She Screamed (For Nicole)

She screamed.
But you didn't scream.
You were real quiet the whole time.
She was so awake, so up on it all.
So into crushing the things into smaller things and setting the things on fire.
So into riding the things as high as they'll go and laughing higher.
So awake. So up on it all.
She took something to help her sleep.
She wasn't feeling well, surrounded by all that blood and curiosity.

And that's where you came in with your not-screaming and your silence and your hands on all the doors. And your feet so firmly on the ground, like you'd never learn how to jump.
I'd consider making some joke about how a month is the longest it could've been. About how I'm surprised she could keep her mouth shut for more than four minutes. Or maybe an hour.

But you wouldn't laugh.
Not even crickets.
I'd be begging for the spoiled tomatoes.
I'd deserve the hook.

As it stands - without the joke - I'm hoping for a haunting.
I want to hear her scream again.
I want you to throw on the sheet with the three holes in it
and come around here, all quiet.

I'd tell you to call her up and tell her she's missing a helluva party.
Tell her we got some things here that are real high up and we need her help to reach them
or at least laugh at them. We got some things that need crushing
and some things that need burning.
I'd tell you to bundle yourself up in some skin and some guts
because it's a chilly fucking world without the fire and you'll catch your death of cold out here, Idiot.
I'd look right at you and tell you to shut up with all that shut-up.
I'd put on some Nirvana or some Pixies.
Some CCR to see if you'd sing along.
Some Zombies.

I've got her in my contacts twice and I'll be waiting
for her to call back, from this barstool until forever becomes now.
Or maybe yesterday.
Two months ago. Or at least last Thanksgiving.
Until that Big New Year's Eve when Zero finally means something, I'll be
dashing to a volume dial every time I hear a Bright Eyes or a Modest Mouse
or Weakerthans song.
No matter where I am.
And I'll crank that fucker way, way up.
I'll get it real high. I'll ride it 'til it doesn't go anywhere anymore.

Hoping to hear her scream.
Hoping to make you forget why you came here with your hands on the doors
and your feet on the floor and the shut-up.
Hoping she'll scream over it just to be heard.
Maybe you'll sing along.
Maybe you'll make me smile.
Or maybe the silence will make sense for once.

...
for Nicole McLoughlin
5/8/84 - 12/29/09

i love you, kid. i miss you and really, really hope i get to see you again and that that's how these things work out. i'm keeping my fingers crossed, beautiful.
-andy