Two years ago, my daughter was admitted to the psych ward, where she stayed a couple of weeks before she was well enough to transfer to an inpatient facility. Sometime in the first couple of days, she was taken to the Sun Room, and she drew, with chalk, what you see below, and gave it to me. She has no memory of doing so, or of those lost days.
Though she’s always been a Beatle lover, she’s never mentioned this album or song. The word balloon from the submarine may have been an afterthought – it’s the only thing in pencil. McCartney has always said it was a light-hearted song (hence Ringo singing), not remotely about drugs, and that yellow is a happy color – it’s a psychedelic ode to silliness.
I’ve wondered and wondered about her subconscious (then and now), and what’s up with the walrus warning. God knows her music collection is over ripe with vein opening, angst ridden, write-love-on-her-arms images. Why this silly, innocent picture?
I love this kid more than my life.
(15 minutes later) Cue the time-space continuum. As I typed those words, my phone rang and I answered it without looking. I have not been answering “restricted” calls for many weeks…as she was in and out of emergency rooms, and then back in detox, and there’s not a damn thing I could do except decide not to listen to her vitriolic rage and hate filled diatribes. And you guessed it, it was her, except what we call the “old” her was speaking to me in that articulate, fluid, lyrical voice I’ve missed. How fucking ironic is this…do I buy a ticket to ride, again?