Catalina's Milky Way Dreams(c) Re- Written 2024 - By The Depressed Poet, Doc Dalton
Shooting Stars and fast moving CarsRumble through the roads of my mindTick-e-ty Tock, the old sounds of the clockSay's it's almost a quarter past nine
The moons surely rising, the stars are a glidingAnd Mr. Sandman is ready to roamHurry off to bed and put your pillow under your headHe might just be visiting you tonight at homeDrifting off to sleep is such a wonderful featAdventures you'll enjoy on your ownMaking new friends on a journey to no endA secrete life that is yours all aloneDon't be afraid of those gobble lee goo'sOr those pirates drifting to sea on their boatsThere's no need to worry there just in your dreamsLike rainbow clouds and cotton candy floatsOh that sky's full of colors of make believe wondersExciting every step of the wayCan't you let me stay for just a little bit longerPlease, don't take my Dreams a wayTo see this through a child's eyesOn the path to where stars brightly beamThrough a different world of twist and twirlsWon't you come to my Milky Way DreamsWe could have so much funUnder an ice cream sun and laugh our time awaySing some M & M songs the whole day longUntil we awake to brand new day
Pluto say's hey kiddo don't get out of bedAs Snakel Puss laughs and says, ah it's OKKKKKKKKPopeye yell's, were gone in a minute after I eat me spinachPoo say's all aboard my Banana Split SleighOh that Sky's full of colors of make believe wondersExciting every step of the wayCan't you let me stay for just a little bit longerWorry not Catalina, we won't take your Dreams a way
To see this through a child's eyesOn the path to where stars brightly beamThrough a different world of twist and twirlsWon't you come to my Milky Way Dreams
Catalina say's, please come join me, on my Milky Way Dreams
The old clock over the bar read ten o'clock, but Jake Morgan knew it was lying. It had been ten o'clock for three years. The bartender, Charlie, quit fixing it after Mary's funeral. Said there wasn't much point. Time stopped for Jake the day they buried her anyway. Jake sat on the same stool every Friday night, nursing the same bottle of cheap whiskey. Folks in town figured he drank because he was lonely.
Truth was, he drank because he couldn't cry. He took another sip and looked at the empty stool beside him. It had belonged to Mary. She'd never drank much, but she'd sit there with a Coke and laugh at the stories the old farmers told. "You ain't as funny as you think you are, Jake Morgan," she'd whisper. "I know," he'd answer. "But you're pretty enough to make me look good." She'd roll her eyes and laugh.
Now the stool sat empty. Charlie walked over and poured another shot. "You know," Charlie said, "you could go home." Jake looked at the glass. "Ain't much waiting there." "You got your dog." "Dog likes Mary better." Charlie chuckled. "That's because the dog had good taste." Jake smiled for the first time that night. It didn't last.
The silence found him again. Funny thing about losing somebody. You think the big moments will hurt the most. They don't. It's the little things. A cup of coffee made for two. The empty side of the bed. Finding her favorite sweater hanging in the closet because you can't bring yourself to move it. Hearing a song on the radio and having to pull the truck over because suddenly you can't breathe.
Jake reached for the bottle. Three years. Three long years. He'd talked to God. He'd talked to himself. He'd talked to Mary's picture on the fireplace. He'd even talked to the old oak tree where he asked her to marry him. Nobody talked back.
Charlie leaned against the bar. "You know what Mary told me once?"Jake looked up. "What?" "She said if she went first, she'd haunt you if you spent the rest of your life feeling sorry for yourself." Jake laughed. "Sounds like her." Charlie nodded. "She also said you'd pretend to be tough." Jake looked down at the whiskey. "I am tough." "No."
Charlie shook his head. "You're scared." Jake didn't answer. "You're scared if you cry, you'll never stop." The words hit harder than the whiskey. Jake paid his tab and walked outside. The night air was cool. The stars were bright. He climbed into his old pickup but didn't start it. Instead, he looked up at the sky. "Mary?" Nothing. "I miss you." Nothing. "I still love you." Only the wind. His hands gripped the steering wheel. "Whatin the hell am I supposed to do?" He waited. A breeze rolled through the open window. It carried the smell of wildflowers from the field across the road. Mary loved wildflowers. Jake smiled. Then he laughed. Then he remembered the first dance they ever had. Their wedding. The birth of their daughter. Christmas mornings. Sunday church. Long drives with no place to go. The fights. The makeups. The gray hair. The wrinkles. Growing old together. His smile disappeared. The tears should have come. But they didn't. Jake looked toward heaven. He shook his head. "Lord, I don't understand this." His voice cracked.
"I've carried this hurt around for three years. I sit with a bottle in my hand and sadness in my heart." He looked at the whiskey sitting beside him. "I've tried to drown the pain." He laughed softly. "And You know something?" He picked up the bottle and set it on the ground. "Even whiskey can't make me cry." For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Jake heard Mary's favorite Bible verse in his mind. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. He closed his eyes. Maybe the tears weren't the healing. Maybe surviving was. Maybe loving somebody enough to hurt this much was a blessing. Maybe carrying their memory wasn't a punishment. Maybe it was a promise. Jake looked toward the stars one more time. "I'll see you again, sweetheart."
He started the truck. The old engine growled to life. As he drove home, he realized something. The pain was still there. The loneliness was still there. He still missed her with every beat of his heart. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't need the bottle riding beside him. He left it sitting under the stars. And somewhere between that old bar and the empty house waiting for him, Jake finally understood. Whiskey couldn't make him cry. Love had simply made him stronger than he ever thought a broken heart could be. And sometimes, the strongest tears are the ones that never fall.
Truth was, he drank because he couldn't cry. He took another sip and looked at the empty stool beside him. It had belonged to Mary. She'd never drank much, but she'd sit there with a Coke and laugh at the stories the old farmers told. "You ain't as funny as you think you are, Jake Morgan," she'd whisper. "I know," he'd answer. "But you're pretty enough to make me look good." She'd roll her eyes and laugh.
Now the stool sat empty. Charlie walked over and poured another shot. "You know," Charlie said, "you could go home." Jake looked at the glass. "Ain't much waiting there." "You got your dog." "Dog likes Mary better." Charlie chuckled. "That's because the dog had good taste." Jake smiled for the first time that night. It didn't last.
The silence found him again. Funny thing about losing somebody. You think the big moments will hurt the most. They don't. It's the little things. A cup of coffee made for two. The empty side of the bed. Finding her favorite sweater hanging in the closet because you can't bring yourself to move it. Hearing a song on the radio and having to pull the truck over because suddenly you can't breathe.
Jake reached for the bottle. Three years. Three long years. He'd talked to God. He'd talked to himself. He'd talked to Mary's picture on the fireplace. He'd even talked to the old oak tree where he asked her to marry him. Nobody talked back.
Charlie leaned against the bar. "You know what Mary told me once?"Jake looked up. "What?" "She said if she went first, she'd haunt you if you spent the rest of your life feeling sorry for yourself." Jake laughed. "Sounds like her." Charlie nodded. "She also said you'd pretend to be tough." Jake looked down at the whiskey. "I am tough." "No."
Charlie shook his head. "You're scared." Jake didn't answer. "You're scared if you cry, you'll never stop." The words hit harder than the whiskey. Jake paid his tab and walked outside. The night air was cool. The stars were bright. He climbed into his old pickup but didn't start it. Instead, he looked up at the sky. "Mary?" Nothing. "I miss you." Nothing. "I still love you." Only the wind. His hands gripped the steering wheel. "Whatin the hell am I supposed to do?" He waited. A breeze rolled through the open window. It carried the smell of wildflowers from the field across the road. Mary loved wildflowers. Jake smiled. Then he laughed. Then he remembered the first dance they ever had. Their wedding. The birth of their daughter. Christmas mornings. Sunday church. Long drives with no place to go. The fights. The makeups. The gray hair. The wrinkles. Growing old together. His smile disappeared. The tears should have come. But they didn't. Jake looked toward heaven. He shook his head. "Lord, I don't understand this." His voice cracked.
"I've carried this hurt around for three years. I sit with a bottle in my hand and sadness in my heart." He looked at the whiskey sitting beside him. "I've tried to drown the pain." He laughed softly. "And You know something?" He picked up the bottle and set it on the ground. "Even whiskey can't make me cry." For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then Jake heard Mary's favorite Bible verse in his mind. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. He closed his eyes. Maybe the tears weren't the healing. Maybe surviving was. Maybe loving somebody enough to hurt this much was a blessing. Maybe carrying their memory wasn't a punishment. Maybe it was a promise. Jake looked toward the stars one more time. "I'll see you again, sweetheart."
He started the truck. The old engine growled to life. As he drove home, he realized something. The pain was still there. The loneliness was still there. He still missed her with every beat of his heart. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't need the bottle riding beside him. He left it sitting under the stars. And somewhere between that old bar and the empty house waiting for him, Jake finally understood. Whiskey couldn't make him cry. Love had simply made him stronger than he ever thought a broken heart could be. And sometimes, the strongest tears are the ones that never fall.
