In Nico’s world, even maternal love is an ominous thing. She was not a good mother. Her attempts at mothering her son Ari included locking him in a closet – for safety or to keep him quiet, or both, who knows – while she dropped acid. For the most part, she did the best thing and left him in the care of his grandmother. After he’d come of age, Nico’s idea of bonding was to turn him on to heroin. Nico was, for whatever reasons, profoundly unsuited to performing the roles pressed upon her because of the body she’d been born into. No doubt she would have done better having been born a man, or at the very least, a woman not cursed with so much beauty. She wore her beauty like a crown of thorns. Still, she must have loved Ari, in her own way, and in her own way tried to stay close to him. And sang to him with as much warmth as she could muster.