Escape the Island of Crete
The Housing Choice Voucher Program is a type of Federal assistance provided by the United States Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) dedicated to sponsoring subsidized housing for low-income families and individuals. It is more commonly known as Section 8, in reference to the portion of the U.S. Housing and Community Development Act of 1974 under which the original subsidy program was authorized.[1] The United States Code (the compilation of current U.S. federal laws) covers this program in Title 42, Chapter 8, Section 1437f.
(Wikipedia 2010)
I stared out the window into the setting sun, wondering what it was like to be free. Three small birds sat perched outside my windowsill. Entranced by the smoke on the horizon that had slowly been filling the sky and my nostrils for the last few days. When those planes hit, the whole country went crazy, but I thought it was nothing, we have killings here everyday, what’s the difference between two towers in an hour and a whole city in years? Imprisoned by this house I no longer call a home, and a family that no longer makes my life feel fulfilled. The first one, yellow in color with two small tear drop shaped black markings on each one of its wings and the tips of the feathers being sun burnt orange. The second much more dull in color but was smaller in stature; the third was a fat blackbird that was gawking. I had no clue as to why he was screaming but it appeared as if he was just in a bad mood. The first bird did not move, at first fluttering her wings as if to display her markings. When spread they resembled a yellow mask with dark eyes and fiery eyebrows, enough to scare any animal. The blackbird jumped backward then turned his attention to the second, much smaller bird and cornered him against the sill. The first bird took this opportunity to flee the scene while the second was left defenseless. The thought of the first bird abandoning her own for freedom was ridiculous. If I were out in the world I would want someone watching my back at all times, so I opened the window with my left hand, and while lifting my right took a quick swat and smacked the blackbird directly in the side, hurling him several stories before he hit a tree below. Flailing in all directions as he beautifully glided down like an airplane stalling its way from the sky into fiery crash. Odd, only two trees in a two-mile radius and he just happens to smack a branch on one of them. At this point the second bird had drifted away without a simple thanks; I lean my head out of the window with both hands perched against the sill as if I was to receive what I just gave the bird from some unknown karma god. I saw him lying there, fluttering around on the ground, using its wings to try and lift itself up, but by the looks of my work he wasn’t going to be around for long; closing the window back up I rush to my room and go try to get dressed and leave before mom, Tracy gets home.
She usually stumbles in the door somewhere around six-thirty, just after happy hour ends down the road at Jack’s. It was a normal hang out for her after work where she always goes to ‘blow off some steam,’ as she prefers to call it. I can’t blame her because the bus ride would be stressful on me too. A couple of summers ago, she was given a job all the way outside the city limits here in Detroit. She had no choice, the unemployment office gave her a temp job working construction in Flint, some fifty miles away; so every morning she has to wake-up at 5 AM and walk 5 miles to the bus station. I went with her one time last summer immediately after I got out jail for a DUI one morning when I drove Jaiden’s moms car to a party; as we neared the bus station, I saw the saddest spectacle. Lines of people waiting for their ride to wherever the government decided to plop them. The look in of their eyes was disheartening; each one had their own distinct look of desperation. Paired colors of blue, green, brown, all having their life wind away one day at a time, each one sad in their own right, but the tears of their children, and cries of their loved ones bleed through when they meet your own.
Having no car makes for a hard way to earn a living, especially when coming home to decrepit conditions. This was typical of Section 8 housing growing up; we had to deal with peeling paint, leaking pipes, and broken stairs. Their theory was just pile us all into these boxes, and keep us from doing anything with our lives; hold us down with their money and racism so that we can never amount to anything in society. Tell us where to live, tell us where to work, and tell us what to say. Although having money was of the upmost concern, we always tried to have enough so the three of us, my mother, father, and I could get by. Poverty led to things no kid should ever have to live through, I had to make my pillows out of trash bags and grass clippings I lifted from the gardeners because mine got stolen one evening while mom was passed out on the floor and left the front door unlocked, made snow cones from the ice stuck to inside of the freezer door, and knocked the top off of fire hydrants when it got too hot out. Tracy drank her income away every evening, always mingling with the same crowd of dead-end jobs and broken misfits. Many nights she came home when I was younger with scratches and bruises on her face and arms. Tracy was a fireball and never let anyone get the best of her. One warm evening last summer, Jack called for me to come and pick her up because she was causing a ruckus, as I turned the corner to the entrance of the bar, I see mom grabbing this brunettes hair and throwing her to the ground while screaming, “Say that shit again bitch!” Sprinting over, I wrap my arms around her and restrain her while the other woman picks herself and brushes off the dirt and pebbles from her knees and palms. Mom was almost six feet and full of tenacity, staring at this five-foot-something petite white-woman I wondered why the hell she would want to go toe to toe with her.
Karl had a habit that would only lead to an eventual demise. His passion became mine soon enough, I became immersed into the drug culture that my father was in and there was no turning around from there. Always getting good grades, I was the only one among my friends, Antoine, Darnell, Curtis, and Jaiden to graduate middle school and I knew that I could be used around the neighborhood for my brain, maybe make enough money that I can lift my family up out of this shithole. Dad was smarter though, he had made it all the way to the tenth grade. He was called ‘brains’ among the complexes because of his ability to calculate numbers quickly, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps and live in a big house one day with him and mom. When I was fifteen, myself and four of my closest friends, were out one night in front of our complex when a drive-by occurred, we ducked and took cover behind a concrete slab that was once a large pipe that going to be placed in Building C for improvements to the sewage pipes, but when Miner took over the property from his parents he let this fall through, these buildings began to look like a war zone. While hiding behind the slab, we recognized the gunfire, anyone could; they were AK-47’s and a few unnoticeable handguns. I would know that sound from anywhere. The only people around here who carry those are The Disciples, who have always been at war with 23rd’s, who lived here on 23rd avenue in the projects. After the initial gunfire, it was realized that Antoine’s older brother was the target of the attack. He took a vow from there on, that no matter what the cost he would avenge his brother’s death, and as best friends we would always have each other’s back, so that evening we made a decision that would never let us live any other kind of life, we had made up our minds to give ourselves fully to the 23rd’s. We had done small tasks for them, whether it was jacking cars or being mules we did the small things, but this was different.
***5 YEARS LATER***
Sounds of gravel twisting and grinding into the pavement could be heard from the end of the block. The central park area in front the apartment complexes were ghost towns, except for those dealings the drugs. You could always spot them because they either had rubber bands or were showing off big belt buckles. The ones with rubber bands had the dope and the guys holding the cash had the big buckles so they can stuff in their shirt and if the cops come up on them, they can run and it won’t fall out. The tan buildings with brown trimming and roofing, one might think that you were traveling back to the old west, although had brought modern materials. We all look over leaning farther forward to look over one another, then through a patch of bushes, the distinct black limo we have all come to know was approaching. Each one of knew who was inside; it was Tony Miner, the man who owns each one of these buildings. You see, when he was younger, his parents bought several apartment complexes with the intention of having something to leave to the estate. Although, as time passed, and the economy shrank, so did the jobs in the city and income began to drop. Before anyone knew it, we were all in Section 8 housing and trying to find a place to live. That’s when Miner stepped in and converted his complex to S8 housing, so we got moved from houses downtown to these oversized bunk beds miles away. It works wonders for him because he gets a guaranteed paycheck from the city every month and we get the shaft. Because he has the money in his hand, he never bothers to fix up anything when a problem arises. Deshaun had his apartment flooded six inches for three weeks, that apartment over there, had no power for a month because a storm took out a transformer and the power people were too scared to enter the neighborhood. We’ve got more problems than locks have combinations.
He parked right in front of us on the curb next to the bus benches we were sitting on; it must have been a power play from him. The driver exited, and opened the rear door like a robot, then stared straight ahead as if frozen solid. One glossy, brown, alligator-skinned shoe began to exit the rear of the vehicle as a twill colored, white suit followed. His hair slicked back, ending just above the rear of his neck and a blue tie with white polka dots. Behind him dragged his cane, which had been sitting next to him his whole ride, and a white hat that found its home in his lap. An ensemble put together like this means you have money, and lots of it. The only other people I know who does this are movie stars and celebrities, and Jackson, the head of the 23rd’s, not apartment managers.
“Good mornin’ boys” stated Miner with a look of satisfaction and pleasure, he only got this smug look when stopping by here. I had seen him around town and he doesn’t give the same presentation to other individuals. “How are we doin’ on this lovely day?”
We all looked at each other and then looked back at him, as if he is going to answer the question for us, he had taken almost everything from us, why not our voices too? Slowly I look him up and down as if the two of us were going to end this right here and now. I then take my anger and turn it into the biggest smile I can muster and with a smug attitude I state, “Yesa’ masta’…conditions be real good up in here, oh ya! You trea’ us real nice, sir!”
No one ever dared lay a finger on Miner because of his connections inside the court system. Having many friends who are judges and being in the same fraternity, as the District Attorney never helps. Unfortunately, it was Mikul who found that one out the hard way when he decided to let his emotions get the best of him and gave Miner a solid one square in the face after Miner threw dollar bills at Mikul’s feet. This little stunt landed him eight years behind bars for a simple battery charge.
“Fuck you” Antoine jabs, while Miner just simply smiles and stares at the concrete pavement at his feet with his hands in his pant pockets, then removing them, placed his own hat in direct view of the daisy in the ground he had noticed. Delicately balancing and firmly pushing his hat back on his head after running his fingers through his hair, he bends down and plucks the small daisy that was beginning to break through the concrete.
“Look at that” He curiously states as he raises the dainty flower to ponder upon it, as if staring into the distant horizon. “You can’t let just anything grow around here or else it will become a problem, an infestation.”
“The only infestation is the white man holdin’ us down!” Chris growled.
“Well, you know what they always say kid, if you want sympathy, well then just look between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.” He was saying this as he walked away spinning his cane and giving an evil grin over his shoulder looking back at the four of us.
We had all wanted to take his car for a spin if the driver had been standing guard while he surveyed this hell hole that he see as a gold mine. He did this every few weeks just to make sure that this place was just well off enough that it passed the building and health codes that were put in place, although that was debatable because we were all sure that he paid off the contractors and surveyors to turn a blind eye to certain items such as felling roofs, failing staircases and broken elevators. Conditions like this were a daily routine for many, but for my family we were working for an ulterior motive than those around us. Most were stuck here just like us, but Karl and I have been stashing away a few dollars from each deal that we’ve gotten our hands on. Him and I had become one hell of a father and son team when it came to doing the drug dealings. Systems are that way to stay out of jail and eventually prison. The two of us had a specific code and way we went about our dealings, Karl entered wherever our delivery was first, usually being older meant he was not every fucked with, we have had a few tussles over the years but nothing the old bastard cant handle by himself. Old men were always looked after, and with him turning forty-two this coming winter, he will have passed the normal life span of a drug dealer by easily fifteen years. If the area appeared to be safe and there was no ambush or cops, he came back to get me, usually waiting a block away or somewhere that has multiple exits if the cops roll because I always carried. Several years of doing this eventual made my father and I the most trusted dealers in the 23rd’s. Every deal we did earned us more and more trust from Jackson and his crew. Eventually, after several small and a handful of large dealings the two of us had a loyal following of customers, who we pulled a little off of the top every time. Whenever Karl and I were given the product, we cut it with something else. Crystal Meth was our choice of drug, and it was just too easy to manipulate the market. Jackson was the most notorious carrier in the greater Detroit area because of his 90% pure product, which is unheard of. When dad and I received our baggies, we cut it with drain cleaner, laxatives, and baking soda. This made us able to double our profit while still keeping the junkies coming back for more as most crystal on the street was already between ten and fifty percent.
Doing this for several years does run its own risks of getting caught not only by the drug fiends and them running their mouths, but if Jackson and the rest of the crew found out, the two of us would not live to see tomorrow. Hung from our own apartment window, decapitated in the middle of the park or shot in the back tied up and kneeling like a hostage were all ways in which others before us had gone out and we were determined to never end that way. Sometime this seemed like a better ending than going to prison because at least if you’re dead you don’t have to deal with more gang members who knew you turned on your own kind.
Each sale we made we returned the cash like good and loyal employees and kept the extra for ourselves, we were almost making $5,000 a week. The biggest problem with all of this money though was keeping Karl in check. He too often spent his own money on strippers and more drugs. Five years of savings eventually led to a surplus of almost $45,000 in our mattress in the back bedroom. We were close, only $10,000 away from being able to get away from here and buy a house south in Tennessee. We were going to run, never look back. We were looking into buying this car, a nice 1989 Honda Civic with air conditioning. Keep us cool on the hot drive down. We could buy the car and if dad didn’t spend any money we could be out of here in a few weeks. A father son team working together for a better life was not something that was normal around here, but there is always a diamond among the all the dirt.
****NEXT MORNING****
I had gotten a knock on the door from Jaiden, he was holding a pillowcase that looked stuffed full of potatoes. “Let me in dude, I got something you might wanna’ take a look at.” I closed the door behind him and cleared the table of needles and scales so we had a clean place to talk. He plopped the sack on the table with a surprisingly loud thud that vibrated my feet on the floor. “You won’t believe what I have got for you.”
I laughed, “You got a big boobied bitch under there?”
“Better.” He turned the sack upside down and out fell seven bricks of cocaine.
“These things could catch a fair trade on the street, but it was not what I am used to, all of my loyal customers are hooked on meth, not so much coke; it doesn’t mean I cant make a sale but it might be harder to move.” I said nonchalantly, but the wheels in my head began to turn faster than a crack head running a marathon. All I saw was money and taking my family away from here where we can live in a place I always see on those bus bench ads, the kind with a front yard and a fence. Mom was at work and Karl was passed out on the couch with the needle still stuck between his toes, he won’t wake up from his drug-induced coma for a few more hours.
“If you hurry, I found a kid from Gaylord who wants it and all we have to do is drop it off at this hotel and we would have a cool $10,000 in our pockets,” I could get that last little bit for Tracy and Karl and the three of us could be gone from here forever. No more handouts, we earn our own way.
I had never done a deal before with Jaiden, I assumed a quick drop and I could be over with this life. Karl and I never told anyone because if Jackson found out our plans or let alone the actions we have been taking in the last few years, he would surely murder us before we have a chance to lay our heads down tonight.
“Come on man, let’s go. I have a car waiting downstairs for us, and we’re gone.”
****
Jaiden’s friend was the driver, I had seen him around before, hard to miss due his 350 pound stature, but never met him. We stepped into the car and ventured north to a sea a green. We had all began to discuss what we would do with the money, but no matter what Jaiden and his friend said, it just went in one ear and out the other. Fixated on daydreams of barbeques, sitting on a clean bus bench and driving a car legally for the first time. The trip was long, but was quiet because Jaiden had admitted to snorting something just before he dozed off. Now here I was stuck in the car with some dude I don’t know and my only friend passed out, not being able to help in his immediate state.
Several hours later we finally arrived to a motel that looked like it was used a whorehouse more than an actually establishment for sleeping. The man in the driver’s seat turned around and looked at me with a seemingly dull look, scary in itself as he displayed that he had no idea what he was doing here either. Jaiden was still passed out in the passenger seat. I shook his shoulder from behind him and tried to wake him. He did not respond, still passed the fuck out. Great. I then got out of the car and looked at the driver, “You want to help me wake him?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I ask as if this was unecesary to tell him at the time.
“Because he’s dead.”
“What do you mean he’s dead?” I gawk and chuckle because he was just awake not too long ago.
“He stopped breathing just outside of Flint.”
My heart sank, my friend of fifteen years, my best friend had just dies from something that is helping me. But is it really helping? I could never distinguish the difference between right and wrong in the drug game, it was probably because there never are rules in this day to day grind and you must just pick up and move on.
“Fuck.”
“I don’t know what to do, he told me to just drive here and I would get paid.”
“Yea, same, I ride and I get money too.” A thought hit me, check his pockets.
After a few seconds of searching, inside his jacket pocket I found the directions that the buyer had left for him.
Gaylord, Sea Horse Motel. Room #6. Knock three times, pause then knock twice
This new friend and I grabbed the sack out of the trunk, and reclines Jaiden’s seat so it looked like he was just sleeping as if not to draw attention to the car or the two of us. Glancing around we pan each door for the right number because each one had been painted over so only the outline of the number from the sticker on the door can be seen. We finally walk up to the door that was our destination. Knock three times, then wait, now twice. I look at the peephole as it night time now. The light from the room filled the pinhole sized outlet which soon went dark which meant that we were now being checked. The door opens and the two of us stand there holding the pillowcase.
Normally I don’t do something like this, it has been years since the last time I did a deal without my dad and had a proper guy to look after me, this bohemith does not know how I work or how to keep an eye out, with his mouth open and gooey eyes, it looked like he had brain damage. The door opens and a large muscular black man wearing a black tank top and black oversized jeans answered the door. He looked at the sack and immediately and brashly asked, “Where the fuck is Jaiden?”
I couldn’t think of anything to respond with so I said all I could think of, “He’s passed out in the car, motherfucker doesn’t know when to say no.” I chuckled slightly to ease the tension I felt.
“Come in and sit down.” Still glaring with a sense of insecurity.
We head over to the table located on the other side of the hotel room. I place the sack on the table and the gentleman removes each brick one by one. I see a black duffle bag next to his feet after he sat down across from us, and I could hear the cash register running in my head. With Jaiden gone, no one knows we have these drugs, the two of us could have more money in our hands tonight, more than I have ever had in my entire lifetime. I began to get giddy with the excitement, and failed to take notice about my surroundings. I did not check the corners, the second balcony, the parking lot across the street, watch my back. I didn’t have dad.
“I can’t sit and stay, it’s a long drive and we have to get back soon.” I said with a nervous thought but confident voice.
“Sit. The fuck. Down.” Much more sternly this time.
“Ok, calm down,” I say while the fat one sits on the bed.
“Don’t tell me to calm down motherfucker!” He barks while lifting a glock from his hip pointing it right at my face.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Easy nigga! We’re just makin’ a delivery, we don’t want no trouble, we just want our money and be on our way,” as I place my hands in view for him to show no immediate threat.
“You Mikul?” He asks while standing up.
“Yea…” confidently I spoke.
“Jaiden said he was coming with you but not Fat Albert over here” now pointing the gun at my new plump friend.
“Nah, he’s ain’t noth-“
Just then one shot rings off, and it struck Fat Albert right between the eye, he was sitting on the bed. When first hit his head jerked just slightly to the ceiling as if to give one solid nod to world as the bullet passed into his skull. A fountain of blood streamed off his forward from the where the bullet had entered as he fell backwards onto the bed now making the mattress and sheets more red in color by the second. I knew he was dead because the bullet didn’t exit out the back, so it probably rattled around.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” I screamed. Now starting to lose my composure a little because I knew dad wasn’t there for support and because I came with Jaiden his pistol was in the trunk, I figured no need for it, easy money.
“Now, tell me where the fuck Jaiden is before I put one in your head too.” Again barking with an emphasis on the word fuck, making his point much more clear.
“He’s in the car, I’m telling you!” I beg now.
“Where’s Jaiden at!?” he barks as he now shifts the gun in my direction.
“He’s in the car, man!” I now see my future may being destined like Albert’s, with a stream of tomato soup coming out of my forehead.
“Bullshit! Where the fuck is my cousin?” This time jabbing the gun forward and stepping around the table that had separated us.
“No! I SWEAR! He’s in the car he OD’d on the way up, we didn’t know until it’s too late. I’m sorry man! I’m so fuckin’ sorry!”
“Fuckin’ lies.” He now says very calmly. He then raised the gun in his hand to the side and hit me one good time on the temple. Hurt pretty damn bad, but there was only a handful of blood and I wasn’t concussed. “Don’t you move or I will blow your eyes out of the back of your head. He nestled the gun back into his waistband, folded over his shirt and stormed out the door towards the only car in the desolate lot. Stopping a mere foot from the car he went to open the door of the powder blue sedan then paused, held his hand on the handle for a brief moment then turned around ever so slowly and gingerly. First staring at where his cousin once was, his eyes lifted and met mine. I had seen that look before, dark brown, bloodshot eyes that bled of anger and hatred, just like those riders. That is when he lifted the gun from his waistband and began firing while taking long firm strides in my direction. I remember being hit the first few times, but it all got black somewhere around the third bullet.
***
It’s raining. Getting dressed in this shirt and tie is just not my thing. Geeze, I must have lost weight because I needed a belt to hold up these itchy pants Tracy makes me wear to funerals. She is ready before me, a rare occurrence because her drunk hands make for worse make-up applicators. There she stood, black pants and a black sweatshirt; her tennis shoes black just like the tears that ran down her cheeks from the mascera. As I grab my shoes I sat on the bed, facing the kitchen. Terry is already half-way through the bottle and it’s only ten in the morning, shit.
“Are you ready dear?” I drone
“Ya, but this thing’s coming with us.” As she lifts the bottle up over her head and before slamming it back down on the table.
“You know they won’t let you on the bus with that thing, come on.”
“Fuck them, fuck the whole world as a matter of fact. They’ve taken my job, my life, my fuckin’ world, and now my son, my baby boy, my world” she snaps as attempting to stand before gravity won that battle.
“Yes” I sigh, “Fuck the whole world.”
Intro Fiction/ Greg Sarris Fall ‘10
Jorge’s Diamond
Another semester was ahead of him as he entered his second year of college. A schedule full of homework, exams, and sleepless nights. Weekends full of drinking, partying and chasing after girls. Asking for digits when the words out of your mouth aren’t quite what you ask them to come across as. Stumbling into your door late at night to only be somehow guided straight to the pantry, where leftover turkey from Thanksgiving works well in Mac N’ Cheese. Mornings where that vice on your head has you contemplating that 8 AM class.
He awoke early that morning as to not oversleep the first day of his new classes. Stepping into the classroom he drudged across the floor and tried to find a back corner to hide in, hopefully another teacher might see over him, distracted by the other faces in front. John was never one to raise his hand in class and speak his mind, coming from a high school where this was frowned upon if you wished to ever socially keep your head above the treacherous waters of George Cornell. John always faired well because of his common brown hair and eye combo and slightly short build that made him easy to pass over.
Out of the corner of his eye, his attention was caught by the sight of a beautiful, young woman; a petite brunette, slender and roughly over five feet in size. Who within a second, one could sense the charismatic charm she exhibited with her smile. She was sitting at the table his eyes had locked onto the moment he entered the room. Her black headband pushed down on her slicked back shoulder-length hair displaying her round, soft, brown eyes. As he pulled the chair next to her out to sit down, the two exchanged casual teeth-less smiles. After a few moments of silence, John decides to move outside of his comfort-zone.
“Hey..do you know what class this is?” John asked in a quiet, confident voice. He knew what class it really was, but asked in hopes of striking a conversation, an icebreaker.
“Yeah, I think this is Humanities 350.” She replied.
“Thanks. I’ve got so many classes its hard to keep up.” He responded nervously.
“Ya, same here…I’m Annie by the way.” Holding her hand out across the table.
“I’m John.” Extending his in return and smiling, he shook her hand confidently, as everyone knows a handshake says a lot about a person.
“EVERYBODY SIT DOWN!” the shouts from the new professor loomed overhead as everyone sat down and class started.
When the end of the two hours rolled around, he packed up his backpack a few minutes early, in efforts that his walk back to the car would be with this new brunette who caught all of his attention. As the class exited John timed his exit just right so he could hold the door open for her and try to catch another glance, although she ducked left and he went right.
John went home that afternoon with only one thing on his mind, that girl. As he strolled in his house, he was greeted by his three roommates, all mindlessly staring at the wall-mounted glowing box. As he sat down to join them in their brain loss, Daniel leaned over from the far corner of the room looking over Dustin, and asked, “Hey man, how was class? Got any hotties? We are gonna’ throw a party this coming weekend.”
John chuckled while staring at the ground and removing his hat. Brushing his fingers through his hair he replied, “Ya, there is this one cutie, but I wouldn’t feel right just trying to hook-up with her, she’s got something different man.”
“Don’t get all fuckin’ gay on us, dude.” Taylor chimes in.
“Come on, the three of us want to throw a party on Friday, and we need to find hot chicks to fuck ASAP.” Said Daniel, in a condescending tone.
“I’ll invite her over, but I don’t want any of you guys to be dicks to her, I really like this chick.” John pleaded. “You know that I’m not like that anyways, I’m the odd duck of this group, but I am asking you one time, please if she comes to respect her and do not become extremely intoxicated and try and get in her pants.”
“Well you know me, Mikey. I’m straight.” Taylor nods as he leans back on the couch.
“I know that man. Daniel? Dustin? How about you two?” I asked in a rising intonation.
“Of course, dude! You know we will be fine!” Dustin chimed.
“Alright, I’ll invite her and see if she has any friends that want to come along.” John finished as he got up to go fix lunch in the next room.
The following class, John mustered up the nerve to something he never usually does. As the professor dismissed the students, and the herd of backpacks made their way towards the door, John leaned over the table towards Annie and asked simply, “hey, whatcha’ doing this Friday night?”
“Ummm…” She paused, her look gave John a feeling that he was about to be shut down. He knew that look before, when girls pause, looking around, and make up an excuse as to why they cant make it. John was always good at reading faces, that’s why poker became his favorite past time. Nothing is more telling than the dilation of the pupil, and the tone in the voice.
“—you know if you have other plans it’s really ok, I was just wondering if you were free, it would be cool if you came by. You know, like, no pressure or anything, we’re just having people over and—“
“Ya know, I don’t think I can. I am rushing a sorority and there is so much stuff that has to be done here with my sisters. I always have to be ready for anything the older sisters may need, a sober driver, someone to run errands. You know how it is.” She bounced back stating. Her voice was soft and endearing, like a mother trying to explain the non-existence of Santa.
“Gotcha. Ya, well if you end up with nothing to do, it would be nice if you came on over.” He said, with his heart hung over his shoulders and a deflated sense of accomplishment.
As the semester rolled on and the routines became more regular, the classes seemed closer together making conversation among one another easier and more fun as they started to share commonalities. Annie came from an Italian family, who in the summer time traveled back home to Italy for a few weeks to visit her grandmother. John too was Italian, although only half and not full blooded and therefore found Annie exotic and mysterious. The class did not give for anytime in small work groups, which for some students can lead to outside conversations of parties, and extracurricular activities. This meant each side conversation shared with Annie, John tried to get every word in as much as possible.
He really liked her, there was something about her that was different from others before. Never before had John felt something so real and a connection so deep with another individual, this was the epitomy of love at first sight. He had always scoffed at the very thought of something so absurd, ‘love at first sight.’ What was this? A term people used to describe infatuation, although the honeymoon period usually ends a few months after getting to know someone. But with Annie, each glance only made his hair stand on edge and spine tingle with each conversation they shared when the teacher wasn’t glancing in their direction.
John unfortunately was bi-polar, and he had been battling a bout of depression for over a year now with no hopes of an end in sight. He had trouble getting out of bed and heading to class, go out to parties and hang with friends. He still did it all, even with a smile on his face to make his friends happy, but he never truly was himself; at least until Annie came around. He made John forget about his sadness. Rain could turn to sunshine, the clouds could part and light his day with every moment he shared with her. His medication only did so much for him, it was Annie that was his final piece to the puzzle in his happiness.
One fall morning they both showed up ten minutes prior to class, which was an oddity for the two of them.
“How are your classes going?” John asked as they both sat idly by waiting for the teacher.
“Well…I’m not used to this whole college thing.” Annie spouted off.
“You came from a JC? I didn’t know that, where are you from?” He asked, seeing the opportunity to seize the moment.
“Yup. I’m from Arizona, Tempe. I am used to college parties anyways, growing up around Arizona State the cool thing in high school was to sneak into one.” Her eyes began to light up.
“Well, you know whatever you need or if you have any questions about teachers, classes, ya know..stuff, don’t hesitate to ask.” He nervously answered back.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” She replied before the entrance of the teacher cut them off. John soon came to relish those few minutes he could talk and just stare into her eyes, he loved to get lost in those beautiful, round, brown eyes.
The summer turned to fall and their relationship became more casual. They talked about sharing weekends together, maybe meeting up for a party or something, but it never blossomed. They conversed every Monday and Wednesday, and these two days became John’s favorite of the semester. He loved to watch to her eyes light up with stories and gossip she attained over the weekend. The way she tried to explain something complicated, only to get frazzled, shake her head and pit her face into her hands and how it made him smile. The way she walked was a bit of a bob with each step too, swinging her hips back and forth; although not in an attempt to throw her ass out there like some women. It only heighted her cuteness and made her even more attractive in his eyes.
As December rolled around, finals began to creep into the minds of the students with the days beginning with rain and the sun began to set earlier. John saw his chance getting smaller to ask her out. She had turned down chances to come to parties and hang out, John was starting to sense that maybe they just weren’t meant for each other. It is a normal thing, two people aren’t meant to be together when their lives lead different heads. Annie was the party girl, she just came to college and wanted to live the single life and have fun on the weekends. John was tired of playing around with immature co-eds who couldn’t have one drink without the company of ten more. He strived for a relationship, someone to share his feelings with and Annie was it, not a doubt in his mind.
As the final week of class commenced, John and Annie found themselves working together on a group project that would determine their final grade. Because of his ability to be awkwardly shy, Annie’s new start here, and their friendship, they found themselves working together on the presentation. After several days of meeting in the library and joining minds, their work was complete. On the day of the presentation, they prepared notecards outside the classroom and went over their lines.
“I don’t know about this, I hate getting up in front of people.” Annie nervously said.
“ Yea, but it’s ok because we just have this and then a few more days and we will be free, think about it; this, and we are done.” John assured her, although his words were to calm himself more than her. He knew this presentation was going to be a breeze. While nervous, nothing set him on edge more than being around Annie, so speaking in front of people which was his previous fear, was now was in the backseat after Annie entered that one fateful morning the first day of class.
“ You’re right. Let’s just do this thing and get it over with” shaking her head and staring at the ground. John found it cute, like when a puppy knew it did something wrong and it cowers, yet so adorable one can only help but smile at the sight.
Once class ended they headed out towards the quad. This was in the opposite direction from John’s car in the parking lot, but it was on the way back to Annie’s dormitory. John relished the few extra moments he had with her and had no issue walking across campus twice. He never worked up the nerve to ask Annie out because of his innate fear of being turned down. Too many times he has put his heart out there on the line only for it to be torn apart, cheated on, and stomped. John was weary of Annie because of her wild tendencies, although he could not get her out of his mind.
“Thanks.” Said Annie as she left class.
“No problem” replies John holding open the classroom door for her.
“Ugh! Thank God it’s all over! One final down, three more to go.” She expelled from her mouth.
“Haha I know, tell me about it, I just have one more and then my break commences. How about you, are you headed home for the break?” John asked nervously.
“Yea, my parents aren’t going to let me stay here, plus this place blows anyways. The parties are not like back home and the guys here and not what I’m used to.”
“Well, are you sure you’ve met all of the guys at the school? You sure you just havn’t met the right one, there are several thousand students here.” John said with a chuckle.
“I don’t know, maybe northern California just isn’t for me.”
“Ya, I bet Arizaona is much more up your alley, sun, sex, and tans.” He laughed, sticking his hands in his front pockets with the thumbs hanging out the front like a hook on a hanger. A long silence took hold of the conversation and with the shrug of his shoulders and a quiet exhale he turns to Annie. “Hey, umm.. I was wondering if you’re free this Saturday if you would like to go grab a bite to eat and maybe see a movie?”
The tension could have been cut with a knife while John sat back and waited idly for an answer. He knew that this was a long shot, and that he wasn’t what Annie was used to. She came from a place where the guys had muscles, tans, and wore Ed Hardy and Abercrombie like their life depended on it. Unfortunately spending fifty bucks on a shirt was not up John’s alley. Instead, he was quiet, endearing, and quite the opposite. He found it more important to like the person on the inside rather than that on the outside before making a commitment.
After a few seconds passed, Annie responded with a question of her own, never good in the eyes of a guy, “Weelll… what exactly do you mean?”
“Well, what I mean is, I would like to take you to dinner and maybe grab a drink and see a movie before?” He now said confident and jokingly, it was his way to relieve tension, through a good laugh. John had already laid his cards out on the table for her to see with wanton disregard for his own feelings; the thing that came after could only be so much worse.
“Umm.. well it is finals and there is a lot on my plate at the moment and I don’t know when I’m going to have a free moment from all of the studying.” Annie replied, but only after a few seconds of thought, giving way to her hesitation to accept the proposal.
“Of course! I do too, I was talking after school is done, maybe this weekend, before you head back home?” John asked. He was going to try one last time, reach for something, anything. By this time, he was trying to walk and talk confidently in order to not appear uneasy and filled with apprehension. Secretly he was just like a duck on a pond, at the surface all appears well, while below the water his feet are paddling a mile a minute.
“You know, I really don’t think that I’m going to have time, I have my last final Friday afternoon and then I have to pack up all of my belongings for my parents who are driving up on Wednesday. Yea, you know, I’m just really crunched for time with school winding down and all.” Her tone was soft and comforting, letting John down as easily as possible. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, he had always been so nice to her, she felt bad turning him down.
“Of course. I totally understand.” With a tone as if to not bother her any more, and step in her way.
“But hey! I’ll see you next semester!” She smiled back at him.
“Ya, I will see you in a few months.” He stated with his head sunk low as they parted ways, his emotions faded away like seaweed on the beach. Constantly swaying back and forth, undecided on place of destination. Only until one crashing wave comes down that determines the fate, up on the shore to be found, or back in the ocean with the others.
Advance Fiction / Jaffe Spring 2011
A Fighter’s Life
“Left, right, left.” Pop, pop, pop. “Right, left, right.” Pop, pop, pop. “Clinch, knee, and knee.” Pop, pop. “Good, good.” Cesar yelled as he dropped the mitts down to his side. The big, black squares that covered his hands were worn in the center. They had seen many pre-fight warm-ups, but none as important as this one. “Remember now, he is an unorthodox fighter, so he will have his right hand jabbing at you all night and will be swinging with—“
“His left hand, hard; which means he is prone to my straight right punch, I know, I know. I didn’t watch three months of tapes on his past fights for no reason.” Haile Interrupted.
Taking a few paces back across the cold, hard concrete, the young fighter’s sandals stuck to the floor. Every step he took was met with resistance as each pace peeled off of the ground, with a noise like cellophane wrappers. Sitting down on the lonely wooden bench, he bumped shoulders with another fighter. This man was set to contest his bout before Haile’s. Small in stature, the 135 pounder paled in comparison to Haile’s 6’2” height and 185 pound physique. Haile didn’t know his name, so tagged him as Spike because of the green Mohawk that laid atop his head, and found the nickname fitting since this kid had every inch of his body covered in tattoos.
Spike was wearing a sleeveless green jersey that showed his arms covered in every square inch of ink. Haile caught the portrayal of a woman, young in age with an adolescent girl, maybe 25 and 6 years old as he sat down. Their faces smiled with care and love as only a family member can. The two disintegrated just below the shoulders of the as their hair laid off of their shoulders, blowing in the wind exposing their faces which prominently displayed their fearlessness as they raised their chin to the heavens; as if they were filled with no fear.
Placing his elbows on his knees, Haile pitted his face into his hands and began breathing deep repeatedly. Cesar walked over and crouched down onto one knee in front of the young fighter.
“Are you having another attack?” Cesar inquired as he removed the mitts from his hands. Placing them down and to the side, he placed his hands on top of Haile’s forearms. Cesar tried his best to keep his voice steady, showing no hesitation, worry, or doubt. The last thing this veteran of the fight game wanted to do was scare one of his students before a bout.
Now looking up, Haile responded, “Yes.” His eyes glazed over and mouth open were reminiscent of a fish out of water, gasping for air before it succumbs to death.
“Relax kid, relax. I know this ain’t much but I’ll open the door and try to get some air in here.” Cesar stood up and made his way across the fifteen by fifteen foot room and propped open the door. It wasn’t much of a room to warm-up in, let alone for four people to be in at the same time, standing or sitting. The walls were composed of large concrete blocks covered with decades of layered paint. The ground, a light blue, harboured brown stains and lines of ants seeking their eventual destination up walls and across ceilings as the ambiance was set with the flickering fluorescent lighting. It was what he was used to. Fighting for little pay in bodunk towns at crappy venues. This time it was at the Fairgrounds in the next town over, and his family and friends promised to be there for support, this brought more stress than relief.
Just then, a thin, pimple-faced, red head teenager came into the room. Wearing a black polo, khaki’s and a McDonald’s drive-thru style communication headset as he squeaked, “Scotty Jorgenson? You’re up.” It was just then Spike stood and exited the room hastily, with his trainer following. The long-nosed ginger then turned to Haile and asked, “Haile Duffy?” There was no response. Haile’s throat locked, his tongue had just evacuated his mouth and headed south.
“Yes, he’ll be ready when you him.” Cesar responded for Haile. The kid left and Cesar made his way back across the small room and again got down to one knee. “breathe in, and now out.” Haile did so. “Big breathes.” He directed Haile to do this repeatedly several times.
Haile’s eyes then grew in size as his face lost color and he managed to choke out, “Garbage.”
Cesar stood up, and quickly made his way out of the room, immediately stopping to look in both directions with arms extended like a bird getting ready for flight, and spotted a grey plastic bin in the distance. Grabbing the knee-high trash receptacle, Cesar sped back to the room making it just in time. Rubbing Haile’s back he stated, “You need to be ready any minute to enter that cage. As soon as the fight out there is done, you’re up.”
Haile expelled his nervousness for a few moments. A ritual he and his trainer were used to at this point in his seemingly infinitesimal career. This was usually broken with the entrance by his girlfriend Samantha of ten years and two children, Jordy and Zack, two and six years old.
“Where’s Sam?” Cesar beckoned.
Spitting out the remnants of lunch, Haile responded, “She’s not coming today.”
“What?” Cesar flabbergasted.
“If I lose, she is leaving me. She’s taking the kids to her mom’s and moving out. She’s gonna’ take everything.” The moisture now left on every inch of his body and seemed to magically gather in his eyes, as if he was now working on another battle. Only, this battle was not on the mat, it was in life and he knew he had no control of his opponent like he did inside the cage.
“What happened?” Cesar said with a soft and protective gaze.
“Everything. I’m getting debt collection calls everyday and Sam is working doubles at The Olive Garden so we can stay afloat. Two weeks ago we got an eviction notice. I need this fight. I need this $5,000 so bad, man. I need this or I’ll lose it all.”
Haile’s look of utter dismay left Cesar with an apprehensive feeling inside his stomach. The dejection in the hazel eyes of the Puerto Rican professional only worsened the feeling in the room. Cesar brushed his hand through his silver hair as Haile’s heel rapidly patted the ground with jackhammer like speed as he began to hyperventilate.
Noticing another pre-fight ritual, Cesar came prepared for this one. Leaning over and opening the oversized green duffle bag in the corner of the room, he grabbed a set of plastic bags. Moving the cold compresses, bottles of Vaseline, Q-tips, liquid stitches and towels to the side, he reaches into the bottom and removed a set of plastic bags. Undoing the rubber band that held the pack together Cesar handed one to the young fighter. These worked much better than paper bags since Haile’s large lung capacity would always tear a hole in the bottom.
“Here, just breathe.” Cesar said as he returned to one knee in front of Haile. Breathing rapidly, Haile’s color soon returned to his face.
Sounds of muffled shoes down the ridden corridor pealed inside the concrete cave that the “show” dared to call a warm-up room. Cesar and Haile both froze in place and slowly turned to one another, locking stares. As they shifted glances to the door on cue, it was to their delight that it was only a janitor in a one piece grey zip-up.
Cesar turned back to Haile who was still stuck in a trance at the doorway and chuckled, “Almost gave me a heart attack there.”
After a brief pause, the young combatant asked, “How do I look?”
“Like shit, as usual.” Another lighthearted comment in attempt to break the tension, but it was to no avail.
“No, you know what I mean.” Haile said now more somber than before.
“Don’t you worry. That kid across the cage will see a fearless warrior, that’s why I’m here, right?” Cesar now placed both his palms on Haile’s shoulders.
With the comfort inside those calloused hands, Haile took another big sigh, this time in a slow and methodical manner. The tension had now shifted from those shoulders to his hands, rubbing every inch of skin, as if succumbing to Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Cesar then clasped his hands on top of Haile’s, again trying to dispel worry and fear.
“Haile Duffy. We are ready for you.” The pot marked, prepubescent had appeared in silence. “Sorry to interrupt your prayer, but you’re up.” He then placed two fingers to his headset, pivoted on his heel 90 degrees and returned the way he had come.
Cesar returned to lock stares with Haile, “Ok, let’s do this.”
Haile gave a quick nod before he got to his feet, following Cesar. Reluctantly following behind the old Brazilian, he placed his hands on top of Cesar’s shoulders as they marched down the hall together. With the elder steering for what few seconds the two had left before chaos kicked in, Haile could put his head down and quietly close his eyes and say his last prayers to himself. He was a religious man, church on Sundays, loved his family, loved his kids, and had lines from the bible tattooed on himself. But even he knew, nothing but himself could control what was on the other side of those double doors.
As they came to a stop before pushing through the point of no return, Haile took one final deep and long breath. Cesar placed both hands on the handles of the left and right doors, respectively. Taking a deep breath himself, Cesar then gave one hard push and the two broke into the cheers and applause of some four hundred people. The coliseum could easily hold upwards of three thousand, but the fact that the promoter could only fill four hundred seats was an attribute to the location and fan base of Santa Rosa, California. The stands mostly full of friends and family members, showed few fans actually attended.
The spotlight shone down on the Brazilian and Puerto Rican as they stayed in formation and began their walk down to the cage. Following the maze of railings put up that served as an entrance, the hands of eager children and fans brushed the shoulders of the fighter. Pats on the back and chants of his name could be heard from everywhere. Haile’s mind still remained on one thing though, he did not feel the fingers tugging at his shirt, he did not hear the deafening screams of the girls who get off on the thought of sex with fighters, nor did he notice the light above him. He was transfixed on his girlfriend and children. He did not want to lose the two most important things in his life.
Without noticing it, he had come to a stop. Now looking up from his bare feet, he locked his stare onto only one thing, his opponent. As Cesar stepped out of the way, Haile now turned his attention to a state official who lay to the side. The man in the oddly colored suit whispered into his ear. Haile responded with a quick nod, and then the red coated man continued with the full body pat down; a normal thing to do for safety precautions as well as to keep the fight clean and fair, sometimes fighters came in, covered head to toe in Vaseline.
Upon the completion of this routine, Haile quickly made his way up the small staircase to the chest-high ring, skipping every other step. Stopping once he got to the top, he took his one and only look around the crowd. Turning around, now facing the way he came, Haile took one bow and gave a quick wave. Trying to keep close to a routine as possible before every fight, helped ease some tension. Although, this time it was different. He looked longer than usual. He scanned every face intently, keeping his hand waving in the air for several seconds. Haile tried desperately to uncover the face of the brunette he spent so many cold nights with, and the two little ones who, no matter his mood, could bring a smile to his face.
His trance was broken when the referee from inside the ring came out and tapped Haile on the shoulder. He knew what it meant, he had seen it before in those who tried to soak the moment up. This tap was the equivalent of the music played during a lengthy speech of the Academy Awards. Haile now saddened, looked to the ground and turned back around. Ducking under opening to the cage door, he stepped onto the canvas and stopped. Looking up, took one kiss from his lips to his hand and then released it to the sky.
Haile began to jog around the ring as he stared into his opponents eyes, he must not show any form of weakness in a moment of such intensity. Circling the ring twice, he then retreated to his corner of the hexagon shaped cage. Cesar was already in place, leaning over the top with his arms holding a water bottle and towel. Haile was given a quick drink before Cesar spilled some on the floor to clean his feet.
The announcer began the introduction for both fighters, pitting their statistics and records before bringing them to the center of the ring for the face off and rule break down. Haile kept his two eyes locked onto the man who some twenty feet away, stood over six feet and hailed from Africa. Original tribal tattoos and scars rattled the upper half of the man’s body, from stomach to fingers. This normally enticed fear inside the eyes of opponents, but not the Puerto Rican. Haile did not care. Nothing could scare him as much as losing his life. Losing his children.
Haile began shaking out the stress through his extended arms, as Cesar yelled from above, “You got this! You got this!”
Slamming his fists into one another, the gloves made a hollow smack. Haile’s opponent looked like a gorilla marking its territory. This was followed by continuous leaps in the air in which he tucked his knees and slammed his feet to the canvas as he came crashing back down. The Africans black shorts fluttered off his thighs like flags in the wind, up and down, up and down. The slams reverberated through the cage, eventually reaching Haile’s feet.
The blood red shorts shivered with each slam from the other side of the ring. Haile continued to work his head from shoulder to shoulder and shake his arms loosely to his sides, while he lifted each foot, one after the other, a few inches in front of him.
“Step forward, gentlemen.” The referee motioned for the two fighters to step to the center of the cage with a flick of the fingers in each direction.
As Haile stepped forward, he kept a strict lock onto the canvas only a few feet in front of him. His eyes stared straight down as he took his walk to center stage.
“Ok boys, we went over the rules backstage. Do you have any questions?” The referee asks first glancing at the African, who shakes his head in decline. Then turns to Haile who had given a muffled ‘no’ from underneath his mouth guard. “No Questions? Good. Head back to your corners.” He clapped his hands.
Haile turned around and headed back to Cesar. He took each step slowly, but instead of staring at the ground, he took one last chance to scan the crowd for his girlfriend and children. Still they were nowhere to be found. Reaching the cage, he intertwined his fingers in the black chain link fence and wiped his feet on the puddle one last time.
“Alright kid, time to go to war.” Cesar yelled as he slammed his palm onto the Haile’s bald head, giving the fighter a good smack, before hopping off the cage and scaling back down the stairs to take his place before the bell had rung for the first round.
Continuing with the neck snapping and limb shaking, Haile turned back to face his opponent. The referee was now pointing to each man, making fast looks back and forth to each side of the cage. “Fighter are you ready?” First looking again at the gorilla in shorts. The fighter responded with a nod while rocking back and forth, tapping his right fist into his forehead while pitting himself into a position that appeared he was ready to charge like bull.
Haile surveyed the ring. The cage door had now been closed sometime in the talk with the referee. There was no turning back at this point. Continuing with the rustle of his arms and legs, he tried to relieve the anxiety now building up inside. But, instead of releasing it through nervous energy backstage, he gets to pit his troubles into the face of this stranger.
“Fighter are you ready?” Haile’s stare down with the gorilla was broken as he gave a quick nod and shake of the shoulders. The referee raised one hand into the air before coming down fast and hard in a karate-chop motion, “FIGHT!”
Advanced Fiction / Jaffe Spring 2011
Wednesday
The cold metal stuck to my palms as I rummaged the garage. Sifting through the clothing-filled, shiny black bags, with red bows strewn atop; the royal blue, crusty, foam handle stood out like a sore thumb. Grasping the shaft below the T-shaped handle, the sticker from the adolescent automobile brought a chill through my fingertips that radiated to my neck and into the back of my head. Removing the cold silent metal, the garage bags whined and cried as they clung to the small polyurethane wheels.
My hand caressed the chilled aluminum as I gave good attention to the bumps and scrapes, each gash telling its own story. Pinching the lever near the front wheel, I unfolded the scooter and telescoped the handle; a much more difficult task ten years ago when my grip was not as tight and my hands much smaller. Placing the two wheels on the ground, they settle. Settle on a partially worn rear wheel that had been clean cut from appearance.
The sun was way past mid-day and we were both dirty and sticky. My knees were already sore, and my legs and arms glutinous from the dried sweat. Mr. Hoxie had made us run the mile in P.E. that day. I hated Wednesdays specifically for this reason. It was the most ludicrous day of the week.
Straddling our scooters our scooters, Luke’s enervated breathing patterns announced after this last race, we were to head inside and retreat to play FIFA soccer. His love for soccer extended beyond the field and into the virtual reality. Days would be spent seated next to him assiduously focused on our anodyne. But today was different, too beautiful a day to waste away. The sun was setting and we were met with the perfect summer afternoon chill; the kind that came in June, just before three long months of freedom from the classroom.
As we stood at the end of his cul-de-sac, atop a hill, the yellow and black asphalt pierced my stare. Like the lines on a yellow jacket, the road curved to the right ever so gently. With a rock wall that matched our small statures situated parallel to the right side of the road, it became impossible to see around the turn for oncoming vehicles. If one did come barreling up the private road, you had only seconds to react and bail left into an open field just past Luke’s two brick pillars that greeted you into their home. Granted, it was a hard packed, steeply inclined, dirt and gravel eight-foot drop that left you with cool scrapes to brag about tomorrow at lunchtime; but was a much better alternative than a face full of plastic chrome and a needed explanation to mom and dad as to why we went against their rules.
Placing my left foot on the grip taped base, I rub my shoe into the base hard as if this motion acquired more traction. Luke mimicked. Placing both hands firmly atop the scooters handles, we hunch and squat into a hybridized version of a track runner getting ready to explode off the gate.
“On your marks, get set…” Luke paused for dramatic effect, “GO.”
With my right foot I burst forward through the chalked line on the ground. Leaning forward for aerodynamic precision, I worked feverishly to gain a lead. My foot working faster and with more effort than both combined earlier in the day on the track field. As we careen down the narrow two-lane road, I began to take the inside of the turn as we banked right. NASCAR drivers did it all the time, so there must be something about it that works. We were neck and neck as he rode my tail, inches from the rock wall, which now towered over us in our stooped postures.
Passing the second telephone pole, I knew what was just seconds away. Making one last hard push away from Luke I placed both feet onto the footpad and braced myself. Getting lower I spotted the white striped hump in my way to victory. Giving a quick glance behind, my opponent was only a few feet behind me. Trying not to divert my eyes for too long, I shoot back to the speed bump and give one good hop. Clearing the only obstacle with ease, I began to sprint towards to two large, and ferocious oak trees placed squarely on each side of the road at the end of the cul-de-sac. Focused only on one thing, I crossed that finish line. The race last only a mere ten to fifteen seconds but felt like an eternity every time.
As the road straightened and flattened to a safe stop, I leaned back on my metal brake over the rear wheel and came to a quick halt. I heard nothing behind me. The familiar sound of the gravel chattering with aluminum was not within earshot. Feverishly turning around I noticed Luke was nowhere to be seen. A saturnine feeling quickly resonated throughout my fingertips, working their way through my spine and to the back of my head. There had been no cars to throw us off the road, where could he be? Walking back up the road, each step brought more apprehension, as I did not hear any cries or screams like I had anticipated. The wall blinding my view from only a few feet away did a good job of making sure I couldn’t see more than a few feet. Tracking back to the open field parallel with the speed bump, I did not spot him.
My father told me his death stemmed from blunt force trauma. He was in a coma for a few days, eventually succumbing to the swelling and internal bleeding around his brain. The nation passed a law a few months later that all children must wear helmets when riding scooters. Luke’s family removed those pillars, and scrubbed away the polyurethane line that led straight to the cracked, red bricked colonnade. I asked his family if I could keep his scooter, to remember him in which they gladly obliged.
Standing there, my eyes began to well. Holding back my tears because I did not want my son to see me like this, I place the Razor scooter back down on the black bags. As the door leading to the kitchen behind me opened, he stood there with his Mickey Mouse disposable camera in hand. A big smile across his face, and his favorite coloring book in the other. His silhouette outlined from the dining room chandelier atop the stairs. His blonde hair shined like golden wheat atop his head as he rushed to the car.
“Come on dad. Let’s get going,” he exuberantly expressed, “I brought my camera to take pictures and my Jurassic Park coloring book to share with him when he gets here” Raising both hands to the sky.
I smile as only a father can. “Come on sport, get in.”
Exuberantly jogging over, arms flailing with the weight from the items in hand. As I swung open the passenger side door, Jack jumped in successfully on the second attempt as he refused to lose the camera and coloring book on the first attempt.
Paying the garage attendant, I found a spot on the fourth level. Jack and I made our way across the cold, concrete structure, and down the stairs and across the street to the hospital. Entering the dual sliding doors, Wanda gave us a friendly wave from behind the information desk in which Jack and I politely smiled and returned. Continuing down the maze of hallways to the elevator, we enter and ride to the fourth floor, a regular stop for the two us recently.
Room 4212 became our home that Tuesday night. The following morning we were greeted with a beautiful, healthy, boy; born at 7:02 AM. Smiling at our miracle, Julie asked, “What shall we call him?” After a momentary pause, she responded to her own question. “How about Percival?”
I snickered. My vision began to blur as tears streamed down my large, round cheeks. “No. Luke.”
Looking at each other, we needed not say a word. Her smiling eyes said it all. Shifting her gaze, she met Luke’s, “Hello, Luke.”
