Blue Eyes in My Mirror

And I tried so hard to reach you
But you're falling anyway

I watch him. I watch the twenty-four year old dancing in the rain, his arms spread out and his shirt off. I watch him fall to the ground, slipping on the wet grass. I watch him lay in the mud on his back, just staring up at the dark sky dressed in clouds and glittering with lightning. I wonder if he hears words in the thunder.

I lower my eyes as he comes to the door. I don't speak as he comes in and heads for the bathroom, hopefully to wash the mud off. I listen to the shower start. I listen for screams and sharp intakes of breaths and even curses, but I hear nothing, even with my ear pressed to the door.

I say nothing when he comes into the living room. I say nothing as he sits down beside me and threads our hands together, laying his head on my shoulder. I say nothing as he kisses my neck and as he giggles.

I do nothing when I see him in the bathroom, leaning over a mirror and staring at his reflection. I do nothing as he inhales sharply, swearing and falling back from the shock. I do nothing as my old pain pills and tranquilizers start to disappear. I do nothing when he starts staying out too late.

I say nothing, I do nothing, I hear nothing . . .

But I see everything.

And you know I see right through you
'Cause the world gets in your way

He's on a different ground than the rest of us. He could be close enough to touch, but his eyes are always staring at something no one else can see. His hands are making a pattern in the air that no one understands. He whispers things to himself that you can't hear no matter how close you are.

We watch him spin and laugh like everything's a joke. We watch the way his eyes never seem to see anything, yet they seem to see everything. We watch and we wait, neither one of us brave enough to say anything, to grab his arm and tell him to knock it the fuck off.

I watch him pop too many pills and use hundred dollars bills to snort coke. I watch him ruin towels trying to stop the bleeding in his arm. I watch. I watch and I stare . . .

But watching doesn't help a damn thing.

What's the point in all this screaming
You're not listening anyway

I watch them. I watch them watching me. And I smile. I smile because I know they hate it, but I must have this . . . this power in my veins that keeps them from stopping me. It must have worked. It must have made me untouchable, unbreakable.

I watch blue eyes in my mirror as I inhale, as I hide things. Really no need to hide them anymore when you know no one will do anything.

I watch the cars go by on this night. I pull my coat tighter around me as I walk the length of the bridge about two miles from our house. I count headlights, turn signals, steps that I take. I sing to myself and write song lyrics in the air.

I've already taken Mike's painkillers for the night and left him a note on the table. I called and called Tre, finally leaving a message on his machine. Good-bye, farewell. I might as well leave the world as a cliché. I turned into one. A rock star hooked on drugs, losing his wife and kids to his addiction.

Only a few more feet to the bridge. It's silent and dark. A quick glance tells me no one's there. My hands grasp the rail when I feel pressure on either of my arms.

"Come down from there, Billie Joe."

"This isn't going to help anything, Billie."

"Come on. We'll get you home. You're shivering. You're freezing."

"We'll take you to the hospital tomorrow."

I feel them leading me toward the car. Mike holds me in his arms as Tre starts the car.

I . . . I didn't know. I didn't know anyone cared.