Sorry For Me
“Alright Ricky, I want you to tell me where you got that inspiration from?” the interviewer asked. “It’s unimaginable really, people may think that everything that I’m about to say is nothing but a big load of bogus, and I don’t blame them one bit”. The interviewer left out a big sigh “That’s why I’m interviewing you right? Since people are interested to know your story behind the song”. “Well then, what I’m about to say is nothing but mere facts, I’ll leave you to interpret all the details that happened on that single day” Ricky smirked.
It was a day like any other, or more apparently relatively yet even more terrible than the last. It was eight in the evening, Lucy was out with her usual crew selling out drugs and getting high. My stepfather would go to different houses, getting drunk, and would often recklessly go out fighting all sorts of strangers. Well, what do I expect from a no-good ex-convict right? And mom, like her familiar everyday self, would wobble around the house, always crying and always depressed covered with bruises wearing nothing but that old, smelly, and shaggy duster to shield her from shame. I believe at that time, I was the only sane person in this dysfunctional family as I constantly stare at our ancient grandfather clock, waiting for the day, the hour, and second where I may leave this horrid and disgusting scene before me. Every day was like hell, a single place contradicting with cliche rights and suffocating standards of the norm. Basically, it was indeed not a very good place to live in.
Later that evening, as I was getting ready to go to bed, I was startled by the loud banging and crashing fused with that dissonant familiar cry of my mother’s. Rushing over to that scene, I ran and ran foreseeing a familiar sight of broken bottles scattered over the floor with mom typically crying. Yet as I’ve arrived, I witnessed something much more traumatizing. Bottles and bleeding clothes were scattered, Lucy’s genitals and my mom’s already bruised face were bleeding, and Erik, that damned old man, was nude, sitting over the porch, without any hint of guilt in his eyes - it made me sick and angry, but what can I do? I’m just a feeble wimp who knows nothing but the mere act of playing that old Dreadnought guitar. In despair, I excused myself from that disaster, while clenching my fist as I took the nerve to sleep in what seems to be a normal night in this so-called family.
On that same evening, I dreamt of a place where only me, my mom, and my sister are looking outside the window. They were crying but in an unusual way- one that couldn’t possibly be caused by Erik’s aggressions. I saw myself staring with them like the insensitive person that I am who simply watched without revealing any sort of emotion. Confused as to what we were earnestly focusing on so much, I tried to catch a glimpse of what was witnessed. But as soon as I reached the window, I was restrained by odd-looking objects, or in that case, letters of C, Am, Dm, G, Em, and F. They were dancing, jumping, crying even, and were about to devour me whole when suddenly I was awoken by my phone’s alarm clock. It was still four in the morning yet for some reason I couldn’t find myself to go back to sleep. It wasn’t in my nature to over-contemplate and exaggerate over minor things, yet for some reason, that certain dream was like destiny that was intended for me. But what could it have possibly mean? Where was Erik? Why did my mom unusually cry? And essentially, what were those letters doing in my dream? I went through different heights to get the answer. I tried reading books, confronting mystics, and even arranging and disarranging those confusing letters. But sadly, my feeble mind could not comprehend such intricacy. I was about to give up, then suddenly, for some reason, my ears began to lost its ability to hear. I could not hear the environment, my mom’s cries, or even my own voice. I was panicking for a while, then suddenly a vague voice resonated from the wind singing a simple melody with words saying “Sorry for me”. That went on for about an hour when my hearing finally went back. I hurriedly went to Lucy, who was still in her state of recovery, asking if she had heard the melody with the words “Sorry for me on which she arguably denied. I tried asking my mother yet her response was the same. I was hopeless and confused, it felt as if I am going crazy. Yet one thing’s for certain, that uncomfortable experience made me realize something that judging by its simplistic tune, those letters from my dream were in fact - guitar chords. It was so simple! there was a C chord, an A minor, a D minor, a G chord, an E minor, and an F chord. After playing with my Dreadnought guitar, and arranging the letters, I finally created a melody which I’ve constantly repeated every day for weeks. Every day I played it as that was my only way of comfort, that even despite being without lyrics, the tune spoke and connected with me in ways that my so-called family failed to do.
“But what about the other details of the dream? how did you formulate the lyrics and the entirety of the song as well? The interviewer eagerly asked.
It happened on a significant Monday where everything started to fall apart more so than usual. I was really immersed with the melody that I considered making it as a song, of course with lyrics. I once thought of the lyrics as full of joy seen through manifesting flowers, rainbows, love, and other stuff. But then, I lost my train of thought when that fusion of familiar screaming and crashing sound marched into my ears. I tried ignoring it fully knowing that I am incapable of changing that scene. Then suddenly, my sister left out a huge and painful scream. I finally rushed over to find my unconscious mother stabbed in her left leg. That was the force, the driving force that compelled me to fight back, punching and hitting that no-good imbecile with bottles leaving him unconscious. From then on, I called the police explaining to them the whole incident along with an ambulance to help my mother and sister. Honestly, I should have done that from the beginning, which made me regretfully question until now “Why?”
Tuesday in the morning, I walk outside to a police car pulling up to my yard. Both my mom and my sister were staring through the window, crying as they saw the devil itself in handcuffs who disappeared with the fading siren. I punched the wall, confused, as to their nerve of wasting their tears. Pathetic, they were already old enough to fully comprehend that monster's part in bringing nothing but pain, shame, and insanity. That was the first day of our freedom which ironically brought even more perils to this already broken family. We were already unhappy before, but now it feels as if we're being suffocated by the lingering aroma of freedom.
Wednesday in the morning, I walk downstairs to the familiar sound of my mother and my sister’s crying. And that’s when I knew that I have had it. I chained smoked cigarettes, my foot on the floor of my car as I drove and went to confront him. Upon driving for several hours, I thought of what to do? What to experience now that it’s over and finally I won’t have to deal with him. Of course, I should be happy, but ultimately I don’t know how to feel. When I finally arrived at his confinement, we talked like normal human beings for the first time in years. He talked, genuinely arguing that I am at fault, that I am worse than that monster, and that I would certainly live to suffer and die a horrible death. He left out a frightening laugh before going back to his cell. That was the last I’ve seen of him alive and breathing upon reading a recent headline "Insane man died from stabbing himself with a glass shard" Woah! what a sad story to end such a pathetic life. That was literally minutes after our first and last conversation. Hours later, I arrived back home to see two lifeless bodies before me. It was a cold night, I was alone with the silence of regret and despair. I deserve this cowardly life, I deserve to be in solitude forever. You mustn’t be sorry for me.
And so, to answer your question, I wrote the song following the chords of C, Am, Dm, G, Em, and F to depict a pathetic story of loss and regret. That even despite being stuck wearing a straitjacket in this large confinement, I wish to show the world that I am in need of no pity. That everyone must live life in its spotlight and never be sorry for me.
VERSE 1:
Tuesday, in the morning
I walk outside to a police car
Pulling up to my yard
Goodbye dear stepfather
I punch my fist right through the wall
Duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh
PRE-CHORUS:
Now that it's over
I don't know how to feel
Moving to California
Where I won't have to deal
CHORUS:
So, watcha think?
Do you think it would make you sad?
Watcha think?
Do you think it would make you sorry?
Well, I'm sorry
I wouldn't want to make you sorry
For me, oh, oh, oh
VERSE 2:
Wednesday, in the morning
I walk downstairs
To the sound of my mother and my sister crying
Chain-smoking cigarettes
Foot to the floor of my car
As I go to confront you
PRE-CHORUS:
Now that it's over
I don't know how to feel
Moving to California
Where I won't have to deal
CHORUS:
So, watcha think?
Do you think it would make you sad?
Watcha think?
Do you think it would make you sorry?
Well, I'm sorry
I wouldn't want to make you sorry
I'm sorry
I wouldn't want to make you sorry
I'm sorry
I wouldn't want to make you sorry
For me, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah
