"
But deep down, I knew she didn't want to be found. She lived for Jakob, and she didn't want to live without him. He wasn't her baby any more, he was a murderer. And in the eyes of the law, as bad as every killer on death row. I thought about the eyes of a murderer I'd seen on the news once. He'd been waiting twenty years to be executed; he wasn't even allowed to go to his daughters wedding. I remembered hearing how he'd shot an elderly woman, and thinking he was evil. But maybe there was another side to his story. Perhaps he tried to rob her house to pay for the wedding, and it had gone wrong. Perhaps he wanted his daughter's wedding to be special, because his hadn't been. Perhaps, when he was finally killed, Jakob would be taking his bed, wherever they kept people on death row. I knew there was one of those centres in Berkeley, near my house, but I'd never really noticed it before. Now I couldn't get away from it, the barbed wire clearly visible wherever I looked. It was a tall building, and stood above everything else. A permanent reminder, a warning to everyone thinking about doing what Jakob did.
In the end it was my Dad who found my Mum.
In a lake
Not moving.
He didn't say anything to me, or to Mike. He just pulled her form the icy water and held her close, like when we all huddled together on to sofa to watch a scary film. Only this time, we wouldn't laugh at each other's stupidity. It was real, and I couldn't bear it. I wanted to die, but I didn't. I watched as he wrapped her in his jacket, brushed the wet hair from her face, and rocked her gently, the tears pouring down his face.
My Uncle Mike took us home, and said he'd stay the night. He chased away reporters, asked well wishers to come back another time. And he phoned the prison, asked them to tell Jakob.
The police phoned after he went to bed, leaving my Dad to deal with them.
"Mr Armstrong" they said, "We've set a date for your son's trial. The 24th April. Perhaps you and your wife can come to the station tomorrow and discuss lawyers and so on"
"Adie won't be coming anywhere" my Dad replied, "Adie's dead"
Virginia was a lot lizard from FLA
She had a compound fracture in the trunk
It started when she ran away
Thumbs out on the interstate
She hitched a ride to misery
Mr Whirly had a catastrophic incident
He fell into the city by the bay
He liquidated his estate
Now he sleeps up on the hate
Panhandling misery
And he's gonna get high high high
When he's low low low
The fire burns from better days
And she screams why o why
I said I don't know
The catastrophic hymns from yesterday
Of misery
When I was seven, my Mum asked my Dad why he couldn't write songs about something cheerful for a change. My Dad said life wasn't like that, and he wasn't going to turn into some cheesy twit, singing about rainbows and how great everything was. My Mum said he did far too much moaning, or words to that effect. He said no wonder, with a nag like her for a wife. There were a lot of arguments like that, but I learned to ignore them. They always sorted everything out in the end.
I'm starting to argue with myself now; there are two sides of me battling away in the darkness. Part of me knows that this is it, that I might as well curl up and sleep. But part of me wants to stay awake, just to prove I can. Prove that even if I can't fight the so called justice system, I still have it in me to fight that need to forget. I'm getting to that part of the night where you're all jittery and your mouth tastes funny you've been awake so long. Jakob's had thirteen years of sleepless nights, surely I can survive one. Don't sleep Joey, stay awake. Only 176 minutes, then you can sleep forever.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
There was another argument when we got back from the police station. Only this time, I didn't run and hide like a two year old. I sat, stiff and staring on the broad leather sofa.
"No wonder he's turned out like he has" my Mum screamed, "You don't exactly set a good example, do you? You sat there night after night, saying you wished you could wring Frankito's neck. Now Jakob's done it for you, is that what you wanted Billie?"
My Dad shook his head, his uncombed hair falling in front of his eyes. He didn't look all tough like he usually did. He looked like a lost little boy, younger than me, younger even than Jakob. Just for a second, I wondered how small and pathetic Frankito must have felt when my brother flew at him with a knife. But I shut my eyes tight, trying not to think about it. It was done, and all I wanted to do was help Jakob.
"I didn't know-" my Dad mumbled, "I never thought he'd -"
He sat down beside me and looked into my eyes.
"Joey" he whispered, "Jakob didn't . . . tell you anything did he? He didn't talk about Frankito with you did he?"
I didn't know what to say. He'd told me he hated Frankito, but that was all. I had no idea he'd even think about murder.
"No" I muttered, "He never said anything"
My Mum sat down beside us on the couch and put an arm around me. I relaxed a little.
"It's alright Joey" she reassured me, "We'll figure something out, we'll get him a good lawyer. And the judge usually goes a bit easier on you if you confess"
I nodded, knowing the same fear was swirling I everyone's stomachs. Jakob had committed murder, and in California, that was punishable by death. Sure, Jakob was only fourteen, but criminals could be kept on death row for ten or twenty years. He would be more than old enough to be executed by that point. They used those lethal injections, but Jakob was terrified of needles. When we'd had jags at school, he'd fainted every time. The nurse had always found him a biscuit and a drink of lemonade. But the executioner would just shove the needle in whether he was conscious or not. As far as they were concerned, it made their job easier. They let them chose a lat meal didn't they? Jakob was an incredibly fussy eater, he would only really eat our Mum's cooking. He never touched school dinners, instead using the money to buy sweets. And half the time, Frankito swiped them.
My Mum got to her feet, giving me a final pat on the back. God, she looked so different too, like she'd been slapped in the face.
"I'm going for a walk" she told us, "I need some air, we'll talk about this later, right?"
She pulled on a long, black coat she'd had for years. Jakob had worn it on Halloween, when he dressed up as a vampire. I'd been a television. My Dad helped me make the costume, and joked that he would be fitting a volume control button if I got too noisy.
"I don't think I'll be long" my Mum said, pulling me into a hug, "Look after yourself Joey, and look after Jakob. Keep him strong for me. And don't forget what you promised him, I think Ramona deserves an explanation."
I wondered why she was launching into a big speech if she was only going for a walk.
"Don't start smoking" she continued, "The house smells bad enough with your Dad puffing away like a chimney. And look after Laurie; she'll stand by you Joey, if you'll let her. She won't give up on Jakob either; maybe she can help him, like she used to help you all with your homework. Remember the day Jakob won the Impossible Fifty? Think about that when it starts to hurt Joey, keep that happy memory alive"
She was talking like one of those fortune tellers you see on the beach. The ones locked away in caravans, their faces pale because they never venture outside. My Mum looked like she wanted to hide away too, and never come out again. I knew what was happening, I could sense the sadness in the air, but I didn't know how to stop it. I looked at my Dad desperately, silently begging him to do something. But he stared back woodenly, his expression blank. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I just let my Mum walk out the door, into the engulfing night. The rain was lashing down, bouncing off the pavements. Thunder was rumbling over the hills, lightning crackling across the black sky. And I just let her go.
We waited until three in the morning for her to return, then I called the police.
There was a huge search, dozens of officers with dogs or on horses. Neighbors volunteered to help as well, even Miss Baskerville. My Uncle Tre never came, nor did Ramona. I didn't blame them, but I missed them. I'd only caught a glimpse of Ramona, looking out her window, as we drove back from the police station. We hadn't heard from Stella either, thought Uncle Mike joined the search operation. He didn't poke around in nearby forests like everyone else, he stayed close to me, telling me everything would be okay. But my Mum had said the same thing when she visited me in hospital, and now she was probably dead and my brother was locked up.
"We'll find her Joey" everybody kept saying, "We're all looking, someone's bound to find her"
But deep down, I knew she didn't want to be found. She lived for Jakob, and she didn't want to live without him. He wasn't her baby any more, he was a murderer. And in the eyes of the law, as bad as every killer on death row. I thought about the eyes of a murderer I'd seen on the news once. He'd been waiting twenty years to be executed; he wasn't even allowed to go to his daughters wedding. I remembered hearing how he'd shot an elderly woman, and thinking he was evil. But maybe there was another side to his story. Perhaps he tried to rob her house to pay for the wedding, and it had gone wrong. Perhaps he wanted his daughter's wedding to be special, because his hadn't been. Perhaps, when he was finally killed, Jakob would be taking his bed, wherever they kept people on death row. I knew there was one of those centres in Berkeley, near my house, but I'd never really noticed it before. Now I couldn't get away from it, the barbed wire clearly visible wherever I looked. It was a tall building, and stood above everything else. A permanent reminder, a warning to everyone thinking about doing what Jakob did.
In the end it was my Dad who found my Mum.
In a lake
Not moving.
He didn't say anything to me, or to Mike. He just pulled her form the icy water and held her close, like when we all huddled together on to sofa to watch a scary film. Only this time, we wouldn't laugh at each other's stupidity. It was real, and I couldn't bear it. I wanted to die, but I didn't. I watched as he wrapped her in his jacket, brushed the wet hair from her face, and rocked her gently, the tears pouring down his face.
My Uncle Mike took us home, and said he'd stay the night. He chased away reporters, asked well wishers to come back another time. And he phoned the prison, asked them to tell Jakob.
The police phoned after he went to bed, leaving my Dad to deal with them.
"Mr Armstrong" they said, "We've set a date for your son's trial. The 24th April. Perhaps you and your wife can come to the station tomorrow and discuss lawyers and so on"
"Adie won't be coming anywhere" my Dad replied, "Adie's dead"