CHINA
I’d only wanted to get out of the hospital to ride for a few hours, while my recently awakened brother, Wyatt, slept. For so many incredibly boring weeks, I’d been sleeping in a crap-ass recliner, eating takeout, and having contraband coffee shipped in as I waited for Wyatt to recover from his brain injury. The coma I handled, the injuries to his hand I was cool with, but the heart-stopping-need-a-defibrillator moments, those I could have done without. Three times, Wyatt, my older brother and the middle Crown, decided to let his heart stop. Three freaking times!
I dealt with it as much as I could without falling apart myself.
We’re better for it; or, at least, that’s what I tell myself. I thought it would be cool for me to clear the space. That was then, this is now. I’ve been arrested, printed, and photographed. I’ve used my only phone call to Whiskey, my oldest and recluse brother, before being slammed into a cell with a transvestite that thought I would become their new bestie. Now my reluctant, asshole brother is here, bailing my ass out. And he looks pissed.
Picking up my effects from the unruliest person I’ve ever met, Tiana—the duty officer from hell—we headed out to his waiting rental. It’s nothing special of note, but it’ll get us back to the hospital where our last living family member is locked away in his room, repairing.
Nearing the front doors of the precinct, Whiskey takes my hand, leading me out like a petulant child. “You have got to be shitting me, James! I can fucking walk on my own. I don’t need you to hold my hand.” I snap it away and step out into the heat of the California midday sun, pissed.
“Doll, you don’t get how much shit you’re in, do you? I just picked your ass up out of a holding cell, in a jail. A jail, Doll!” He gruffly grumbles his discontent. He’s trying to keep his voice low and his anger contained, because we’re not in the best place for losing your shit.
“And yes. Oh, yes, I get it, Jamieson. But I choose to ignore the fact that you had to bail my ass out—heftily, I might add—and right now, we’re standing outside a police station. But I do lay blame at your feet too, James. Do you just hit the hills without checking your gear?” Jamieson, better known as Whiskey, stops in his tracks. I hear him grunt as his shoulders tense and his jaw ticks. Shit, I’m in for a doozie of a comment with that look.
He grits his teeth and glares down at me. “Ditto, little sister. Fuckin’ ditto,” he says as he holds the door open.
Shit, he’s fucking right. I can’t blame him for not checking my bike before bringing it to the hospital. That’s my fault. I’m the fucking motorcycle racer, not him. He’s the snowboarder. I was in such a hurry to blow out of there that I didn’t check it over. I needed time to relax, to calm myself, and to center my soul. I didn’t even think to look to see if all the signals worked. Go figure. A few speeding tickets, and a blown light were what took me down, even after all the street racing.
Oh well. I can’t worry about that now.
For weeks, I’d been holed up in the hospital, hardly living, barely sleeping, and pacing like a trapped lion while I waited for Casper to wake up. I just needed a release. I wanted Casper to rise up and tell me “I’m okay, Doll” a hundred times. And every moment when I thought I’d lose him, I was falling apart inside. Now he’s awake, and I naively thought that life would get back to normal. Well, as normal as it could after everything that’s happened to us.
A little over two months ago, our dad, Jax, died in a fiery inferno on an Indy racetrack. We had a massive public funeral. We all acted for the cameras, so content to be in each other’s company, even though we would rather have scratched each other’s eyes out. Then, a few weeks later, we were supposed to be at a dinner with our mother. It was a farewell dinner and the reading of Dad’s will before Jamieson took off for Olympic practice. I knew that Cas and his girlfriend, Circe, were going to immerse themselves back into their racing schedules, and I was forced to be in attendance for the last time before moving out of the house. I was looking forward to moving out. The mausoleum I called home was a prison to me. I wouldn’t have to live under Mother’s strict rules once I turned twenty-one. That was before Cas, Circe, and our Mother were in a massive accident where the remainder of my life folded in.
Yeah, we never had a great mother-daughter relationship, but I still feel a loss at not having that content moment like Casper did with her.
The day we were all supposed to meet up, Mother and Casper were hanging at the house. Normally, it would’ve been stressful, full of conflict, and it would surely have contained moments of hateful anxiety as we boxed up more of Dad’s things. But I bugged out. I went shopping with Cathryne and Hallette in Palm Springs. Receiving the call, driving as fast as I possibly could to UCLA medical, I was too late for me and her. So it was more death for the Crown family. I fucking hate death about as much as I hate the gynecologist, broccoli, chunky heeled shoes, or people who believe in happy endings. There are no happy endings, there are for now endings.
I had to grow up fast, taking on the responsibility of something I shouldn’t have had to deal with for centuries. I had to look after Circe, and deal with her never-ending questions about Wyatt as I hid him away, as well as dealing with my own stress of more death and destruction. Even though it wasn’t mine to resolve, I accepted it reluctantly and took on what I could without losing my shit. No fairytale at all, I tell ya.
That’s not the issue at hand, though. Right now, my biggest problem is the grouchy, mammoth of a brother that walks beside me with stiff and forceful intent. Even though he got me away from my streetwalking tranny cellmate before she wanted to retell stories around a campfire while braiding each other’s hair. Well, technically, it’s his weave, and I doubt he could go near a campfire without setting his polyester outfit ablaze. I still think Jamieson’s going to hang this episode over my head for life. And even though I really think I’d almost rather stay in the cell the allotted timeframe, taking my chances with my new tranny friend, I’ll begrudgingly say thanks.
As Jamieson belts in, he sits quietly for a moment. I’m afraid to break the silence. Letting out a heavy breath, he clenches the steering wheel, tightly.
“I don’t know how to deal with this, China. I don’t have the patience for fuckin’ chick drama,” he says softly, and without malice, but I know he’s at the end of his rope. All this is totally outside his usual nasty, ‘fuck you’ attitude that he portrays to everyone. And I’m not sure how to approach him either. We’ve never truly dealt with each other.
“Look, I get it. I’m a burden, but it’s for only for a few more weeks.” I’m pouty about it, and honestly, a little annoyed that even though I’ve been taking care of everything for Wyatt, Mom, and Circe, I’m still everyone’s problem because I’m the little sister.
Whiskey needs to deal, god dammit.
“Run right back to your snowcapped hills where you can avoid me for another ten years if you wish, Whiskey. Stop fretting about me, brother. Soon enough, I’ll no longer be your problem.” I’m indignantly pissed, and I know I’m poking the already pissed bear, but I’m at the end of my rope too. For years I’ve been the pest, the distraction, and the one in the way of everyone else’s future. No more.
“I...” Whiskey pauses, calmly looking out the window. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you as much as I should, Doll. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and we’ve only had a few weeks together at best to deal with this. I’m not doing it well, am I?”
With that, a bit of my fight deflates. “No. No you’re not. And I’m sorry you had to come here, but thank you.”
“Me too, Doll. And you’re welcome.” Jamieson slams the key into the ignition, starts the car, and heads back out into traffic toward UCLA campus without a further word.
As I stare out at the uncomfortable quiet streets, I feel horrible about how I reacted. I’m acutely aware of how this day went for me, and it had to suck worse for him. He had to pick my sullen and acutely pissed off self out of a holding cell. He had to pay my bond and deal with the humiliating issue of a family member arrested, all while dealing with death and family matters that he’s never been involved in. He’s never dealt with my shit, and he’s been thrown into the deep end of the pool with the PMS great white sharks.
This sucks for all of us.
My day went from freedom, happiness, and elation for hitting the pavement, to an arrest, a friendly neighborhood transvestite, then a despondent conversation that lasted all of nine seconds before I pissed off by eldest and estranged brother.
Great day.