I heard Mommy Charles singing, “There will be blue birds over, the white cliffs of Dover, tomorrow when the world is free.” It seemed so real, I can hear every note, every lyric. I sat up, looked around, and I was in that little house in Grand Anse with the scent of the rose bushes sweeping through my bedroom. In that moment, I felt safe for the first time since January the first 1986. She was still singing, now echoing like she was in a cave. I got up, still somewhere between Huntington West Virginia and Grand Anse Grenada. I stood in the middle of the room turning slowly trying to figure where her voice came from. I walked towards the back door fully expecting to look out onto the vegetable garden, the star filled Caribbean sky, the chickens rustling around in their coup. I must find her, I need a conversation, I need to feel safe again, like that ten year old boy she protected from the bullies. I walked up to the window and looked out. There were no stars, no vegetable garden, just the bus station on 4th avenue. Her voice was fading now, a car drove by drowning out the melody, and I was annoyed, because it just destroyed any sense of safety I felt, and that ten year old boy was a man again, looking out the window in the kitchen of his apartment.