...in her thick o.c.-esque, shaky, detoxing croak. still, it couldn't hide her achey, break-y heart.
driving with teenagers is never fun, unless you are one, and tonight was no exception. i was driving shotgun, of course, (being the unofficial "hot mama" at rehab does have it's privileges) and it was all i could do not to turn around and pull rank.
but, their springboard banter wasn't altogether unamusing, for it landed us upon the universal equalizer : music. as designated dj, i chose the one station we could all agree upon: 106.7 kroq...korn, coldplay, social distortion, the naked and famous, the killers, fatm, nin...
and as friday night lights flickered midway bright down the sunset strip, a notorious 70's war cry was supplanted with a slam dunk cover. as the plus 40's, b. and i turned to each other and smirked "led zeppelin", but it's trent reznor/karen o's feral, shrieking cover of "the immigrant song" that bonded us all tighter than crazy glue.
with sync, head banging across the generations, a stillness came thick; silent surrender.
los angeles. friday night. righteous, heart pumping, blood thickening music...
[release the hounds...]
notes stinging my skin, leaving it red, aching, raw; open wound craving salve. my mind flitting back and forth, like the lashes that dress my widened eyes. fluttering erratically like the burnt wings of a moth; clean. use. clean. use. my chest pumped out with rhythm, breath drawn short at the thought of never tasting that crumbly bitterness on my tongue again; never rolling the velvet liquid into thickness of tongue, heat of cheek, rush of flush...again.
"will you be all of our moms?", c. asked, and the timing near broke this funny valentine...
for although i could have given birth to all of them, 18, 19 and 22, it was our hardwired connection to which she was speaking, begging...and to which we all surrender...
[lay down my childhood template upon my forefathers, and you will click a perfect fit.]
we are trauma survivors; needy, obsessive compulsive, self-absorbed saplings, lost in the forest of learned behavior...immigrants to the clearing of sobreity...
[if a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?]
beware her clear cutting fall..."immigrant" to it all...fear her wailing wall call...
robert plant ain't got nothin' on me...
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