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I’m Sexy And I Tow It Shirt, hoodie, tank top

O’Connor on stage, 1990

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“Did you yell back?” I asked. “Or say things back?”

“No. No way. Absolutely not. No,” said Sinéad.

“What would you do?”

“Kneel on the floor and let her kick the shit out of me. If you’d put your arm up to protect yourself you were accused of trying to hit her back. So you didn’t. You just knelt on the floor and had it done to you and then it was over, until the next time.”

“Did your father try to help you?” I asked her.

“He did his best,” she said. “He genuinely did his best. I could never say that he didn’t do his best.”

Finally, the father did obtain custody. Sinéad, viewed as mental by others and herself, was perpetually in trouble. Caught stealing one too many times, she was sent to the Rehabilitation Center for Girls with Behavioral Problems. She continued a relationship with her mother, who was eventually briefly institutionalized and finally became addicted to Valium and Mogadon. Sinéad believes it was her mother’s addiction to the tranquilizers that ultimately led to her incontinence and caused her hair to fall out.

The beatings continued.

“When did it stop?” I asked. “Did it ever stop?”

“She died. It stopped when she died,” said Sinéad. “And, it’s a terrible thing to say, but if she hadn’t died I don’t know what would have happened to us. I thank God that she died, for her sake and mine and everyone else’s. She died in a car crash when she was about forty-five, about five years ago.”

For some reason, I remember exactly how Sinéad looked as we talked. We were in Los Angeles by then, where I had followed her shortly after her appearance on Saturday Night Live. We sat on a single bed, downstairs in her rented house in the Hollywood Hills. She sat, cross-legged, at the end of the bed, sometimes leaning against the wall, other times leaning forward tensely, or, now and then, tilting with zany grace to one side or the other. She wore a big, swirly purple T-shirt, extra large, with a smiley face on it, and black bicycle shorts. She held a green apple in one hand. A nearly full moon was rising; the room grew darker. Now I could see her and also her silhouette: She was perfectly framed between the bed and a large poster. She waved the apple as she talked.



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