Pop Evil: 100 in a 55

Amy Fusselman wrote that after her dad died, she just wanted to say it.  She wanted to hear it.  She wanted to see it in writing.  I was intrigued.  I thought, why?  But she’s right.  I want to say it.  Over and over and over again. I want to say, my mom is dead.

What would you like on your sandwich? Turkey, cheese and my mom is dead.  I want to see that expression on their face.  My mom is dead.

Officer: Do  you know why I pulled you over?
Me: Yes, sir, I didn’t realize I was going so fast.
Officer: Have you been drinking?
Me: No, sir. (but I am speeding so that I can try to make it to Rite Aid before nine so that I can get drunk.  No point in trying now.)
Officer: Drugs?
Me: No thanks.
Officer: No thanks?  (Who the hell says no thanks?)
Me: Sorry, Officer, my mother just died… because of drugs.  That’s why I’m home.  I don’t touch the stuff.
Officer: I’m sorry to hear about your loss.  Drugs are bad around here.  Are you from around here?
Me: Yeah, I know.  You’ll recognize my last name.  You probably know most of them.
Officer: Who?
Me: Joey Short… Lorrie McCourt… Randy Short—but I’m nothing like them.  I swear.  (I want to tell you everything.  I want to say everything, but I’m shaking and I can’t find the stupid insurance card.  This isn’t even my car. shit.)
Officer:  Yeah, I know them.  Just keep looking for that insurance card, I’ll be right back.

Blue lights flash.  I’m pretty sure he’s not going to give me a ticket.  At least my mother’s death was good for something.  At least it got me out of a speeding ticket.  I do slow down.  The car just runs so smooth.  But it’s not my car.  My car has a ‘heads up’.  It tells me how fast I’m driving on my windshield.  Not that it would have made a difference.  I need Malibu rum, to mix with my Tropicana orange juice and my Donald Duck pineapple juice. Mmm.

The next day I drive my car.  I drive my car because it’s familiar.  I know I’m not supposed to; it’s not safe—but I’m not supposed to speed in my uncle’s car.  And if I have a cocktail, I want to drive my car.  I don’t plan on drinking and driving—at least not drinking more than one and driving, but I don’t feel comfortable drinking even one and driving their car.  I don’t think they would care—but, besides my car needs gas.

I feel like my car is where I can think.  I can think about my mom dying.  I can think about my reaction when my aunt called after class.  I can remember asking, “Is she going to die?”   I can remember the eerie silence, then the melancholy answer, “Liz, they just don’t know.”
When my aunt called she prefaced the fact that my mom might die with the question,  Liz, I don’t have to tell you, but do you want to be updated about your mom?

I wasted time—I packed some clothes for a few days.  I found my fish a babysitter.  MY FISH A BABYSITTER.  I went back and forth over what the implications of me going would be.  If I go, and she lives, then is she going to think that we’re okay?  If I don’t go, and she dies, what kind of daughter does that make me?  Would I be sad that I didn’t get to see her.  My cousin Becky asks, if you go, will it be because you care, or because of guilt?

My response: What, involving my parents in the last 11 years, have I done that hasn’t involved guilt?   So, I go.

When I get there, she’s laying in the bed; the doctor says she’s heavily sedated.  My aunt puts on gloves, as she holds her hands that have the pink nail polish on them.  She rubs her feet, and wonders why they don’t have socks on her.  She tells me that her feel are so cold.  She says things like, Lorrie, Liz is here.  Liz came to see you.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  Be strong.  Lorrie, you have to be strong.  Liz, you can talk to her.  She can hear you. We love you, Lorrie.  

When the doctor comes in, she asks questions.  My aunt doesn’t live near her.  She gets cards in the mail from my mom every now and then.  My mom calls her every now and then.  I don’t talk to my mom.  I told her she couldn't come to my graduation. I haven't accepted her calls, or responded to her letters for a month.  I suspect she’s addicted to Valium.  I know she has heart problems.  I know she smokes cigarettes.  My aunt tells the doctor that she heard that Lorrie, my mom, my mom that is dead, has been trying to wing herself off drugs.  I think to myself that it sounds to me like my aunt is living in the same fantasy world as my mom.  My mom has been doing heavy drugs since I was eight years old.  What, in the last two weeks, would have made her change?  I say, she’s a dope head.  I say, she’s a druggie.  I say that I doubt she’s changed.  I say that the last hospital she was at is an incompetent group of idiots, and that they’d better check for everything.   I say nothing to my mom.  I don’t touch her.  I leave and let another aunt come in, because there can only be two visitors at a time.

My mom codes.  My mom is temporarily dead.  They bring her back.  They, the doctors, the doctors that are trying to save Lorrie, my mom, my mom that is dead, say they are going paralyze her.  They, the doctors, are going to let the machines run her for a few days, so she, my mom, my mom that is dead, can build her strength back up.  My dad comes, and my aunts say I can take him back.  He hugs me.  My Aunt Francine, the aunt that raised me, took care of me, bought me the things that I needed, went to court for me, loved me, loves me, and still maintained respect from my mother, told me to be careful.  You just don’t know, Liz.

She had IV medicine for the drug addiction; IV for the MRSA; IV for the Sepsis; IV for the pneumonia.  She had a tube down her throat to breath, a tube in her chest to reinflate her lung; a tube down her throat into her stomach to suction out the green and black vile that was in her stomach; a catheter for her urine.  She was helpless.  Her hair was in a high ponytail.  Her head looked bruised from when she passed out in the bathroom and busted her face.  Her face was peaceful, but her chest looked like she was still working so hard for every breath. My dad tells me that she doesn’t care if she lives or not.  She doesn’t care.  Her son is in jail; her daughter hates her.  She doesn’t care.  She doesn’t care. She’s shooting up again.

I leave.  If she’s going to be paralyzed for a couple days, what’s the point in staying?  My Aunt Francine and I go to Wal-Mart.  We get snacks for the hospital; Ritz crackers, cheese, and off-brand pop tarts because I like the crust.  We buy toothbrushes, Crest ProHealth, Dove powder and Secret deodorant.  We buy scrubs for my aunts to sleep in, and we look in the beer section for Bud Ice.  We decide we’re going to need to stop at Sheetz.

I stop by my best friend’s boyfriend’s to pick my best friend’s key to her apartment.  She’s letting us stay there.  I tell her what’s happened.  She tells me she’s there for me.  I leave her boyfriend’s house to go back to the hospital, and on the way, we get a call.

My mom is dead.

I’m in my car.  I feel the seat under me; my legs are attached to my ass that is attached to my seat.  My legs extend down and the ball of my foot connects to the floor of my car.  It never moves; it pivots.  It allows me to hit the gas, or move to the brake.  My arms are attached to my shoulders that is attached to my torso that is attached to my ass that is attached to my seat that extends to my legs to my feet to the accelerator and the brake.  My hands don’t shake when they’re on the steering wheel that is protected by a black fuzzy steering wheel cover.  My mind is thinking that my mom is dead; the roads are bad.  Not bad like icy.  No, it is a beautiful Spring night.  It’s the day after St. Patrick’s day.  Every year, from here on, I will have a hangover, and I can somberly remember, this is the day that my mom died.  But these roads are terrible.  It’s bad in that Morgantown doesn’t take care of their roads, and there are potholes the size of couches; couches that are burned in Morgantown; couches that my mom caught on fire with sparklers and cigarettes.

I go home to Webster the next day; a place I decided to avoid this semester because I wanted to enjoy my last semester.  A place I didn’t even stop at on my way South for spring break.  I knew the curves of the road.  I knew the speed in which I could safely slide through.  Though the 16 miles of Birch River, I cried, regained control of my emotions, sped, drove slow, listened to music, lost control again. I felt guilty, angry, sad, upset.  I kept saying, my mom is dead.

I wanted to send a mass text message.  I wanted to get on facebook and write, Ding Dong, my mom is dead.  The mom that put me in pageants.  The mom that fought to get the last Dear Diary for me at Wal Mart.  The mom that, even when I loathed her, loved me.  The mom I made cry.  The mom that made me cry.  The mom who always threw me a birthday party, and made sure my friends and family were there.  The mom who chose drugs over me.  The mom who took me to my first Billy Ray Cyrus concert.  My mom who made me pancakes that were crunchy and my brother French toast on Saturday mornings.  My mom who took us camping, swimming, four-wheeler riding.  My mom that got high, and told me that my brother was an accident.  My mom who warned us about telling the teachers that they smoked, sold and grew pot.  The mom who took me to the doctor.  The mom who embarrassed me at my high school football game.  The mom who took us to the fair.  The mom who believed in Jesus, as the savior.  The mom that wrote in 2006 that she wasn’t afraid to die.  The one that thought she had a full life at the age of 45.  That mom was dead.  My mom is dead.

My brain in my head that thinks all of this, all the time, is connected to my neck, that is connected to my shoulders that is also connected my arms that are connected to my hands that are connected to the steering wheel that allows me to pick my destination, when accompanied by the accelerator that my right foot controls that is connected to my leg that extends to my ass that rests on the seat where my upper body including my torso, shoulders, arms and head.  I am one with the road, as I battle with this.  I thought I wanted her to be dead; I don’t think I was prepared for her to die.

My mom is dead.


*I wrote this shortly after my mom died. April 2009

Turn back on the broken heartache
Some things are just meant to be
I still believe that we got a chance
Still believe that we got a chance to be
Too much is never enough and
Too little is never enough
Full speed got me looking out my rear view
I can’t go back

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

It's messed up but I got this mission
Drunk again wont remember anyway
She said it’s just a game boy
Don’t be gone don’t be gone for long
Ten years I’ve been doing this forever
Its all I know baby please don’t turn away
I know you don’t believe in me
But I do believe in you

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

I’m still falling
Away from here
Away from here
I’m still falling
The wings are falling off
I can’t go back
I’m in too deep

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be
 
I still believe
Some things are just meant to be

http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/p/pop_evil/#share

One year today...

One year ago today, I woke up at 5 am, turned on my phone, checked my voicemail, and discovered I was officially an orphan. As I think about it today, I realize that it wasn't just the loss of my dad that devastated me, but the feeling that I suddenly lost both of my parents all over again. While the last several years of their life, I wasn't super close, and in fact, hadn't lived with them since I was 11, I still miss them--- and it's still really hard.

So, on the anniversary of their deaths (March 18 & October 5), I try to think about some of the more positive experiences that I had with my parents.

- When I was a small child, people would ask where I got my dark eyes, and I said that my dad bought them for me.

- My mom bought me and two friends matching outfits, and let us use her stereo and back porch to create a dance to "My Boyfriends Back." She encouraged us to practice our dance; we won 1st place in our age group in grade school; we won 3rd place in the older age group-- and then we practiced all summer and got 2nd place in the "big" talent show at the Cherry River Festival. We were in 2nd grade. And we were awesome.

- My dad always took my side. I remember my mom put food on my plate one day, and I refused to eat with because some food touched the other-- and my mom said, "it all goes to the same place," and I replied, "But I don't have taste buds there." My dad laughed, didn't make me eat it, and said, "She's got a point, Lorrie."

- My dad would let me read to him all the time. I loved opening mail, and reading to him. He would tell me how proud he was of me, and encouraged me to do well in school.

- My dad bought my brother a gun once, and then got another just like it that he planned to trade. When I saw it, I was ecstatic, because he bought it for me (even though I NEVER played with guns). I was like 5 years old. He didn't have the heart to trade it, and instead kept it until I was older and asked me if it was okay for him to give away.

- When my dad's parental rights were terminated, my mom let him come visit my brother and I; I was really upset about this-- and she ended up losing her rights over it, but looking back, while I still don't agree with what she did, I understand that she really loved my dad and brother-- and really wanted to go back to the happy family that once was.

- I ask myself a lot of questions about things I could have done differently-- but none of it really matters now. I've learned just to always try to be as nice as you can to people; even those that drive you crazy... and cherish those who care for you, even if you think you don't care about them. Guilt is a terrible weight to carry-- and can be suffocating...

So, for today's song:

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, 

speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.
Let it be, let it be, ...
And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, ..... 

~~The Beatles

Kid Rock's All Summer Long: I'm Gonna Give My Son Your Car

There are certainly differences between growing up in rural West Virginia, and currently living in Pittsburgh. One benefit to living in Camden-On-Gauley, West Virginia is plenty of parking. When I lived with my parents in Camden, we had a huge front yard.... And a lot of that area was graveled so that there was a ton of places to park. That was beneficial, seeing as how there were always a ton of people coming and going from our house, buying drugs.

When people did come to buy drugs, they often ran in to other buddies or friends.  It was like having every night being a high school party-- and my parents were the cool successful dealers whose house was always the center of the party. One day, one man, we'll call him "Gilbert" happened to run into a friend, left with the friend, and left his car in our driveway.

Typically, this wouldn't be a problem. However, this man had parked in front of our garage. We didn't really ever keep cars in there, but we'd keep our four-wheelers, and when my dad and his friends would illegally kill deer in the summer, that's where they would hang and gut them. Also, I don't think my dad was crazy about Gilbert... otherwise, the ending may have been a bit different.

After a night of Gilbert's car sitting in front of our garage, my dad called him and told him he needed to come get his car. Gilbert, according to my dad, was all, "yeah, yeah, sure Randy, I'll be over to get it later today."

He never came. The next day, my dad called and told him again-- adding this time that if he didn't come get his car, my dad would give the car to my brother.

My dad gave Gilbert another day.

The next day, the man called our house, and I answered the phone. All of dad's friends knew me.

"Hey, Lizabeth," he said,  "Where's your dad?"

"He's outside," I replied.

"Is he busy?" he asked.

"Hold on," I replied, as I set the phone down. I ran outside, yelled and asked my dad if he wanted to talk to him. My dad said no, and to tell him that he warned him.

I picked the phone back up. "Um, he's outside cutting the top off your car."

"What?" he asks with a nervous laugh. "Really Liz, where is he?"

"He's outside cutting the top off your car. He's going to give to Joey."

"Oh, shit."

Outside my dad had the blowtorch fired up--cutting around the windows. The old car had been transformed into a topless old car. My dad then pulled the wires out from under the dash, and pretty soon, the car was on. (Btw, how does one learn to hotwire a car?)

When Gilbert finally did show up, my brother was driving the car around the yard, and all the druggies were standing in the driveway laughing at the eight-year-old driving around the yard. My grandmother was standing at her back door, shouting at my dad, as my brother narrowly missed her home. His head was barely over the steering wheel, and all you could see was his giant smile.

Gilbert almost started to cry, and my dad just put his giant hand on the his shoulder, and said, "I told you I was going to give it to my son."



It was 1989 my thoughts were short my hair was long
Caught somewhere between a boy and man,
She was 17 and she was far from in-between
It was summer-time in Northern Michigan


Splashing through the sand-bar, talking by the camp fire,
It's the simple things in life like when and where
We didn't have no internet but man I never will forget
The way the moon light shined upon her hair


And, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long


Catching walleye from the dock watching the waves roll off the rocks
She'll forever hold a spot inside my soul
We blister in the sun we couldn't wait for night to come
To hit that saving place of rock and roll


While, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long


Now nothing seems as strange as when the leaves begin to change
Or how we thought those days would never end
Sometimes I hear that song and I start to sing along
And think, Man I'd love to see that girl again


And, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long


We were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long

Cutting Crew - (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight

The day started out strange enough. Though I can't remember the specifics, what I do remember is my dad spending the day with my brother and me. Dad often stayed at home, and let my mom do all the grocery shopping, taking us to the doctor, etc. We had a pretty stereotypical set-up when it came to raising children, which is why my dad taking us out was such a big deal.

I remember he took us to Summersville, where we ate at McDonalds. Afterwards, we got ice cream from Dairy Queen, and he took us to Summersville Lake. I can't remember what we talked about or even what we did. I just remember feeling so happy that my dad was spending time with us. My dad was always my favorite, and I'd like to think I was always his. I couldn't wait to get home, though, and tell my mom what a wonderful day I'd had.

However, when we got home, my mom was not there. I went to my grandmother's to find her, but my grandmother said she had borrowed the car to pick us up. I knew my mom knew we were with my dad, and even then, at only around nine years old, I knew this was bad news. I started calling all of my aunts and uncles asking if they had seen my mother. My dad didn't seem concerned.

I remember I was frantically worried about where she was, demanding to my father that we find her, while he smoked pot in the living room of our home with his friends. He told me not to worry, be quiet, and go to my room. Despite my dad's size (350+ lb), and generally scary appearance, he didn't scare me, and I wouldn't let this go.

Again, at nine years old, my dad said to me, "Liz, your mom cheats on me. She's probably with another guy right now."

I was devastated. I screamed at him that he was lying. She was probably hurt--in a car accident-- maybe she was in a hospital. She would never do something like that to him. She couldn't do that to us.

He responded with specific examples, "Liz, I walked in on her on the couch with Ronnie, kissing him. She said she got lost."

I couldn't believe what he was saying. I just became more hysterical. I knew my mom couldn't do this. She was my mom. She wasn't capable of doing those things. They were my parents; they were still perfect. I couldn't understand...

He said, "Liz, she's probably at a bar with another guy. You need to just go get ready for school."

After enough crying and fighting, my dad decided to prove it.

I got my brother, and we climbed into the truck. I was still convinced that she had been in some kind of accident. Driving from Camden to Craigsville, I watched over the hill looking for tire tracks. We drove towards Richwood, and as my dad turned into a bar to turn around, our headlights shined into the windshield of my grandmother's car, where my mom was engaged in a deep kiss with a man who often bought drugs from my father.

My dad was infuriated. He jumped out of the truck, and punched through the passenger side window where the man was. He started cursing, trying to fight the man, and then crying asking my mom why. My mom was drunk. The man ran out of the vehicle, and over a hill into the woods. I stood, staring and crying. My brother, only seven, was crying and punched the gutter. My dad actually dented the gutter with his fist. He kept asking my mom why? Why, Lorrie, why?

She pulled out of the parking lot, while my dad screamed something like, "Yeah, go get your fucking boyfriend."

I thought my dad would kill that man, and I felt so guilty for calling my dad a liar. I kept saying I'm sorry. I remember looking at the speedometer and seeing the needle race past the 100 mph mark, and to the 110. The song Just Died in Your Arms tonight was on the radio was on. It was years before I could hear that song without feeling like I was going to vomit.

That night, my dad took my brother and I back to my grandmother's house. She put us in the back bedroom, and told us to go to sleep. Even then, despite having the exact same experience, we were unable to comfort each other. I remember saying, "I love you, Joey" and he replied, "I love you, too, sissy." I don't think either of us slept that night--and knowing that we loved each other didn't make anything better.

My mom called and I talked to her. I can't remember why I wasn't mad. I think it's because I was so scared. She told me that she was in a safe place, and that she would talk to me soon. She said that my dad just needed to calm down.

It was shortly after that when my mom checked herself into rehab for the first time. It was the next day that my teacher, Mrs. Leslie, hugged me during a bathroom break, and said, "I heard you had a rough night, Sweetie. It will get better."

I hope she knows how much that meant.

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight

I keep looking for something I can't get
Broken hearts, they're all around me
And I don't see an easier way, to get out of this
Her diary sits by the bedside table
The curtains are closed, the cat's in the cradle
Who would have thought that a boy like me could come to this

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away

Is there any just cause for feeling like this?
On the surface I'm a name on a list
I try to be discreet, but then blow it again
I've lost and found it's my final mistake
She's loving by proxy, no give and all take
'Cause I've been thrilled to fantasy, one too many times

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away

It was a long hot night, she made it easy
She made it feel right
But now it's over, the moment has gone
I followed my hands to my head, I know I was wrong

Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must have been some kind of kiss
I should have walked away
I should have walked away