I was four and a half. I remember the dreary house that my mom had rented after fighting with SS for enough money to get a 3 bedroom, 2 bath. Then she stuck us with her mom (the monster). Mom was gone a lot. Sometimes days at a time. I remember the little xylophone toy I had in what was my and my sister's room. It was way in back, far enough from the living room where the monster sat and watched TV.

I played tunes on that toy and I sang quietly to myself. Sister was watching TV too so I had nothing but concentration on the music. I would sing words I'd made up of castles and angels.

One time it was a shoe. Tossed at me as the door burst open and I was told to shut the hell up. One time it was a beer can. I sang when the drunk was fast asleep. But my songs turned into images of shadows in the woods and the basement. And dead kings. On par with 'I Dreamed A Dream'. I wonder what I ever did to deserve any of this.