May 10, 1981
Houston, Texas.


?I told you coming down here was a bad idea when you were this far along.? Scott said as the doctors prepped his wife for child birth. ?I mean really, Nancy! What about Doctor Higgins and all the plans he made for us??

?Plans change, babe,? Nancy said with a tired smile. ?Syd wants to be born in Texas, apparently.?

?Sydney.?

?He?s going to be my Syd Vicious.?

?Sydney Kane,? Scott said with an exasperated and overly tired sigh. ?You really loved that no talent hack, but we are not naming our son after some junkie.?

?You got the ?Y? into his name, Scotty,? Nancy said as her face contorted with pain. ?Be happy for that.?

?I hope he grows up hating music,? The father said as they slipped him into a gown and got ready for his son?s emergence into the world, and at 8:35 in the evening, Sydney Andrew Kane was born.



June 23 , 1991
Bronx, New York.

?I swear to God, I?ll clobber you if you tell mom what I?m doing, then tell dad you?ve been into his nudie books.? Sharon said as she glared at Syd, who was watching her dip into their mother?s cash and what he had been told was her special medicine, a pale white substance that looked like salt and flour mixed.

?I never looked at those!? Syd Said, which was a lie, he?d taken a peek to see what his father always took to read into the bathroom, usually covered with the day?s newspaper. ?You shouldn?t take mom?s stuff, she needs it.?

?I?m not taking it, you annoying little turd,? She said as she doubled up her fist at her ten-year-old brother. ?Am I??

?No, Sharon.? Syd said as he walked out of the room, leaving his sister there, already feeling bad enough that he had to lie for her, and not wanting her to hit him anymore.

He flopped into his bed, staring at the ceiling, and knowing that the house would be in turmoil tonight, so he picked up the guitar that his grandfather had given him and started on the riffs of his Idol, Kurt Cobain. The sounds of the song were haunting from an acoustic, and he started adding his own differences, making the song more his than that of Nirvana.

Ever since he could remember he could play what he heard, and then make it more how he would have done it, even at his young age. Some of the summers were spent with his grandpa playing old Cash tunes, and even the gospel songs for his grandmother and her friends. His uncles liked Waylon, and his dad? well his dad was a baseball man, so through him, he learned the game and shared a love of the Yankees.

?Load up your guns, bring out your friends. It?s fun to lose and to pretend. She?s overboard and self- assured, Oh no, I know a dirty word.?

He worked his small fingers down the frets adding to the song before picking up again.

?Hello, Hello, Hello, How low? Hello, Hello, Hello, How Low? Hello. Hello. Hello.?

He plucked the strings harder then, pouring his soul and voice into the song.

?A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido. Hey? Yah!?

?Sydney!? His dad knocked once then opened the door to his son?s room. ?You are loud, Son!? He looked at the boy and smiled, before he walked over and sat down at the desk.

?Sorry, Dad,? He answered. ?I guess I was just into Kurt.?

?Kurt, right, the guy from Veranda,? Scott said as he watched his son put the guitar back onto its stand carefully.

?Nirvana,? Syd corrected with a laugh.

?Yeah, that?s what I said,? He shared the laugh with his son. ?So, what?s the plan for the big weekend, Sydney??

?Nothing.?

?Where?s Rob?? Scott asked, glad to hear his son had no plans.

?His mom made him go to Pennsylvania, to see his crazy aunt.?

?Sydney??

?Well she is,? He argued. ?She talks to people who aren?t there.?

?Sydney,? His voice took on that fatherly tone of warning.

?I know, she?s off getting help at the hospital.? He said with a sigh. ?Just means a big weekend and nothing to do.?

?Well how about we go see the Yanks play some ball tonight then? Just the two of us?? His dad pulled two tickets from the pocket of his shirt, smiling. ?They are playing the Twins, and we can get some dogs, support our boys.? His smile never fading, while Syd wanted to tell him about his sister, he could not, he only nodded and smiled.

?Sounds great, Dad. Getting my cap, and I?m ready!?





(*Lyrics from Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana.)

"Mister and Mrs. Kane, I am Doctor Stevenson, would you follow me please?"

"Where's my daughter?" Nancy asked between heavy sobs, she was in a panicked state, coming down from her own drugs, and Scott just held her close.

"Ma'am please, we need you to calm down, and come with me." The Doctor was kind with his words and actions, and Syd watched every motion the man made, he knew his sister was dead, the man just hadn't told them yet.

"Nancy, come on," Scott said, leading her to follow the doctor, but she finally moved when Syd stepped up and took her hand.

"Come on, Mama," Was all he said, and she took his hand, squeezing nearly as hard as she could, crying louder with every step.

Doctor Stevenson took them into an office just outside of the Emergency center, and waited until they sat down, leaving Syd standing by the door. "There is really no easy way to tell you this, so I am just going to have to say it, I am truly sorry to be the one to tell you that your daughter, Sharon, passed away this morning."

The room fell silent except for Nancy's sobbing, and the creak of Scott's leather jacket that moved to comfort his wife.

"How'd she die, Doctor? Was it a car wreck, Mugging?" Scott already knew, but he hoped he was wrong. He hoped that his oldest child hadn't followed in her mother's footsteps.

"Son, would you like a soda?" The doctor asked Sydney.

"Yeah, sure," Was the only reply he could come back with, thinking over the fact that his sister was now gone, leaving him alone in the house while his parents worked their late shifts.

"Step outside there, and ask the nurses, they will get you whatever you want." Doctor Stevenson opened the door and ruffled the boy's hair, before nodding to a nurse who immediately came to his side. He wasn't quite a child, not quite a teenager, and suddenly he felt alone.

"What's your name?" She asked as she smiled down at him.

"Uh, Sydney," He replied numbly.

"Well Sydney, what would you like?"

"Can I see my sister?" He asked as he looked up with the ice blue eyes.

"Sydney, your sister is..."

"Dead, I know. Can I see her body?"

"Well, how about a Pepsi first?" She pulled a miniature can from the cooler and handed it to him, then took his hand, leading him toward a curtain enclosed room.
"She's not going to look the same, Sydney. Not like you remember."

"I remember her beating me up," He said as he sipped from the can.

She pulled back the curtain and followed Syd inside, where his sister still laid on the gurney, while a couple of nurses were working on getting her ready for her family to see her.

"What is that tube for, in her mouth?" Syd asked as he stepped forward and stared into her dull blue, red-rimmed and lifeless eyes.

"That was to help her breathe," The nurse said.

"It was drugs, wasn't it?" He asked as he saw the white residue, barely visible around her nose.

"I am afraid so, Sydney."

He reached out slowly and touched her bare arm, and quickly jerked away, she was cool to the touch, like when they used to have snowball fights in winter. He watched as the spot he touched went from white, to a deep purple like a bruise.

"I didn't touch her that hard," He said, thinking he was about to be in trouble.

"No Honey, that's what happens, it's okay." The nurse wrapped an arm around him. "I am so sorry." She said.

"What for? You didn't kill her, she did." He said as he looked back up at her.

She was about to say something when the curtain opened up and his mother broke down again, this time falling to her knees in the examining room. She was wailing and Scott was trying to comfort her as best he could, while wiping at his own tears.

"I am sorry," Doctor Stevenson said. "If you know who she maybe got the drugs from, or who she was with, we can press charges, maybe even murder..."

Sydney stepped back, listening to them all talk. He listened the next morning as his mom and dad screamed at each other over the drugs in the house, and how that Scott did not want to outlive another of their children.

The next three days the house was in turmoil and Syd was deeper, and deeper into his music. The further he went into records, his own playing, and writing his own songs, the less he heard of them until the morning of the funeral.

Monday, 23 November 1993.

Saint Raymond Cemetary, Bronx.

Sydney watched the people he knew, and a lot that he didn't know. Family friends, work friends, and even some of his own friends with their families had shown up offering condolences. It was his first experience with death of anyone he knew. He'd heard of people dying but never knew them, and it surely hadn't been anyone in his family, and now he was sitting on the front row of chairs in a new, itchy suitcoat shirt and tie. His hair combed neatly and beside him, his parents were dressed in black, looking somber, but in front of them was a polished silver painted and chrome decorated coffin. The words the priest said were nearly the same that had been said at the church, Syd nearly memorized it and counted that the man had said the word "Lord." One hundred and sixteen times, now was up to fifteen since everyone gathered around to hear him speak again.

Two men stepped forward and slid the flowers on his sister's coffin, and carefully open the lid, and that was his cue. He stood up, much to the people who had gathered around the tiny tent's confusion and picked up the guitar his Grandfather had given him.

"Sharon loved this song," Syd said as he started strumming slowly.

"I close my eyes, only for a moment and the moment's gone. All my dreams, pass before my eyes a curiousity. Dust in the wind. All we are is dust in the wind."

His eyes closed and he worked his fingers easily, not one missed note, just a boy and a guitar, a brother with a song for his sister.

"Same old song, just a drop of water in the endless sea. All we do, crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see. Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind... Oh_______________oh."

His fingers moved up and down the rosewood fingerboard, the frets found easily and never missing a beat, his own subtle added chords did not take anything away from an original, just made it a bit more unique. His family and their friends stared at him while he played, they'd heard he could play and sing, but never witnessed it until this moment and some of them were unsure that it was the same, shy kid they had seen grow up.

"Don't hang on. Nothing lasts forever but the Earth and Sky. It all slips away, all your money won't another minute buy. Dust in the wind. All we are is dust in the wind. Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind. Dust in the wind, everything is dust in the wind....."

He finished out the song quietly, and looked toward his sister's face, how her hair framed it, and she looked like she was sleeping to him now, instead of how he remembered her a few nights earlier.

"I love you, Sharon. May you find peace at last." He said as he turned and walked away toward the car, ready to go back to the comfort of his home.



(Lyrics From Dust in the Wind, Kansas.)

He sat in the back seat of the Buick as they rode toward what was known as music row. Syd was still in a mood, for snapping at his friend and he reached into his pocket, pulling the bottle of pills from within, then shook one out into his hand, before popping it into his mouth.

"You okay, Sydney?" Rob's mother asked as she looked at him in the rearview.

"Yes Ma'am, I'm fine." He said with a forced smile.

They rolled to a stop in front of a new shop that was advertising everying but mainly their Grand Opening.

"Boys, I'm going to go to the book store, then over to get my hair cut, so if you get done before hand, you know where I'll be."

"Okay, Mom," Rob said as she drove away, leaving he and Syd looking at the store front. "Well, we can't see anything from out here." Rob grinned at Syd and started walking toward the store while pulling his jeans up.

Syd stared at the place, lost in thought as he shook out another pill from the bottle and popped it into his mouth. "Can't see anything from here." He mimicked as he walked toward the door, and pulled it open.

The store was like a living, breathing, thing. There were voices talking, smoke floating lazily past, drums providing a heartbeat, and other instruments providing the blood flow. Syd was lost as he looked around. He could hear different riffs, from Clapton, B.B. King, Chuck Berry, Hendrix on guitars. Somewhere there were strings from violins playing out the likes of Mozart, and Beethoven. Syd's eyes closed and he listened to each different note, from each different instrument.

"Hey man, you ain't high are you?" A guy's voice snapped him from his daydream, as he asked that question.

"What? No, man, I am not high."

"You were just spacing there, so I thought I'd ask, cause if you carry in my store man, I get busted too."

"Dude, relax. I'm looking for Vintage guitars, heard you had them," Syd asked while eyeing the man that said this was his store, and his eyes lit up.

"Vintage you say? You are in the right place my man, this way." He said as he beckoned Syd through the few people toward a glass enclosed room with guitars hanging on the walls, Fender, Gibson, Rickenbacker, Ibanez, and very few others.

"Rickenbacker?"

"Dude, that was one of John Lennon's guitars. You know the neck on his was two inches shorter?" The owner said.

"So that's Lennon's?" Syd asked suspiciously, as he pulled it from the hooks and looked it over.

"Got it from an estate sale with papers saying it's the real deal."

"I can type up papers that say my shoes were David Lee Roth's. You gonna buy them?" Syd asked with a smirk.

"Okay, look..." The owner walked out of the room and came back with another Rickenbacker. "See the difference in length?" He held them side by side and the neck was indeed at least two inches shorter.

Syd nodded and plucked the strings a bit, listening to the tone, and thinking of John's Imagine.

"Kid like you likes John instead of Ace?" The man pointed out a Les Paul with Ace's autograph on it. "Used it not long ago." He said proudly.

"Then that's not vintage, is it?" Syd laughed as he strummed a few chords on the Rick.

"Okay, okay. You are a tough sale, kid. What about this? A right handed Fender strung upside down for a left handed God." He pulled down the cream and white Fender, and showed it to Syd, "Jimi Hendrix."

Syd chuckled a bit as he started to play the beginning riff to "Purple Haze "on the old Rickenbacker.

"Yeah, any smartass kid knows that one." The guy said as he was hanging the Fender back up, then turned around as Syd started the riff for "Castles Made of Sand", and started singing it, all the while working the frets of the Rick.

"Okay, so you know your Hendrix, I see." The guy said with a chuckle. "You are pretty good too, for no pedals and amps."

Syd decided then to show off a bit, using the old guitar to play a few of Billy Gibbon's famous riffs, followed by the starting riff of "That Smell."

"Damn kid, what can't you play?"

Sydney watched his grandfather pull his reading glasses from his jacket pocket and read over every piece of documentation. Everything that ever said the guitar belonged to and was played by John Lennon.

"What was your name again, Son?" Gramps asked the owner who was showing him all the papers.

"Eddie," The man answered.

"Eddie, where'd you find this guitar?"

"As I said, Sir. There was an estate sale, here in the city, and they had all these papers saying it's the real deal.

"I see the papers, any other way we know?"

"Just the neck length, Rickenbacker made this one shorter for John."

"Tell me, Eddie," Gramps said as he took off his glasses and wiped them with his sleeve. "Do you have a Telecaster?"

"Yes I do, a lot of them, even one played Joe Walsh."

"Who's that one?" He asked Sydney.

"James Gang, and The Eagles." Syd said with a grin.

"Pull that out, Eddie, and loan us the use of cord and amplifiers."

Eddie was nearly running, thinking he was about to make good money with sales today, and he returned with a pale yellow and black pick guarded Telecaster. He pulled two cords from behind the counter, and handed them over to the old man who passed one to Syd.

"Show 'em your talent, kid." Gramps said with a grin and a wink as he wired his own borrowed guitar.

"I already know he's good," Eddie said.

"Just wait," Gramps said as he started playing too.

"I bet it ain't rainin' back home. I bet your sister's still on the phone. I bet mama's in the kitchen, cookin' fried chicken, wishin' that I never did wrong."

Syd's fingers ran the neck of the Rick, while Gramps played the other part, and started the talking.

"Don't you worry about us none now momma, Everything's gonna be all right, momma. They're teaching us a lot of new things in here, Things like........."

Syd was smiling, thinking how much that his grandpa reminded him of Johnny Cash, and that this was their favorite song to play together and they both started in at the same time.

" There ain't no good in an Evil Hearted Woman. I ain't cut out to be no Jesse' James. You don't go writin' hot checks, down in Mississippi, and there ain't no good chain gang."

By this time there were a few of the customers starting to gather around, watching the pair as Sydney started again.

Papa's readin' yesterday's mail, wishin' that the hay was all bailed. I'll bet he's a-wishin' we could go fishin', and here I am a laying in jail."

Gramps smiled and nodded, watching Sydney's form more than his own but he started up as well.

"Don't you worry about us now, Poppa. They're teaching us a lesson a day, we're learning pretty well too. We've already learned a whole lot of stuff already
Things like..."

They both started playing and singing louder on the last chorus.

"There ain't no good in an Evil Hearted Woman. I ain't cut out to be no Jesse' James. You don't go writin' hot checks, down in Mississippi, and there ain't no good chain gang!"

The people that had gathered were applauding when they stopped the song, and praising them for a job well done, even Eddie just stared at them.

"You two are amazing," He said. "I haven't seen anyone play that way in my store yet."

"My boy here says you are looking to expand or move," Gramps said as he stood up, ready to start dealing with the store owner, and Eddie started nodding. "Then lets talk turkey, on both of these guitars, and that Marshall Amplifier."

Eddie's eyes lit up, he was seeing himself a step closer to his dream, as much as Syd was seeing himself closer to his own. Syd never heard what his grandfather paid for his two new guitars and amp, but all he knew is that when he made it big, his hero was getting the recognition he deserved.


(Lyrics from Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash There Ain't No Good Chain Gang.)

(Mature Language, Consider yourself warned.)



"Dad, where are we going?" Syd asked as he stared out the window of his father's work van, watching cars as they passed, wondering what kind of family was in each, wondering if they were happier than his own.

"The hospital, Sydney," Scott said quietly, holding back tears. His mind filling with the images of Nancy and her eyes rolled back in her head, not breathing, how the EMTs worked hard on reviving her at the scene, and what else to tell his son. "Your mother's had an accident."

"What?!" Sydney turned to face his father. "What do you mean, accident?"

"It's drugs, Sydney," Scott said sadly, and watched as Syd turned to look out the window again, only now his fists were held so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "I'm sorry, Son... I didn't know."

"Bullshi*t! You knew! You've known for years, even since before Sharon died!" Syd screamed at his father, causing the man to wince. Scott worked hard, but he never stood up to his family, he hated the confrontation. "How'd she get them?"

"I don't know, Sydney."

"How bad is she? Is she dead or what?"

"No, she's at the hospital son, you have to calm down."

"Calm down?" He said, "Calm down? You have got to be fvcking kidding me!" At his age the changes going on in his body, as well as the anger felt at that moment made a volatile combination. "You know Sharon was stealing sh*it from mom, and that mom was selling sh*it from the house to get more. Why didn't you stop them? Why are you such a fvcking coward?!"

"Sydney Andrew Kane! I will NOT have you talking to me this way!" Scott yelled back at his son. "I am still your father!"

"Whatever." Syd folded his arms across his chest, and said no more on the way to the same hospital his sister had been in.

(Mature Language, again you've been warned.)





"Sydney, my name is Janice. I'm just wanting to ask you a few questions," The woman said as she closed the door behind them. "Is that okay?"

"I said, whatever," Syd said with a scowl. "Is my mother dead or what?"

"As far as I know she will be staying in the hospital a few days," Janice said patiently. "Tell me about your home, Sydney."

"It's got walls and a roof," He said, as he really didn't want to talk to this strange woman. "Even indoor plumbing."

"No, Sydney," She sighed a bit. "Does your Father ever hit you or your Mother?"

"You gotta be shi*tting me," Syd laughed at that. "He's spineless."

"He's never hit you, or...touched you?"

"You're asking me now, if he's grabbed my dangler?"

She just stared at him as he fell into laughter. "This is serious, Sydney."

"Sounds like a damned joke to me, Lady," Sydney was wiping his eyes.

"How many times have you seen your mother use drugs?" She asked and Syd Sobered.

"None."

"Never?" She asked.

"Never."

"Tell me about your sister, Sydney," Janice pulled a yellow legal pad from her bag and started jotting notes.

"She's dead," He said simply, coldly.

"Didn't she die of drugs?"

"You already know this sh*it, why are you asking me?" Syd said with a tone of anger in his voice. The small gray walled room, feeling like it was closing in on him.

"Sydney, you need to calm down," She said with that same calm tone. "Tell me about your mother."

"What you think she's been touching me too?" He glared at her. "Or that she beats my dad and I? Look lady, my life is just that, MINE! I don't need this bullsh*it right now when I don't know if my mother is alive or dead. So take that bright yellow legal pad and shove it up your butt!" He walked to the door, and jerked it open, stepped out and purposely slammed it as hard as he could, getting himself a lot of attention from people on staff. "What?!" He yelled, looking at them all.

"Sydney, come here, Son," He heard his Grandfather's voice from behind him.

Syd turned and saw the man standing there, and his Grandmother talking to his dad, and he ran to the man, throwing his arms around him, and letting the tears flow freely.

May 15th, 1995.

Bronx-Lebanon Hospital.


"Mister Kane?" Scott stirred a bit, then realized he'd been sleeping in the tiny waiting room chair, and his mother sat quietly beside him.

"Yes?" He asked as he ran his hand across his face.

"I'm Doctor Doherty, can you and your...Mother come with me please?" Scott stared at the doctor, he was tired of going back and forth, to tiny offices and not getting answers, but his mother stood, and held her hand to him.

"Come on, Junior," She said.

"I'm getting really tired of this sh*it," Scott said.

"Watch your mouth, Son." His mother scolded.

"Sorry."

They followed the doctor past all of the little offices and to an elevator in the back.

"Mister Kane, your wife is upstairs and we have her on IV medication and hydration." Doctor Doherty said as they got into the elevator. "My office is upstairs and we can speak privately there."

"Can you tell me anything?" Scott asked wearily.

"I will fill you in, shortly, I promise." She said with a smile.

They stepped out of the elevator into the ICU, and Scott paled. He saw rooms with people on ventilators and with tubes everywhere on their bodies. Others were wired and monitored, and most were sleeping. He dropped his eyes to the tile floor, not prepared to see Nancy in that condition.

"Mister Kane, this way," She said as she pushed open a heavy wooden door, and walked into a carpeted area, with lightly painted walls covered in various artworks and her honors and awards. "Please have a seat."

Scott sat down feelign numb, and his mother sat beside him, rubbing his arm lightly. She looked over at the doctor and noticed the seriousness in her eyes.

"Scott, your wife has some signs of brain damage. We are not sure of the extent, but she had a large quantity of heroin in her system and she had been there a while before you found her. Lack of oxygen, and that much heroin in her system could leave her in a vegetative state." She paused to see if he had questions.

"Has she said anything?" Scott asked as he wiped his eyes.

"She mentioned someone named Jake. Does that name have any meaning to you? Maybe someone in your family?" Scott shook his head, but he knew of a Jake, and maybe where to find him and direct his anger that was welling up inside.
"So she is talking?" He asked.

"She said that and a few incoherent things, but we have her sleeping right now, as we have a neurologist coming in tomorrow to look at her."

"So I have to wait here another damned day before I know anything?" His anger was growing more and more.

"Scotty, calm down." His mother said as she rubbed his arm. "She's trying to help you and Nancy."

"Mister Kane, there is nothing you can do, sitting around waiting. You should go home, and get some rest."

"I do not want to go..." He was getting loud but was cut off by his mother.

"Scott! You apologize to this nice woman, and we will get you home, cleaned up and some good rest."

"I'm sorry, Doctor Doherty, it's been a long couple of days." He said quietly, containing his anger.

"It's quite alright. I would be frustrated as well." She opened a folder, "If any changes come about, I can reach you at this number?"

"Yes, it's my Cell, and always on for work."

"Okay, Mister Kane. Do try and get some rest, I will let you know when the other doctor arrives tomorrow."

"Thank you," He said as he stood, and offered his mother a hand.

They walked through the hospital parking and out to his work van in silence. He was angry, and he knew his mother wouldn't understand. She always tried to see the good in people, and normally had a way of always calming her son down, but this was different, and he really wasn't wanting to calm down.

"Scotty, would you like me to take a cab home?" She asked as he unlocked the passenger door, and helped her into the van.

"No, that'd be expensive as hel...heck, mom," He corrected himself, quickly. "I will take you home, then go home and get some rest."

"You can stay with your Father and I, you know."

"I know, but I need some alone time..." He dropped off the rest of what he was about to say. "Just need to clear my head."

"Okay Son, it's your choice."

The ride home was long and silent, he was thinking about his wife, his son, and most of all, finding that dealer. He kissed his mother's cheek as she got out of the van, and promised to call when he got back to the apartment. He watched as she walked to the house, and opened the door, before waving to him with a blown kiss, like she'd done since he was a little boy.

"I love you, Mom, but you won't understand what I'm going to do." He said as he turned the van around, heading for his home, angry, hurt, and overly tired.

(Mature Content and Language. Consider yourself warned.)




"Must be your skin that I'm sinkin' in. Must be for real cause now I can feel, and I don't mind, it's not my kind, not my time to wonder why. Everything's gone white, and everything's grey. Now you're here, now you're away. I don't want this, rememer that. I'll never forget where you're at. Don't let the days go by....glycerine."

"Hey man, are you Jake?" asked Scott as he put a cig to his lips and lit it.

"Depends on who's askin', Man." the other man said.

"Must have you confused with someone else making cash and helpin' people out," Scott said.

"Not so fast," he said as Scott turned to walk away. "I'm Jake, what do you need?"

"I'm never alone, I'm alone all the time. Are you at one, or do you lie?"

"You know my wife, Nancy?" asked Scott, as he watched the man.

"I see a lot of people in this alley, brother," was the reply from Jake.

"Let's see if I can refresh your memory," Scott said as he pulled a picture of his wife from his blue work shirt pocket and showed it to him.

Jake looked at the picture a long while and finally smiled wickedly. "You are married to her? Hot damn, you are lucky!"

"We live in a wheel, where everyone steals, but when we rise it's like strawberry fields."

"Lucky?" Scott asked, watching the man, and sizing him up as his anger and rage welled up somewhere in his gut. "What do you mean lucky?"

"Seriously? You are asking me? Man she's great on the shaft," Jake said with a wide and knowing smile.

"You realize you nearly killed my wife, you son of a bitch?" Scott's voice was rising iin anger. "You dumb mother fvcker, you gave her a dimebag of heroin, instead of coke," Scott's hands were starting to shake as he was speaking, the adrenaline kicking in.

"Come again?" Jake said putting his hand to his ear as if he hadn't heard the man. "Hey man, keep your mom off the streets and that sh*it won't happen," said Jake, laughing. "I was wondering where that went to, I got a dime of coke if you got the other."

"I'm not here to trade, dumb sh*it," Scott swung out with the pipe wrench from his jacket, catching Jake in the jaw and knocking him to the ground. "My wife is in the hospital, thanks to you and your poison, a whole fvcking dime bag, snorted all because you gave her the wrong fvcking drugs."

"If I treated you bad,you bruise my face. Couldn't love you more, you got a beautiful taste. Don't let the days go by. Could have been easier on you. I coudn't change though I wanted to. Could have been easier by three. Our old friend fear and you and me, Glycerine."

Jake spit a mouthful of blood, "There ain't no money back guarantee, especially with her, I can't suck a di..." Scott swung the large wrench around and hit the man on the other side of his jaw, cutting off his words and breaking some teeth, sending him back down to the ground with the alley trash where he belonged.

"Don't let the days go by...glycerine."

"Jesus Christ, man. What are you, insane?" Jake asked as he spit out broken teeth and ducked away from a swing that chipped the brickwork where his head was, not moments earlier. " There has to be something we can work out, come on, let me make this right."

"Make it right? Make it right, and you call me the insane one? Sharon died from your drugs, now my wife may or may not make it through the night, how are you going to make it right, Jake? My idea now, is live by the words an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," Scott said as he caught the man in the side of the head, and dazed him, knocking him him back to his knees, where he stared up at the pipe-wrench wielding husband, and wiping blood from his eye.

"Please...stop." Was all he managed to say before the wrench struck again.

Jake was bleeding, battered, cut and bruised as Scott walked around him, saying his wife and daughter's name over and over and louder and louder with each heavy swing of the iron, before he finally started walking toward his home, and dialing the police with his cell phone.

"I needed you more, when we wanted us less. I could not kiss, just regress. It might just be. Clear, simple and plain. That's just fine, that's one of my names. Don't let the days go by. Could've been easier on you, Glycerine."


( Lyrics from "Glycerine" by Bush )

(Mature Language, warn posted.)




May 8, 1997

Bronx, New York.


Syd took the pot roast out of the oven, and set the table with plates and silverware. He was trying to get everything done so he could go meet with Rob and two guys that had contacted him about the band. Slow Streak was slowly forming and he was more excited than he could stand. The roast was placed in the middle of the table, next to the mashed potatoes, and green beans that he'd fixed as well. For the first time in a long time, his dad was going to come home to a hot meal, instead of some leftover crap warming and drying out in the oven.

"Syd," his mother called him from the bedroom. "I need you, Syd." He rolled his eyes, not wanting to go and see her, but he did as any dutiful son would do, shoved his hands in his pockets, guarding the cash his grandfather had given him and walked to his parent's room.

"Mom?" he said as he looked her over. She'd looked worse today than she had in several days.

"There's my Syd Vicious," she said with a weak smile. "My baby boy." He knew what she wanted, and he hated it. "Can you look again, please?" She said as she held out some cash to him, wanting him to look for another dealer.

"I told you, Mom, they really cracked down, and cleaned up the neighborhood, there are no dealers around here." he lied. He had to lie, just to keep her somewhat sober. She had pain medication she'd gotten from multiple doctors. Anti-depressants, uppers, really she practically had a pharmacy in her bedroom, but nothing gave her the high of coke and crack.

She sighed, and fell back into the pillows looking defeated.

"You really should go back to the meetings," said Syd. "They were making progress."

She fell into laughter, already high from the pills, and Syd frowned as he walked from her room, slamming the door.

"Keep it up, you'll be by Sharon," he said, as he walked back toward the living room.

As he entered the living area, he heard a key in the lock, then the other lock, knowing his dad had just gotten home. Ever since the man's tangle with Jake, and all that he'd heard his father had done to the other man, he had a new found respect. Syd was nearly as tall than Scott now, but he was broader, as he started lifting weights as well as playing music and jumping around with Rob, so he hid behind the door, and waited on it to open.

"Son, I'm home," Scott said as he looked over at the table and the waiting dinner, his mouth starting to water, but that was short lived as Syd sprang out and grabbed him around his shoulders.

"Give me your wallet!" Sydney said with as deep a voice as he could.

"Hell, you know that Bill gets all of my money," Scott said chuckling, knowing it was his Son that attacked him.

"You have to have some money! Don't make me crush you, Old Man."

"Old man? You little punk!" Scott remembered some wrestling moves from when he was in Highschool Top in State, and twisted out of Syd's grasp, grabbing his shoulder and flipping him over onto the ground, knocking the wind from his son, leaving him gasping for air and looking confused. He took his Father's outstretched hand and pulled himself up.

"The hell was that?" Syd asked when he could finally breathe.

"That was an Old Man, putting a boy in his place," Scott said, laughing then.

"Seriously, Dad, you have got to show me that! I could so do that to Rob."

"Maybe I will," said Scott as he looked at the table again. "Gramma come cook?"

"No that's my cooking," Syd was almost offended.

"Looks and smells like Gramma's recipe," Scott looked at his son, grinning.

"She taught me how to cook, okay?"

"She did?" Scott was surprised. "Well lets eat, did you take a plate to your Mother?"

"Not yet, she was looking for drugs, again." Syd said, frowning.

"Take her a plate, and tell her there are no drug dealers."

"Step ahead on you with part of that," Syd said as he made his mother a plate. "After dinner, can you take me to Rob's?"

"Sure, leave me with her," Scott teased, but deep down he knew that the boy took excellent care of his mother. "Is Rhonda going to be there?" Scott asked, causing Syd to stop, half way down the hall.

"It's Donna, and God I hope so!" He said with a laugh as he stepped into his parents room, putting the table on a tray and setting it over his mom's lap, and walking out.

"I'll be glad when you get your liscence," Scott said as he took a bite of potatoes.

"Why? So I can take your van?" Syd said as he filled his own plate.

"Sure, why not. If you wanna be called Flushman all night."

"Not for long, Rob and I can use the vinyl cutters at school and make magnetic Slow Streak stickers to cover that up."

They shared a laugh over that and sat there alone, eating their food, cleaning their plates only to be filled again. Then they stood at the sink, doing the dishes, which Scott found a good opportunity to have a talk with his son.

"Syd you like Donna?"

"Yeah, Dad, I guess...why?" Syd had liked her since the Fourth Grade, and now she was filling out, and had really become a crush.

"Well you know...you ever look at her, and get this feeling like...well you know?"

"A hard on?" Syd asked.

"Syd, come on..." Scott said with exaspiration.

"Dad, I know about sex stuff, they teach us at school," Syd said, looking at his blushing Father. "They tell us Abstinence is the best way to avoid disease, they talked about condoms and the pill, did you know they have women condoms?"

"They do?" Scott asked. "That sounds sort of gross actually."

"You know how to reuse a condom, Dad?"

"Uh, no," Scott answered.

"You turn it inside out and shake the fvck out of it!" Syd said as he cracked up laughing.

Scott stared at his son a few moments before he too was laughing, and feeling better about their conversation. "Son, just don't make me a Grandfather yet."

"No worries Dad, only got to first base so far!"

Scott paled, and shook his head, "Go get your stuff together, I assume you are staying with Rob tonight. Don't want you coming home in the same gear you left in."

Sydney moved off to his room, and Scott turned off the water running in the sink.

May 11, 1997

Bronx, New York


?So, uh maybe we go out later? I can borrow dad?s van and we can go to a movie or something,? Syd practiced asking Donna out in the mirror, a long time before seeing her that night. He knew that she would be there since she?d moved in next door to Rob?s parents; she had a fascination with the band and thought they were great, especially since Tyler and Johnny joined.

Syd had to admit they?d only played a few songs together but he was also enjoying more sound than just he and Rob shared growing up. The addition of Johnny on Keyboard and Tyler on bass, really completed their sound. They all grew up with the same influences and tastes in music and had desire to write and learn their own. Things were looking up, finally.

?Sydney, dinner is on the table, wash up and come out,? Scott hollered as Syd checked his hair one last time in the mirror, and splashed on some of his dad?s aftershave before flushing the toilet and walking from the bathroom toward the small dining area. ?Have you got a hot date tonight?? Scott teased his son, smelling the cologne the boy put on.

?Uh, no, just going to Rob?s to practice more with the new guys,? Syd lied; he was hoping he could get a date, especially since he could drive now.

?Right,? said Scott as he dished out some macaroni onto the plates and his specialty hamburger patties.

After he filled two plates, the third held very little and Sydney watched his father disappear down the darkened hallway, and heard the same argument for the past two years, about how she had to eat something, and her return of not being hungry.

Scott walked back to the table, looking defeated as always, and took his seat. They ate in silence, and then washed the dishes together, Scott went for his keys, ready to drive his son across town, knowing that it was the boy?s only escape, but Syd stopped him.

?Rob?s coming to pick me up, says he has something to show me.?

?You mean he?s driving??

?Yeah, he has been for a year,? Syd said with a laugh.

?You mean he?s been wrecking for a year,? Scott said with a chuckle, ?Come on, I?ll walk downstairs with you and we can wait for him together."

Father and son exited their apartment and walked down the stairs stopping only when his father stopped to light a cigarette.

?Thought you quit,? Syd said flatly.

?I thought you agreed to not saying anything more about it.?

?I don?t want to lose you to cancer or some shit, cause I?m not taking care of her alone,? The boy said, as his temper started to rise.

?Fine, you win,? Scott said as he put out the smoke on the steps beneath his boot. ?So what does he want to show you?? he asked as they stepped out and looked around their neighborhood.

?No idea,? Syd said as he looked at the car coming down the street, it would have been like any other car if the lights weren?t going off and on suddenly and the horn wasn?t blaring. ?You have got to be kidding me,? he groaned in disbelief.

Rob was grinning at the Kane?s from behind the wheel of a 1966 Cadillac Hearse, it was still in pretty good shape despite its age, and still had the curtains in the back.

?Hauling bodies now, Robert?? Scott asked as he leaned to look inside the car.

?That?s what my dad said too, Mister Kane, and like I told him, we can haul all our gear in this to gigs when we start getting them, that is.?

?Good planning and you should get a coffin back there too, for one of you to pop out of,? Scott said laughing as he poked fun at them, and remembered his own first car. ?Listen up, you guys stay cool, but safe.?

?Better to be dead and cool, than alive and uncool,? Syd said with a laugh to his dad. ?See you around midnight, Pops.?

July 19, 1997

Manhattan, NY.

"Turn her over, Son." Gramps said, from the passenger seat of his old Challenger, then found himself grabbing for the dash as the car lurched forward, and laughed at the look on Sydney's face. "Push the clutch in, when you try to start the Old Girl." he said with a laugh.

"Grampa, I don't know that I can drive this. I'm nervous as hell, I mean you just wax her and never do much more." Syd put his hand on the pistol grip, wood grain shifter and pressed in the clutch with his left foot.

"Horse Malarky! You can drive her, if you listen to her. She tells you when to shift. All you do is let off the gas, hit the clutch, ease her into a higher gear, let out and go!" he said, trying to make it sound easy.

"You love this car more than you love Gramma!" Syd protested.

"Don't say that until we are gone, Son." the old man said with a crooked grin, then that grin went wide as the dual pipes rang out with their exhaust note. "See? She's purring now."

He stared down the long driveway of their house, that lead out into the street and thought about Blessing himself.

"Let out on the clutch, and give it some gas," he instructed, and Sydney did just that.

The tires on the back of the Challenger started smoking as he dumped the clutch and gave it too much gas, opening both four barrel carbs on that big Hemi,and they were both laughing as they made it to the street, for Syd's first driving lesson, a few days before he took the required test.

"Gramps, Rob and me..."

"Robert and I." The old man corrected.

"Rob and I, are thinking about getting our own place, what do you think?"

The older man looked over at the boy and smiled. "Is this about that girl? I told you, that you can bring her over to the house, but she won't be staying over night."

"Gramps! No!" Syd was blushing then. "I just think it's time, that way we can practice more, and I don't have to worry about my mom and dad."

His grandfather frowned then, he knew why the boy wanted his own place.

"You know, Son. I was about 16 when I went off to War. I was wanting to fight like my Pappy did. So we lied about my age and I went off. I got back cause I got shot in the hip, and I was a changed Man, or so I thought. So I got my own place, and married a school girl I knew. This was before Gramma. I learned a lot of hard times, but I also learned responsibilities."

"I just can't handle taking care of her any more," Syd said with a sigh, while wiping down the windows of the car after they washed it. "She's getting worse, and the other night at the show, instead of being proud, she was making an ass of herself. Dad wanted to stay, and she made him so mad he left with her."

"Do you and Rob have the money for a place?" He asked as he opened the trunk of the car, to wipe down the drain canals.

"His parents are helping him pay for it." Syd said. "I'm going to pick up a job or something."

"What about school?"

"I am a guitarist, Gramps. You said it yourself." Syd smiled at his idol.

"I said that a guitarist also needs an education so his crooked azz agents and lawyers don't Jew him out of his money."

Syd frowned then and went back to cleaning and rubbing water spots away from the flawless paint.

"I tell you what, you stay in school, get a part time job or something after school, as long as your grades don't suffer for it. I'll pay your part of the rent. But, I have to see your marks." That meant he wanted to see Syd's grades on the report card. "Deal?" he asked, holding out a hand for Syd to shake on.

"Really?"

"Really."

Syd grabbed the man's hand excitedly and then threw his arms around him to hug him. "Thanks, Gramps!"

"Son, remember... a man's word, shook on, is very serious. You don't welch on that kind of deal. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" Syd said as he ran off toward the house to call Rob, they were well on their way to living the dream, and like the old man said, all dreams start with a journey, and every journey started with a step at a time.

Bronx, NY.
November, 1997.

"This is the life,man," Rob said with a smile as he swallowed down the last of his beer. "Got Teddy givin' us some beers, and Christmas is coming!" Rob was excited and Syd was busily working on his homework. "Dude, Have a beer with me," Rob said, as he held one out toward Sydney.

"Rob, remember we have that big Algebra test tomorrow?" Syd asked as he took the bottle from his friend and placed it near his open book, going back to his homework, studying for the exam.

"Yeah man, that is tomorrow!" Rob was laughing then, and doing his celebratory dance in which he knocked over the open bottle into Syd's homework and book.

"Rob! What in the hell man?" Syd shouted as he jumped up with his book and papers, trying to save them from the foaming flood. "Are you fvcking retarded?" Syd shouted.

"Damn, Syd it was an accident, I'm sorry!" Rob was mopping up beer with a shirt that was hanging on the back of the chair then, and Syd's eyes flashed with anger.

"What is that?" He asked, pointing at Rob's choice of cleaning supplies.

"Some shirt that was on the back of the chair," Rob said, as he kept wiping at the spilled beer. "Why?"

"The one that was on a hanger?" Syd's voice was low, and his tone cold.

"Yeah...why?"

"Tomorrow is Friday, our gig. That is my Pink Floyd, my lucky shirt, what in the hell is the matter with you?" Syd lashed out after dropping his papers and book into the floor, punching Rob in the jaw and catching him by surprise. "You don't care about sh*t, Rob! Just the damn free beer, and this crummy damn apartment! I should beat your fat ass to death!" Syd was on top of Rob, holding him down and punching him, while Rob cried out, trying to get away.

"Damn man, I'm sorry! STOP!" Rob cried out, trying to cover his head and face.

Syd lifted his fist high and found it caught again, only to see his Father and Grandfather standing there in the apartment then.

"Sydney, what the hell is going on here?" Scott asked as he pulled his son off of his friend.

"Syd?" His Grandfather looked at him after helping Rob up from the floor and checking his bleeding nose.

"He doesn't care about the band, school, or anything!" Syd shouted, pointing at Rob. "He doesn't care that I have to keep the grades to keep this place!"

"That isn't true!" Rob said as he held his head back with a pizza restaurant napkin under his nose.

"Ask him his grades!" Syd countered.

"Dude, I just have two F's. No big deal."

"I have all A's, even in Doctor Mac's class!"

He was lunging for Rob again, only to be caught again by Scott.

"Enough!" Scott shouted. "You are going home with your Grandfather, and Rob, you clean this place up. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir." Sydney answered.

"Yes Mister Kane," Rob answered.

"No more beer, or I'm talking to that drunk neighbor, clear?"

The boys answered in unison.