Those Drunken Lullabies

Ed was always a prickly pear to me. We met in college when he was drunk off his ass trying to get some. All it took was a little bit of the Freud crap from Psych 101 and the hazy attempt at being sexy turned into an arrogant bird of paradise, trying to hide the pointed out flaws by puffing out his feathers. The next day, he met me sober when I transferred into Anthropology without the slightest clue who I was and a bright, friendly smile on his face. I was confused out of my mind until I realized that he took forgetful drunk to a whole new level. He seemed alright enough, so I suffered the cafeteria food with him that lunch and made friends. Didn't think it would last as long as it has.

So you can imagine, seven years later once me and him got our own little music shop running, that life would be good, right? Not like we're a couple, god no – he might kill himself from all the tormenting I would give him. Albert can barely put up with me as is. I think.

A drunken phone call was not what I wanted to hear that night.

“Edd, where in hell's name are you?!” I huffed into the phone when I saw his caller ID come up. I'd been in shop all day and he hadn't even so much as let me know where he went when he 'left for work' this morning. It's never a kindness to leave your best mate with scared trainees and I lack a necessary essential with training people: Patience.

“Hey, Lyra,” he slurred into the phone. “Surry 'bout missin' ou' on work t'night. I knew yah'd cova for me.”

I had to bite my lip to keep from yelling at him like a mom that caught her kid on pot. The trainees at this point knew something was up, so I had to take the mouthpiece of the phone away long enough to tell them, “Head home boys, I'll close up” before the ramblings of a drunk man continued.


“Hey, the phone's about to die over here, Ed,” I told him calmly. “Call me back on my cell?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He replied. “Can y'come walk me back to th'partment? I'm jus' down the street, bu' m'legs won' move.”

Good god, what happened this time? I mean, I know his girlfriend broke up with him recently, but he never gets drunk over break ups.

“Alright,” I finally told him after a pause. “Just eat some pretzels and start drinking water.”

Thankfully, we had the awesomest bartender in the world in this town. Maybe being my beau had to do with that little bit, but hey! Technicalities, technicalities!

I found Ed laying across a row of chairs, a dazed mess of tousled brown hair and creamy pink skin. For a white guy, he had one hell of an Asian glow, that was for sure.

Albert peaked around all of the washed glasses and offered her a caring smile, sweet bastard that he is. I always wondered how someone as soft-on-the-inside as him worked a bar, but I'm not complaining. Him, I could at least confide in on my more...base roots.

“Mind if I talk with you for a sec Al?” I asked, casting a worried look to Ed, who didn't seem to register that I had showed up yet. He better not be high or so help me god, he will feel no end of my wrath.

His white-blond hair covered head nodded and he showed me back to the washing room. Not the prettiest of places, with the reek of alcohol/vomit/piss reeking from the various corners, but good enough if you want to sneak in a private conversation.

“No, I don't know what happened,” He told me before I could even ask the question. Damn psychic. “That's the problem with Ed, I'm afraid – when he gets drunk, his thoughts get so muddled that even he can't think of anything coherent.”

“Hey, don't worry about it,” I told him calmly, taking his hand from out of his hair and giving it a little squeeze. “Sometimes you have to lay off of mind reading to find out the things you want to find out. Especially when they're your friend.”

What, you thought I was kidding about the psychic part? How else would my boyfriend trust me to be living with another dude and be as secure as this one?

Unnaturally sharp green eyes looked me up and down with a shake of his head. “I don't get how you sirens do it,” He confessed with a small smile, which faded when he brushed a hand over my head. “By the way hun, your roots are showing.”

Now, on a pasty dude like Alby, you don't need to worry about having pale hair like his. Just tell people you're Swedish and you're good. Explaining unnaturally white hair on the head of an olive-skinned person...that's a different story. At least I could pass the silvery-blue eyes thing as a pair of contacts that I liked. I made a note to stop by Hot Topic and get some more dye. And reminded myself not to get the regular red. On my hair, it just turns pink.

“Well, I don't very well get information out of him by singing him to sleep,” I reminded my silly psychic. “He'll tell me, don't worry. If there's any sign that he's picked up on our less..natural habits, then I'll pop him a few beers, sing a sweet lullaby and problem solved.”

Al furrowed his brow, but nodded. “He'll be fine, hun,” he reassured me with a nice, big, teddy bear hug. I knew I had him around for a reason, but this wasn't the time. I pulled away from it after a few seconds to listen to him continue. “He'd only think straight enough for me to tell that something was wrong when I put you on the phone. He'll tell you, you'll put him to a good night's rest, he'll wake up and this'll all be over.”

I arched a brow and tapped my fingers on his shoulder quizzically. “Really, now?” I said quietly. “That seems to be a bit far fetched, even for you.”

His eye gleamed a mischievous green and he smiled. “I know what I saw, love,” He reminded me in that cocky way he does. Didn't think I'd see a psychic so damn proud of his ability till I met this one.  Ah, well. A little spirit's good for the soul. I don't know if excessive amounts are good, but I spose that's why I'm here. To keep him in check over my best friend, also. I mean, I love them both dearly, but neither really got along that well. It's no wonder he's so drunk. I made a mental note to scold him for it later. Now was not the time.

I  straightened myself and pulled my hair into a ponytail so that the white of my roots would be less visible, preparing for the trek across the block to get home.

“You plan on telling him some time? About us - and you know I don't mean just the relationship.” Al asked me as I readied myself to take a drunken Ed home. I sighed with a little bit of a groan. This was not the time to talk about this.

“If you expect me to tell him while he's drunk-”

“He won't remember that way.”

“But what if I want him to remember?” I snapped back. He could tell by the conviction in my voice that he had just landed himself in shit creek without a paddle. At least he has the decency to let me speak my thoughts here.

“Look, I don't know how many friends you have put together in your underground circus of the supernatural type,” I started. “And I don't know how many of them you trust. But they aren't my friends! I don't want to be around them! Edd is my best friend, Al. You are asking me to perpetually hide a basic truth about me from him!”

“I'm trying to help you, love!” he snapped back, though more silently seeing as Ed was still here and these walls weren't sound proof. Like he'll remember it anyways. “I can't tell you how many times I proved to a woman that I was a...bookworm and they just...run off because of it!” Bookworm was his way of saying mind reader. Kinda saddening that he couldn't just say it out right. Maybe we'll get passed second base the day he openly admits that he's psychic. But no, that would mean admitting he wasn't normal. That he was as much of a freak as I was.

...He heard that, didn't he?

Yeah, he did.

Al looked at me and sighed, turning away to run a nervous hand in his hair. I wouldn't pull a mary-sue and say I didn't mean it when I clearly did. He knew that, thank god, so I didn't have to struggle with that little tidbit.

“All I'm saying, Al,” I said after a long, increasingly awkward silence, “is that not all  purebred humans are bad. They don't all think you're crazy and run away. Yeah, I'm sorry you had to experience that end of the crapper, but life changes.” I moved to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, letting him churn over the spoken words rather than the thought words. He concentrates more when he listens to spoken words.

“Look, we can talk about this later,” He said calmly, bringing his eyes back to mine. “Either way, Ed's going to need your help right now. It's wrong of me to keep you here when he needs you.” Aw craps, he's getting mushy on me. I can never stay serious with him when he does that.

I smiled so he wouldn't see my expression crack away from the moment and pecked him on the cheek. “I'll call you in the morning when all is well, kay?” I told him. “You be a good little boy and get something that hasn't been expired for a month in your belly, okay?” He sighed and offered a helpless smile, accepting defeat...for now. He's too crafty to give up on that.

“Yes mother.”

“Damn straight.” He smiled and patted my back before ushering me out, claiming he had a mountain of glasses to wash. I'd believe it. What I don't believe is that the piss water they get from the pipes here would make the glasses any cleaner.

“Edd!” I called, kicking one of the chairs that he was laying across – specifically the one supporting that tight little rump of his. “Up and at 'em man, we gotta get you home!”

He groaned and looked up at her dazedly. “Y'oughta wear your hair up more often Lyra,” he told me. I shrugged and went alongside of him, slinging his left arm over my shoulder and pulling my right arm tight to his side. He was a lightweight for a guy, but that didn't make him any easier to move. Damn bulky idiot.

We were silent as we crossed down into our apartment. He was never one for talking in public. I was never one to talk to drunks. We seemed to have some agreement there, but once we got home and I dropped him on the couch, he could tell what I was going to ask - drunk or not, he had my facial expressions down as if he were adding two plus two.

“You wanna know wha' happened, go get me another beer,” He told me. I shook my head, eyes stern. “You must be too drunk to realize how god awful drunk you are, Ed,” I told him, “Cause I just carried you from Al's pub back here, in case you didn't notice. No way I'm giving you more booze – the last thing either of us want is a trip to the hospital. We don't have enough insurance to cover that.”

He groaned and picked up a pillow from next to him, burying his face in it. “It'll hurt more if I know what I'm talking about.”

“Yeah, well that's reality Edd,” I reminded him bluntly. “Reality is one big ass hole, I know.” My hand reached out and rested on his shoulder from where I sat on the side table next to the couch. “But it's kinda like puking, you know? You never want to do it, but the sooner you do the sooner you feel better. So you oughta just bow to the proverbial Porcelain God and tell me what in hell's name went wrong.”

He pulled away the pillow, utter regret and shame swirling in his expression. If I didn't know Ed as well as I did now, I'd swear he was a cancer patient or something by the looks of it.

“Gone,” he muttered so soft that I had to strain myself to hear. “There was an accident a few nights ago. Mom, she was sick and she didn't see the car coming on her side and-”

It all poured out now. His mom, the woman that worked her ass off to take care of him and raise him well and make him the not-too-bad person he was now was dead. He rambled on for almost an hour about it – about the funeral, about his little sister and how torn up she is. It seemed as though every problem that had come up in the past month linked up to this. All I had to do is listen as the chain of tear-choked confessions flowed out of him, a hand constantly rubbing his shoulder in comfort.

“Why the hell's it always gotta be the innocent ones that get hit?” He ended up asking in the middle of it. “Why does the one that work the hardest die the soonest?” He looked away, finding the dim white of the wall something easier to look at than me at the moment. I don't blame the poor bastard.

“Because,” I started uneasily, making sure that I wasn't going to break any twigs here. “There is no reason. Real life – it's a lot of luck. The idiots that survive to be one hundred prolly led the most boring, mundane lives possible, or got real lucky. And I know, it sucks, but if your mom saw you drunk off your ass like this, I know she'd be giving you a beating right now. You remember how she taught you to deal with grief?”

A bitter laugh rose from him and a small smile at the memory. “She tried to convince me to watch a chick flick with her and down a carton of ice cream.”

“Exactly! Much better therapy, in my opinion, and a bit healthier than dooming yourself to liver disease.” I scratched the top of his head and peered at the clock on the wall. It was four in the morning now, and it was showing on him. He needed sleep. Like he'd sleep on his own, though. That's most likely why he was drinking so much.

“Well, Edd, you need sleep,” She told him, pulling the blanket off the back of the cough and draping it over him. “I say we close shop up tomorrow and stay here with a gallon of ice cream and watch every cheesy, cliché, terrible movie we own.”

I saw his eyebrow quirk. “And how many of those do we own?”

“None. Mel Brooks movies and parodies of star wars are going to have to tide us over as a replacement.”

He nodded, but added stubbornly, “Good luck getting me to sleep though. I don't wanna have nightmares.”

Luck's got nothing to do with it, sweetcheeks.

I sat next to him on the couch, fisting my hand in his mess of curls gingerly. The song came naturally to me, as it had all the other times I'd sung my dear friend to sleep when he was too drunk to remember. The words and tones felt like silk as it rolled out of my mouth with a grace unseen by the human eyes.

Go to sleep, you little baby
Go to sleep, little babe
Your momma's gone away,
And your daddy's gonna stay,
Didn't leave nobody but the baby.

My foot very softly tapped the rhythm of the tune. “Birdie,” He whispered, as though he wanted me to stop. “Gonna sleep...you're makin' me sleep.” I put a finger to his lips to shush him, keeping going with this. He wouldn't remember when he woke up. It would all be okay.

Go to sleep, you little baby
Go to sleep, little babe
Everybody's gone,
In the cotton and the corn,
Didn't leave nobody but the baby.

        Ed leaned on my shoulder, his eyes blinking dazedly in the distance. If he was gonna protest more, he'd have done it by now.

You're a sweet little baby
You're a sweet little babe
Honey in the rock
And the sugar don't stop,
Gonna bring a bottle to the baby

I could feel his will weakening to mine. It's like a sixth sense that sirens pick up when they sing. I knew his desire was to stay awake and run from reality and I knew how to sing to subdue that. Compared to a siren's lullaby, you'd think Leona Lewis tone deaf. I never liked her music anyways.

Don't you weep, pretty baby
Don't you weep, pretty babe
She's long gone,
With her red shoes on,
Gonna need another lovin' baby

Eyes drooped. They shot open again right after, but they drooped. I felt his weight lean more against me, his warm self giving into the help of his friend.

Go to sleep, you little baby
Go to sleep, little babe
You and me
And the devil makes three
Don't need no other lovin' baby

Breathing. Deep, steady breathing. It was almost done, I felt it. He was almost down.

Go to sleep, you little baby
Go to sleep, little babe
Come lay yer bones
On the alabaster stones
And be my ever lovin' baby

He was out. He was down. He was sleeping as peacefully as the baby in the song. With a sigh, I got up and laid him out on the couch, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders and fluffing the pillow under his head. He had a room, but I was too damn lazy to carry him there after that.

There I sat, all night. Funny thing, when you can sing others to sleep – doesn't do a lick of good for your own insomnia. Dazing seemed to happen, but it wasn't until the sun started peaking over the horizon that my eyes drooped and my consciousness gave up and my entire being, so sick of what happened, just fell into unreserved, uncontrolled, unbridled sleep, right where I sat on the floor next to the couch.

For once the idiot's snoring didn't wake me up.

I woke up with the smell of fat frying and the sweet scent of microwaved syrup sitting on the kitchen table. Yawning, I moved to sit up and winced – Why didn't I go to bed in my actual bed?

“Next time you drag me home drunk, the least you could do is make sure I go back to my real bed,” complained Edd, who was wearing the pink, frilled apron his mom got him as a gag gift for his birthday a few years back when he moved out, flipping pancakes and grilling bacon. That alone made my morning. “Woke up with the worst back ache.”

I scrunched my nose at him and tossed my hair. “You're welcome,” I told him flatly. He furrowed his brow at me and scratched my hair – which fell out of it's pony tail with the roots exposed.

“You know, Lyra,” he started, “you might wanna lay off the dyes a bit. Your hair's turning white as Albert's. Wait...looks even whiter.”

I shrugged and gave him a weary smile. “Nah, I'm just trying a white dye out,” I reassured him, two fingers crossed in my pocket. He didn't remember last night. I could see it in his expression.

“Don't worry about work, I called the trainees ahead of time and told the best of them to run the shop. I know I gave you a bit too much hell last night, so why don't you go wash up and sit down for a real breakfast for once?”

I shot a dubious glance at the bacon. “Is it going to attack me when I'm in the shower?” I asked him pointedly. He laughed and shook his head. “It's edible, not mutated!” He exclaimed with a pout. “I actually thought that was a milestone!”

He shooed me and I smiled. Glad to see him better, I left for the shower and a fresh set of clothing.

The grin fell away when she left. Edd shrugged his shoulder and flipped the pancake in the pan, humming the tune to Didn't leave nobody but the baby as he did so.

“She's lon' gone with her red shoes on, didn't leave nobody but the baby...”