DECEMBER 17TH 2004
JOEY
LAYING ON MY BACK, I stared up at my bedroom ceiling and ignored the screaming going on downstairs. I didn’t have anything left in me to go down there and be thrown on the front line like I always was.
Instead of her screams, I concentrated on the sound of Bob Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door as it drifted from my stereo.
I was so fucking dead inside that if you cut me open, my insides would spew black.
That’s how dark I felt, how truly rotten I felt on the inside.
How far I’d fallen.
Turning my head to one side, I stared at the tinfoil, lighter, and broken pen on my mattress, as my mind drifted in and out of focus, in and out consciousness.
“Another suspension. Do you want to ruin your life?”
“Joey, help me, please!”
“You’re off the hurling team. Don’t even think about stepping foot on a pitch until your suspension is lifted.”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Where’s your precious son now, whore?”
“You are such a disappointment…”
“What did you take?”
“Why are you the way you are?”
“Oh, Jesus, Teddy, that’s heroin!”
“Don’t you ever think about anyone other than yourself?”
“Joey, baby, can you hear me?”
“It’s okay, Joe. It’s okay. I’m here.”
“He’s off his trolly on drugs, Marie. There’s no talking to him when he’s like that. Wait until he comes around and I’ll give the little prick a good talking to.”
“I wish you were never born.”
“I love you, Joey Lynch…”
“Don’t leave me, Darren.”
“Close the door. I don’t want the rest of the children seeing him like this.”
“No, Daddy, I’m scared.”
Footsteps retreating.
“I want to die, Joe.”
Door closing.
“Stay with me, Joey. Stay right here with me.”
Alone in the dark, I couldn’t tell the difference between what was real and wasn’t.
Shadows danced on my bedroom wall.
I couldn’t feel a thing.
I couldn’t hurt.
No more pain.
No fucking more…
