Tired

At least, it feels like I haven’t had one in years. It doesn’t help that the ER was a madhouse tonight. It was one of the worst Halloweens ever. It astonishes me how much people don’t think.

“Just keep your eyes open,” I murmur to myself.

I haven’t made it out of the city yet. I dropped one of the nurses off in the projects up here. She’s a sweet older lady. I hate knowing she has such a long commute after the hours she works. Driving her cuts her time by more than half.

It’s not that far out of my way. Although, I have a much longer way to go. Lord, how am I going to make it all the way to Long Island? It’s nights like this that I question my own sanity.

I could’ve gotten an apartment in Brooklyn or Queens. Heck, I’m to the point where I can afford a place in Manhattan. Yet, I love my small hometown. My family is so important to me.

It’s never been a serious thought to leave them behind. Two more weeks. In two weeks, I’ll be taking a leave. My mentor, Dr. Tucker, wants me to spend some time around her practice.

Correction, she wants me to take over her Long Island practice. I’m thirty, I’m single, I should be jumping all over this opportunity, but I’m just not sure. This leave is going to allow me to make some important decisions in my life.

While I’ve been building a career, all of my friends have been out living their lives, having fun, and getting married. I’ve had one serious relationship in the last ten years. Outside of that, my love life has been nonexistent.

“Shit,” I mutter as my lids droop and I veer to the right.

I can’t stop here. Not to take a nap. This is not a neighborhood you sleep on. I chose to work in Harlem. It was among my first picks for my residency. I thought I’d be making a difference having my brown face in a white coat.

Nights like this, I question whether I’ve made a difference at all. My surgical residency has been stellar. Yet, I’m not recognized for the work I’ve done. Others that are not black or female do half the work I do and have been promoted or given opportunities I’ve been overlooked for.

Another reason Dr. Tucker thinks it’s time for me to make some changes. Being a trauma surgeon just doesn’t speak to my heart the way it used to. Coming to the end of my residency has proven such.

Tonight was just one of the nails in the coffin. I’m a trauma surgeon. Yet, I was asked to man the ER this evening. Not that I mind stepping in to help wherever I can.

The problem is there were other doctors that could have and should have been assigned the ER before me. I’m one of the most skilled surgeons.

I don’t think it would have bothered me so much if I didn’t have to watch others get preferential treatment. I’ve held my tongue for the most part, but I’m just tired of it. It’s why I didn’t stick around to rest a bit before taking off.

“Crap,” I murmur, rolling down the windows.

Just thinking about it all makes me tired. My body aches for my bed. I plan to sleep for a day and a half at least. I’m going to lose it if they decide to call me in.

Two weeks. Just two more weeks, Allison.

My car starts to swerve again. I can’t do this. This is as bad as driving drunk. I need to pull over.

Just for ten minutes.

I should be able to make the drive if I rest my eyes for a few minutes. I pull over under an overpass. Still not the safest or best place, but I don’t think I’m going to make it any further.

I barely shift the car into park properly. My lids start to droop as I roll the windows back up and push my head back against the rest. I recline the seat to get a little more comfortable, fading out before I can have another thought.

I can see my breath in front of me as the words float out. It would be a cold night. Just my luck. I tighten my thin jacket around me.

Five years, five fucking years. I lost five years of my life for a piece of shit. My step-brother from my mother’s second marriage is a scumbag.

I lost everything trying to be loyal. Loyal to what? I don’t even know anymore. What I do know is, thirty-one was too damn old to be going to jail for my fucked up little step-brother.

“Of all the stupid shit I’ve ever done,” I mutter to myself.

This is how that piece of shit repays me. Ruined my business, allowed my home to be foreclosed on, and ran off with the money I had stashed away. I’m homeless. A real-life vagabond.

I’ve been going from shelter to shelter for over a month now. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you how long it’s been. Tonight, I didn’t even get in. I’ve been looking for work, but my record isn’t helping that effort move in the right direction.

Now, as I look back on things, I should have thought about what I was doing for Carter. The kid needed to learn a lesson. Some hard time probably would have been in his best interest.

However, I thought being that I didn’t have any priors and I was a good standing member of my community, I would get off with a slap on the wrist. I would have if I was only being charged for the assault. I had no idea Carter had a gun and drugs stashed in my car.

I let him run off to cover his ass and I was left holding a fucked up bag. I will regret that day for the rest of my life. My barbershops are gone. I can’t reinstate my license because of the nature of my convictions.

My shitty lawyer should have gotten me off, but the prosecutor had a hard-on for me and my lawyer didn’t seem to care. My tattoos and piercings made me guilty, nothing else. I never should’ve taken my ass to the city that night.

Out on the Island, everyone knows everyone. There was no way I was getting locked up for anything in my hometown. Even if it were a county over, someone would have vouched for me.

My mom’s third husband did so much for me. I owed Henry so much. He kept my nose clean and made me want to be something—someone.

Which is why there’s no reason for me to be sitting here under this trestle, starving and freezing my ass off. Losing my mom and step-father was hard on me. It’s the reason I got caught up with Carter. I wasn’t thinking straight because I was still grieving.

That shit still hurts. I feel my eyes burn with tears I’ll never shed. How does life just fall apart like this? I feel like I just keep getting shitted on over and over again.

Laughter and jeers pull me from my thoughts. Only trouble would be out here on these streets this time of night. I see the group of young punks wasting their lives away.

They’re looking to steal a car. I know the MO. The Mercedes from earlier catches my attention again. I don’t know why it keeps drawing me in. Maybe because it sticks out under here like a sore thumb.

My eyes narrow as I see something or should I say someone shifting inside. My hackles rise. The group of guys is nearing the car. If jail taught me nothing else, it taught me to keep my head down and mind my own business.

I plan to do just that. That is until I see the female that sits up inside the vehicle. By now, the car is surrounded. Their laughter increases with their excitement of an easy find.

A woman in an expensive car with the keys. They’ve hit a payday. Again, I tell myself to mind my business.

Yet, I’m on my feet. The cold weather is forgotten as an eerie chill runs through my bones. I’m not about to watch this woman get carjacked by five guys.

“Open the door, bitch.” One of the guys demands.

“Don’t make us break the windows.” One of the other two now standing in front of the car threatens.

“She’s fine as fuck too.” The guy at the rear of the car says.

“Back off,” I bark as I get closer.

All heads turn toward me. At six three, I tower over most of them. However, I’m two hundred lean since living on the streets. Maybe less. I’m probably not as intimidating as I think I am in my head.

“White boy, you better go about your dirty ass way. You don’t want this smoke, son. Mind your fucking business,” the one on the driver’s side hollers back.

“Word.” One of the others cosigns.

“Listen, it’s cold out. Leave the lady alone and find something else to do. You don’t have little brothers and sisters at home with candy you should be sorting for them?” I respond.

“Will you listen to this motherfucker?” The one with the most mouth says.

He pulls a gun and I feel the situation shift. He aims the gun at my chest with a smile on his lips. Little does he know, I don’t have a thing left to live for.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” One of the others croons.

“You sure you want to do that? I’m just coming off a five-year bid. That’s not a life you want,” I say calmly.

“So what? You think you’re hard or something because you did some time? I’m going to tell you one more time, go mind your business.” He says cocking the gun.

“Oh my God, please stop,” a female voice calls out. “I’ve called the police. Just go.”

I shift my gaze to see she has lowered the lightly tinted window enough to be heard, but she’s still inside. Good. I need her to stay right where she is.

“The cops ain’t coming out here,” he snorts. “You might as well get out of the car, ma. You and your dirty boyfriend can wait to see how long it takes for them to show up.”

His friends laugh around the car. It’s in that split second that he turns his head to show off that I make a decision. Knocking the gun from his hands, I toss my palm into his throat.

In my mind, once I have the guys’ attention on jumping me, the woman in the car will be able to drive away. What happens is something totally different. When the other four round the car to jump me, I don’t go down without a fight.

Adrenaline and the alcohol that’s been warming my blood courses through my veins. I’ve needed an outlet for this anger for an entire month. Since the day I was released from jail and found out Carter left my ass without a life.

I’ve been good with my hands for a long time. My mom took me to box to get out some of my earlier aggression as a preteen going into my teens. I had a hard time as she moved through her first two marriages.

I can say the golden gloves saved my life back then. It’s not doing a bad job now. That is until the loud bang that rings out and the searing pain that pierces my side.

I’m knocked to the ground by the force of the blow. My left-hand goes to my side. I pull my fingers away to find them soaked in my blood.

“Oh, shit! You shot him, son. I’m out.” One of the guys calls out nervously.

“What about the car?” Another asks.

“Fuck the car. I’m not going down for a body, B. I’m out,” the first replies.

I hear their footfalls as they run away. I haven’t taken my eyes off of my bleeding hand. This is how my life ends? Two dollars in my pocket. No place to call home, dirty, and in the middle of the street.

All because I’m always saving someone. My one hope… I hope this woman deserves my life, unlike my undeserving step-brother.