The Ballad of Joey Coco

Intro

Tuesday, October 21, 1986

|Chanhassen, MN|

Whistling winds ripped through trees as the flushed sun hid behind the clouds. The day was rapidly slipping into night, bypassing the evening glow like a traffic light ticking green to red. Neighbors waved goodbye, kids shut their bedroom windows, but one girl trudged through it, tripping over a rock and falling on her hands and knees.

Gasping, pain shot through her chest, an internal 4th of July, and she yanked the broken stick out from under her. Crawling through the dirt, the earth crumbled in her hands. Physically tired and mentally ravaged, she gave up on trying to stand and chose to lazy where she lay.

Around her was nothing but lake and trees. It felt like she had been journeying for hours looking for the big, yellow house. Nature had been a cold enemy the moment she stepped foot in the woods, the kind that'd look down at you with a cigarette bobbing from the lips as you bled out at their feet.

     Hope started to dim; she was down on the ground for minutes. The birds could've assumed she was asleep—or dead. But hope wasn't blacked out yet. So up again, chunky heel sinking in mud, she took a deep breath and moved forward with knives sitting in her chest. This was too important to back away from. She had to see him. She had to. And as the sky began to weep, she did too. But her destination wasn't too far off.

She saw the windmill first and some distance behind it, the house came into view. Dirt caked on her face and hair, she kept trying to fix herself as she got closer. A loose bun sat on the top of her head as the rest of the curls that couldn't fit in her ponytail holder veiled her shoulders. In all black from shirt to boot, she wasn't too concerned with the filth of her clothes. With no mirror and half a mind, this was as decent as she could get.

Pausing, she was taking in the size of his dwelling. It didn't shock her; it was expected. But she was thinking how long it'd take to find him; how many rooms, thinking if he was alone or with others—or just another.

The sky began to mumble as she made her way across the vast sheet of land. It was probably beautiful in the sunlight, she thought. And then she thought he didn't deserve such beauty.

Up on the property now, walking around the edge of a leafy inground pool, she approached French doors wishing and praying for easy entry. God, genies, and fairies weren't so gracious though. It was locked.

Undaunted, she searched for a tool, anything to get her through. There was the long rod used to clean the pool leaning against the house and there were also the patio chairs with steel legs. But she favored the small size of the flashlight sitting on the table and went to work.

Just as the first crack snaked across the glass, a stream of lightning hit nearby, boisterous thunder simultaneous. The scare made her hit faster, banging the metal bottom into the glass square closest to the knob until it finally shattered. Sticking her hand through, she gave herself entry.

The door creaked as she entered but quickly slammed shut with a push from the ruthless winds. Wiping the back of her hand on her wet cheeks, she inhaled deep, exhaled slow. The knives had gone dull but it still hurt. Holding her chest, she waited for someone to investigate the noise. But no one came.

Daring forward, boots tracking mud onto wooden floors, she only glanced around. No stopping. No touching. She just wanted to see him and had no capacity to judge her surroundings. The one thing she did take notice of was the home's tidiness, pinching her with fear that he wasn't around. But then on the kitchen counter, she saw a half-eaten bag of Doritos left unrolled to go stale. And then going in the dining room, she noticed a door slightly open. Behind it were stairs and a light glowing from below.

Going down, she took her time, heart pounding in her ears. There was no script in her head, no words she thought to say first. The trespasser was running on adrenaline and emotion.

In the basement now, to her left she saw a pool table. To the right, she chose a heavy glass door. It led her to a short passageway that burned purple. Another door waited for her on the opposite end. A teacher of music, she knew what this was. She stood in a sound lock chamber.

The thudding in her achy chest was prominent in the eerie silence, like some trippy effect. 'Cause even when she closed her eyes, she could see what it looked like in there, behind her breasts; just a bunch of brokenness held together by twine.

Placing trembling fingers over the doorknob, she hesitated. She then squeezed it, so tight until she could no longer see jumpy nerves. One hand on the knob, the other clutching her necklace, she quietly counted backwards from 10.

She pushed the door open at 3.

The one she sought out quickly spun to face his intruder, eyes growing at her presence. He was alone. And she stood there staring at him with the same drawn disbelief.

Backing away as she slowly moved forward, he didn't go any further when he bumped into the mixing console. He had choices in the large room. There was a considerable amount of space to his left and to his right. But like a rat trapped in glue, he was stuck at the board, watching her move in.

Disappointment clouded her, but not at his appearance. The all black attire she found fitting. But at every wrong thing he did to her that led them to this moment. It all came back, flickering in her mind like an old film playing on the projector.

Inches apart now, she was studying him closely; the green in his eyes; the plump of his lip and the perfect curve of his nose. And that familiar scent of him she learned before ever seeing his face. Fingering the wispy hairs along his hairline, she saw a beautiful monster—a terrified one.

She choked on his name. "Joey..."

His lips parted, breathing audible and his eyes went wet.

Tears slipping over smeared dirt, she shook her head. Inside, the twine was unraveling but she tried to stay whole on the surface. Chest heaving, fire eyes growing to the size of his, she took one step back.

Scowling, she bit her bottom lip and became overwhelmed with rising heat. The hate did that to her, the hate she carried for the man she loved, the man mute and still staring. And the hate suddenly drove her mad. She raised her hand and fastballed it across his face.