BLUE

Blue is the color of a broken heart.
Thats what Timmy used to say.
Timmy was just nineteen, when I first met him .
His real name was Tom, but he preferred to be called Timmy.
That sounded much more international, cause that was the way he wanted it to be. You see, he was looking foreword to an international carrier as a songwriter. At least, thats what he planned. At least, thats what he would have liked to be. He would have, really.
Timmy was a kid from a better family, that did some business in old metals and things like that. He always had all the things he needed in life, was never neglected or so, and had all the opportunities one could wish in life, at the age of nineteen. Really, when I got to know him well, I didn't understand why he was feeling that depressed and unhappy. Yes, Timmy was not to happy with his life. And I soon knew why. Timmy had a nice couple of parents. But they were busy. And, as all busy parents, from the higher social classes, his parents were …. well, very busy hard working and getting money. Money that would have given they kids a good education. That was very important to them, to make sure, they kids never had anything in short. One sees that often, in my humble opinion. Parents see that financially, kids have anything they need and wish for. This way, they truly believe, the kids will be fine, and have nothing to complain about. They seem to often, to forget, kids need more than an expensive house to live in, and some appropriate toys to keep them happy. Kids need a home to. Well, at least some do. Unfortunately, its just that what the parents of Timmy and his sis, seemed to forget. And kept on forgetting. A crying shame you say ? Yes, you are right there. And that made Timmy sad, even as a kid. So sad, he got sick from it. So as good parents, they got to the doctor with they son. Who send him to psychologist. Who put him in the hands of a psychiatrist, who immediately put him in his clinic for over three months.
Guess you can say, his parents, were the first ones to break Timmy's heart.
Blue is the color of a broken heart.

When Timmy came out of the hospital he was more clever than before.
Yes he was. Not that he learned that much more on his behavior, but he had learned one very important lesson in life. He learned about the effect of drugs and medication. And he learned his lesson well. That is, if I may say so, probably a bit to well.
I first met Timmy in the park. Told you that, no ? Doing a walk with my dog. He was laying on a bench in the park, sleeping or something like that. I didn't give him much attention, after all, he seemed to be dressed like an old beggar, with a torn down light brown raincoat, who seemed just a couple half-measures too large for him. It looked like he got his clothes from a second hand shop or so. Even my dog didn't pay much attention to him, he was more interested in the tree next to the bench, but, hey, my dog follows his nose after all. So we passed by him, without paying much attention, you know, another drunk in the park. After all, who cares ? We did quiet a walk in the park, and, as we returned home, we once again, went by the bench where this strange individual was laying down. Now Bo did pay some attention to him. He sniffed a bit at his long and neglected hair, that was falling all over his face, and then look at me, with a question mark on his doggy face.
Weirdo, Bo said to me.
You think so ?, was my answer to Bo.
And this made me curious.
I sat down next to this person, on the same bench, and said a couple of words to greet him.
There was no answer.
I shook him a bit by the shoulder, and yes, this person awoke. It was the first time I saw his face. He was much younger than I was, guess I should have been able to be his dad. He had long hair, that needed a good brush, and the rest of him clearly needed a hot bath and some strong soap. Slowly, he got up. And he looked around him, in a strange absent way. It was as if he was looking but not seeing. And he looked right through me.
See, said Bo, weirdo indeed !
Guess Bo can smell a guy temperament miles away.
I am a songwriter, the guy spoke to me.
Really ?, answered I a bit surprised.
Yes, answered my new friend, slowly, and he pointed to the sky.
So I cant help it, we started our first conversation. First of many to come.
And this is the way I met this particularly and kinda strange young guy, called Timmy.
Getting sober, on a bench, in the park, the park where I walked my dog regularly.
Blue is the color of a broken heart.

I learned to know Timmy much better in the time to come after our first meeting.
As he lived alone in a shaggy flat, I invited him more than once to come to me and have a descent meat. And sometimes for a hot shower. Bo never liked him to much, but than again, Bo was a easy going dog. He never gave me much trouble. And that being something, I was not able to say of Timmy. He got in trouble, often. Very often. Not to say, to often. Sometimes with the bartender, sometimes, with his mom, sometimes with the owner of the shop he got his livings from, and too often to, Timmy got lady troubles. As I got to know him a bit better, it all started out, when he wasn't even eighteen. As it was a common thing in those times, Timmy wanted to go and live by his own. There were many and heavy discussions about it with his parents. But at least, they gave him his way, and they bought him a reasonable flat, in a better side of the town. He got the flat for free, you can say, but he got the responsibility to decorate and furnish it himself. And for that, he needed some additional money. And, since he didn't wanna go to school any more, he had to get that money by working. And, although Timmy had the habit to see his parents working hard, I am afraid to say, they didn't teach him that. As he never liked to go to school, as he said, he never learned a profession either. But of course, he didn't need that. He was going to be a famous international song writer, remember ? Needless to say, Timmy didn't get to much of painting on his walls, and almost no furniture at all. And as he started to live on his own, Timmy's life changed dramatically. His dad, being weak of heart and tender to his son, wanted to give him a monthly fee, just to help him started. But his mom disagreed on that. Timmy had enough. If he wanted to live on himself, well he should learn to take care of himself to. And get a job. Need I to say, his mom was very authoritarian person ? And since in most modern marriages, ladies are the boss, his mom got her way. And dad didn't pay him a penny any more. At least not, when mom was near. Every now and then he slid him some money, when his wife didn't see it, but that was far from enough to pay Timmy his living. On top of this, I told you that Timmy learned the importance of drugs and medicine, Timmy needed to pay his doctor and his medication. And, as you can guess, he couldn't any more after a while. He went to his parents home to beg for money, as he told me. But as he came there, very often, dad was not even home. And his mom , being hard as a rock, never gave him any. If she had been able to grow up this way, surely so could her son. But no, her son was as weak as her husband. It was extremely clear to her, where her son got his weak personality from. Definitively not from her. Her son was just her curse, and nothing else ! And he should not forget, she had a daughter to; who soon would get married. To a very nice young man, studying in his last year, to become a doctor !!! That was something so different than Timmy ! That was nice family ! He should see a example in this !
So, no, Timmy never got money out of her. Only her shame.
Guess you can say, his mom broke Timmy's heart to, even more than once.
Blue is the color of a broken heart.

So, I learned to know Timmy, when he was living on himself for quiet a while, as he said himself. He didn't make much out of his flat. Didn't see why he should. He always saw himself as a vagabond, a country cursor or a vagrant. He liked this old fashion and too romantic view of life. His flat was a place to sleep. And to be dry when the rain comes. And for sex of course. Yes. Timmy had a girlfriend. Once. It didn't last for long. He told me this once, when he as eating his steak at my pace. She even couldn't bake an egg, he said. But she was a beauty. Me, myself, I only saw her at his funeral. A short, superficial ceremony. She wanted to sit, right next to Timmy's mom, but she chased her away. Just as her son, I reflected at that moment. She wasn't even dressed in black. Well, I do agree, dressing in black isn't much popular on weddings any more , nowadays. But come on, a combination of yellow and red, nylons and stiletto's ? Okay, Timmy would have appreciated the view. And so did I. But you see, as I said, Timmy was not happy with Diana very long. As all nice looking ladies, she wanted things. To keep on being good looking. And to live in style. Her style, that was. Not Timmy's style. Besides, Timmy never had the money for style. He spend to much money on his “occasional” dope, as he called it himself. When I first got to know him, he was just starting with needles. He could keep on talking and admiring the effect of a shot forever. It made him feel like.... well, very high. All those colors he saw then. All those beautiful feelings that arose. All those nice words and sounds that were finding they way to his head. All those warm feelings. Those warm feelings for Diana just grew and grew. Probably as fast as his dick. But hey, what straight guy could blame him ? I surely wasn't. After all she looked like a regular movie star. And the least you could say, was, that she had the temper and the allures of one to. Actually, but mind you, I could be wrong here, it was my thought she stayed a while with Timmy, because of his father. She knew, that secretly, it was he who financed Timmy's life. And that he did, indeed, have money. And a flourishing business. So I just suppose, that by Timmy, she tried to get into dads wallet. Something, that didn't work. Timmy never told me a lot of this, but sometimes, one can understand a lot, just by listening to what someone is not saying. And I consider myself a good listener. So, this story would have got an happy ending, if dad would have been staying alive. But he didn't. A sudden haert attack. His first. And final one. No warnings. Just nothing. Dad passed away. To soon.
So Timmy lost his father, and just a week later, he lost Diana.
Blue is the color of a broken heart.

In a bar, at the bad site of town, Timmy was working, keeping the floor clean. And doing stuff like that. He did find a job after all. Okay, it wasn't the job of his dreams, but hey, one always must start at the bottom. Don t you think so too ? Anyway, he didn't like it. Didn't he tell me he once would be a worldwide know songwriter ? Well, it was in that period, Timmy actual did write some lyrics. He kept a small and neglected writing book, inside of his jacket. And he noted all his ideas in it. He had many in that time. Many I did love. Many I didn't feel much about it. You know, when the boos is in the man, his spirit is in the bottle. Well, thats just a saying we have, over here. But sometimes, luck is just after the corner. Sometimes it is indeed. Timmy met an impresario. Yes he did ! This impresario had several know singers and artists on his curriculum vitae. And he was getting quiet wealthy, thanks to those. They came to a kinda agreement, Timmy and he. So the impresario took a copy of Timmy's schoolbook full of poems and lyrics. And then he just disappeared. Never to been, seen again. And I almost forgot about it. But not so Timmy. Cleaning floors and dirt in this bar. Whipping off puke and urine. Timmy wasn't afraid to work, so it seemed. Doing those dirty jobs. And others. His mind stayed with his lyrics, though. And he didn't forget all of it, no. It was just the way he was to me, his only old friend. We became very close in that time, Timmy and I. Even Timmy and Bo. They even started to like each other. And one day, I hear this song on the radio. New song, new performer. That evening, Timmy stood at my front door. He clearly shot his last money up his arm. As he told me, he went to his mom. Crying his eyes out. That his song was stolen. And he had no way to prove it. And he was missing a lot of money this way. And he needed to pay some bills. And Diana has left him. It was all getting just to much for him. As you can understand, his mom kicked him out. Again.
I took him to the clinic that night. He was so far away, and so feeling down, I thought that the worst thing in life would happen to him. When the medics hurried to him, he told them his heart was broken. They looked at me, they just didn't understand. As I was sitting down in the waiting chamber, I did hear his song on the radio. And at that moment, I did understand what he was saying to the doctors. It was the song. And it became a hit, with a striking title.
Blue is the color of a broken heart.

So Timmy was feeling more depressed every day. It looked, as if all his life, he was feeling sad and blue. The needles didn't help him much, and most of the times, he had no money to get to one after all. I had to get away that week, to Germany. I had a congress for my work, and I couldn't postpone that. Me to, I have to make a living.
One of those days, he got up feeling extreme terrible, I guess. He didn't know what to do, where to go to, or who to talk to. And he didn't see any solution for his problems and his own attitudes. So he went out, and walked to the outside of town. As he did so many times before, he walked and waggled on the small country road next to the train highway. Except, this time, he didn't take the dirty road itself. One could say, Timmy took the 16:08, the express to Gent, at the age of twenty four. Later the train-conductor declared, that in his impression, Timmy did see him coming. And he did hear the train whistle. Twice. It seems he was even looking the conductor right in the eyes. It gave this guy a extreme horrifying feeling, as he told the press. And it seems as Timmy was saying words, or shouting at him. But of course, the man didn't hear.
Since I was away on a field trip when it happened, I came back the other day. A few days later, I forced myself to go and watch how they put Timmy in his last resting place, an very cheap coffin. They had to put him in it, in four different pieces. His head was totally wrapped into towels, and I even couldn't see his face. I think it was the cheapest coffin his mom could find. And she wasn't present then and there. Since her daughter was at the point of getting married, I think it was all she was ready to pay for her son. He was berried in a corner of our local cemetery, known as the cheap corner. People over here call it that way, because when it rains very heavy, water from a little close creek, floated this side. Timmy's mom didn't pay to much for the stone of his grave to. The cheapest one was just good enough for him. So I asked her, for the permission, to let engrave a small text on his tombstone. I was ready to pay for those myself. As my last tribute to a good friend. She agreed, with not a single tear.
I am reading those eight words right now.
Blue is the color of a broken heart.