Barbara Ann

Every Sad Girl Does (In Memoriam)

It was a fine wedding, full of promise
Half of County Cork squeezed into that Brooklyn church
Bride and groom, right and left
Millie O’Grady, raven-haired wild Irish rose 
Could make you weep with her O Danny Boy
Come to marry her handsome, ruddy Bill O’Shea 
Sweet-faced imp could deliver a punch line 
That’d make your sides ache for a week.
They both had the gift, the spark 
A touch of the Blarney Stone.

The rice was thrown, Bill carried her over the threshold 
Gave her a cherry upright piano for the front room
It shone to reflect the map of Ireland that was her beautiful face 
She played hymns, she played ragtime, she played O Danny Boy.

She dreamed about the kids they’d have 
Three sets of twins
Take up a whole row at St. Malachy’s 
She’d teach ‘em all the old Irish songs
Teach ‘em how to play the piano
Learn the lines of the treble clef
Every Good Boy Does Fine

She polished the piano Tuesdays and Fridays
Put antimacassars on the wingback chairs
So the men could get comfortable.
Made the mirrors and the pots glisten
Readied the rooms
Thought of proper saint name for their first born
Every good boy does fine.
But a baby never came.

Went to church, lit a candle
Sang a prayer to be blessed with family
Crossed herself going past her own dear Da 
Buried there in the churchyard
Poor ole Daniel drank himself to death some said.
She went home, prayed some more
Polished the piano on Tuesdays.
Any good boy or girl will do fine, please God
But a baby never came.

So she became godmother to little Madeline.
Loved her beautiful face, sang her Irish lullabies
But there was a hole in her heart as big as Ireland. 
The years slipping by
Little Madeline toddling off to school now.
Every good girl does fine.

So Millie and Bill took on an orphan boy 
Named him little Billy all tousled hair and wide grin.
But a wild child was he, an untamed tiger cub
Rough housing, fists at the ready, getting into scrapes
Every good boy does sometime.
He couldn’t be soothed by Irish songs and stories
Big Bill didn’t like all that yelping and thrashing about 
He’d run out to O’Malley’s for a pint
Every day St. Patty’s Day
The wild child a wedge between them.

One Tuesday Millie forgot the polish but found the bottle
And thought: just one little drink.
And on Sunday, couldn’t keep Billy from throwing a tantrum 
Every boy does sometime
So she didn’t go to church, didn’t light a candle, didn’t visit Da’s grave.

But she’d get her old feelin’ back when she played stride 
A whiskey glass comfortable on the piano
Leaving a white circle on the polished cherry wood
Gotta keep that feeling so she’d pull a smoke from a
Black cherry-colored pack, light up 
Take a big inhale let the ash grow long
Curling the smoke up into the deep dark recesses 
Of her brood mare nostrils 
Sometimes when she got to playing,
She’d set a Pall Mall to rest on the piano 
Burn another black stripe
Every good girl does fine.

Times were hard, Bill lost his position,
He shaved every couple days, he was shiftless 
No funny man now, a no-count
Then too old to go off to war, Billy too young.
They’d fight and curse, but never face to face
Bill yelling from the horizontal of the sitting room couch, 
Billy pacing the back room surly, snarling, sneaking whiskey. 
Every boy does.

Big Bill doesn’t come home one Friday night
Little Billy doesn’t make Sunday dinner.
Now other men sit in the wingback chairs
Slick their pomade on the antimacassars
Wealthy salesmen, cute sailors on shore leave, Tin Pan Alley types,
Wildcatters and oil men back from the middle east
They leave their white rings cascading down the piano like
Bangles on a dancing girl’s arm.

Setting their cigars to rest on the piano
Clapping heartily to keep up with her as
She burned up those white and black and blue keys
Owning that piano as she lay astride those octaves
Better ‘an any man to take to those eighty eights. 

They called her Mildred now, coal-black curls shot with gray
Throws down whiskey neat with the best of them
Sings torch songs, plays barrelhouse 
Trades her true notes for blue notes
Discord resolving into disappointment 
She’s still got the gift but needs a coupla drinks, 
A pack o’ smokes.
Every sad girl does fine.

She burns photographs of Bill
She throws away pictures of Billy.
Then when she tries to picture Bill she pictures Billy 
Pictures her own Da. 
All of them jumbled up now
But she smiles at Madeline grown up, babies of her own
Every good girl does fine.

Mildred writes sad songs, boozy songs
How on the outside I’m rollicking good fun 
Getting people to throw it down in the kitchen
But on the inside I’m crying
Every sad girl does.

Then outta the blue, Mildred hears a song on the radio
A crooner sings her melody all pretty like
I’m laughing on the outside
A big band powers her answer 
I’m cryin’ on the inside
She sings in a deep throaty growl
They stole my song, they stole my grief, 
My only way to turn this nightmare inside out.
Every sad girl does something fine.

So one day when nobody was around, 
She sat at the piano, ran her fingers over the keys
Lit a cigarette, let the smoke curl up into her
Twin arches of hellfire eternal damnation.
Thought of her Da, her ole Danny Boy,
Things he’d done, still buried on hallowed ground.
Every bad boy should pay.

Mildred locked the door, stuffed towels under it 
Knelt in front of the gas oven and turned it on. 
But Millie didn’t strike a diamond wooden match stick
No, no pilot light to guide
She just let the gas slowly fill up the room. 
Every person good or bad goes.
No explosion, no fire, her spark long gone.
Just a quiet, sleeping release, crying on the inside.

***
Dedicated to the memory of the real Mildred O.
RIP

“I’m laughing on the outside
Crying on the inside
‘Cause I’m still in love with you”
Artist: Nat King Cole
Words by Ben Raleigh and music by Bernie Wayne
Charted in 1946 by Sammy Kaye