Revelations
Throughout life, we experience many revelations. The first one most of us remember is when we realize our parents are human. When we love for the first time, we face the awful revelation a human heart can in fact break. Over time, our friends reveal themselves to be nothing more than acquaintances. But there are also happy revelations. When you realize you are stronger than you thought, or becoming a parent and realizing you will never love harder. Then there are surprise revelations, and good or bad, those are the ones that change us.
BREEZE
I WAS FINALLY eighteen. Not that my age made me an adult. When my mother left, I was forced to grow up. The number merely made it official. I hesitated to go down the stairs to the party Shame threw for me. I had fears about what the day meant for me, and for Shame. I was free and so was he and that terrified me. Since Tex died, Shame was different, although, that day changed me as well.
It was the moment I understood Shame was not invincible. He did have weaknesses and his fortress could be breached. I also understood life with him would always consist of danger and death, and as twisted as it was, that revelation did nothing to change how I felt about him. I tried. I tried crazy hard to pretend the club wasn’t the life I wanted. The truth was, I wanted any life with Shame in it.
I wondered if Shame would throw me out. Now that my dad’s debt was settled, I had no reason to be there. Before the drive by, I thought we were making progress, but like always, a surprise sent us a few steps backward. This time, I wasn’t certain we would ever move forward.
The clubhouse was awfully quiet for a party. The man at the bottom of the stairs had me staring with an open mouth. My dad smiled at me. We had not spoken since he was hauled away by Tank. I felt uneasy as I descended the final stair. I glanced around, my heart beating furiously, as I only saw a few of the guys. There was no party. Shame definitely planned on cutting me out. It hurt.
“You look beautiful, princess.”
He wasn’t drunk, which I supposed was a good thing if he was there to take me home. Actually, he looked well, as if he’d been sober for a while.
“Does Shame know you’re here?” I asked.
He nodded. “Can we talk?”
I couldn’t deny the man I had been praying for a chance to speak with me, especially when he looked so hopeful.
“Sure.” I had him follow me to a back room. He closed the door and reached his arms out to hug me. “Don’t,” I warned, unwilling to accept his affections. He couldn’t make up for things with a quick hug or empty promises.
“I’ve been sober since I left his house the last time.”
“And that makes everything okay?” I knew I sounded indignant, but it was going to take more than words this time. He had to prove himself and I didn’t exactly know how he could.
“No, it doesn’t.” He frowned. “I was a terrible father.”
“You’re an alcoholic!” I screamed.
“You’re right and I couldn’t see past my next bottle, but the things you said to me. They changed me.”
“What do you want?” I tapped my foot.
“I owe Shame some money. I’m going to be working around here for a while until you leave for college.”
He was unbelievable. I honestly couldn’t believe the gall he had to come there. “So you gave up the bottle but racked up another gambling debt. What’s wrong with you?”
“No. I’m not gambling,” he insisted, shaking his head. “Not that Shame would’ve covered me anyway. He paid for a treatment center.”
My jaw dropped. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. “He did?”
“It was expensive and Shame said I don’t owe him anything because he did it for you. But I want to repay him.”
“You should. He didn’t have to do that.”
“And I want to pay for your college.”
I felt a twinge of pride; only my dad could work for Shame until his last breath and never be able to afford Dartmouth.
“No. I have scholarships and grants and loans. Like I told Shame, I’m doing this on my own.”
“I’m proud of you.” He smiled.
The door creaked. “You two okay?” Shame asked, popping his head in the room.
“Yeah,” I said quietly.
“I want you to come home, princess. You’re free now.” He turned his head to Shame. “Right?”
“Yeah. She’s free to go.”
I absorbed the sting of Shame’s words. They hurt. My chest felt like it was weighted down with a cement block.
How could he be so nonchalant?
After everything we had been through . . . I was still something disposable, something he could return when he was finished.
“Come home with me,” my dad pleaded.
I stared at the door, at Shame. “Do you want me to go?”
He hung his head but didn’t answer.
“Can I have a moment with Shame alone, please?” I asked my dad.
“Sure, princess.”
Shame closed the door after my father left.
“You want me to leave?” I asked, or more like grilled Shame.
“I want you to be free of me.”
“I don’t want to be free of you.”
“We’ve been over this, Dimples. I’m not the guy for you.”
“I’m not asking you to be my guy.” My voice cracked as my throat tightened. “I’m asking you to give a fuck about me. My dad is practically a stranger.”
“He’s your dad and he loves you.”
He wore the same flat expression I’d been forced to look at since Tex’s funeral. It made him impossible to read. Only this time the fact Shame couldn’t look at me gave him away.
“No. This is about you. You don’t trust yourself now that you can have me without any legal consequences.”
“So what if it is?” he yelled and threw his hands up. “Sending you home is the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do?” I mocked. “Are you crazy? It’s cruel.”
“What do you want from me?” he growled, throwing his hands up again.
“I want you to at least act like you care about me.”
“I want you, Dimples. I want you so fucking bad it hurts, and because you want me too is why you have to go. You don’t want this life and I don’t want it for you. Look what happened to Tex. Do you want to end up dead? Or the other possible outcome? Do you want to be another girl I fuck when I need to feel something?” His pupils overtook his irises as he pushed me down to the bed. His hand slid up my skirt, lifting the material as his crotch pressed into me. “You want me to fuck you and then tell you to go home? That you mean nothing? That’s all I can give you and I refuse to do that to you. Value yourself enough to say no to an asshole like me. Love yourself because you’re better than me, and you have a real chance to do something amazing with your life.”
“Do it,” I commanded.
He blinked confused. “Do what?”
Right or wrong, I was turned on and I wanted him. “Fuck me. I don’t care if it’s only this once.”
“Jesus.” He climbed off of me and stood next to the bed. His expression was tortured. “Go home, Dimples. Spend the time you have left with your dad. Forgive him.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Try.” He stroked the side of my face with his big hand.
“Please let me stay. I’m afraid I won’t know who I am if I leave.” I stood and moved close to him. “I like being a Bastard.”
He gave me the slightest of smiles. “But you don’t belong with one.”
“What if you weren’t one?” I beamed, feeling a sense of renewed hope. It was a no brainer. Simple. We wanted to be together. I needed to convince him. “You could come with me to Dartmouth. You could even go to college like you always wanted. Think about it. Tank could run the club. We could be together.”
His jaw ticked with agitation, which confused me. The way he broke my gaze and looked away gutted me.
I knew his answer before he said it. “No! No one else is running my club.”
“Will you at least think about it?” I asked, knowing it was a desperate attempt he would forgo, but I had to try. A part of me believed deep down he wanted a way out of the club as much as he wanted me. He remained silent, but I could sense his mind working. “Please,” I added to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Breeze . . .” he said and lowered his head. After a quiet couple of seconds, he lifted his head and said the one thing I never saw coming, and the one thing that would break me. “I . . . I’m gonna ask Sabina to be my old lady.”
“What?” I shrieked. It felt like my heart had been torn in half. I wanted to cry but I was too angry. “How could you? You can’t . . . I don’t understand . . . No . . . you’re lying. You said—”
“I know what I said, but she’s been there for me. I’m thinkin’ it’s time I did right by her.”
I was stunned and confused. It should have been me. It wasn’t fair. He obviously wanted me to hate him, and in that moment I think I did, so I screamed it. “I hate you!”
“Viv packed some of your things,” he said with a bone-chilling coldness. “Tank will bring the rest tomorrow.”
“Fuck you, Shame.” He didn’t even wince when my hand connected with the side of his cheek. “I wish I never met you.”
“Good.”
My car was already loaded with most of my things. Going home with my dad was never a choice. Today marked the end of Shame’s claim to me and he proved his role in the club meant more than I ever would.
My dad drove and my leg bounced for the entire silent car ride.
What was I supposed to say to a man I had barely seen in five years?
“I had your room redone,” he said, his tone thick with nerves. “It will always be there for you.”
“Thanks.”
We pulled into the driveway of my old home. It didn’t feel like home. Ironically, I felt the same way looking at my dad’s house as I had the day Shame first took me to his. My dad carried my things from the car to the house while I went inside. The interior had not been clean since before my mom left and I was surprised to find it pristine. The walls were freshly painted and the carpets had been replaced recently. They still smelled new.
I wandered down the hall to my room. The furniture and bedding were new, but the ghosts were still there. I stared at the bed and saw my mom crying, telling me how she didn’t know how much longer she could stay. She had made it a week.
Then I heard her voice from behind me as clear as if she were standing in the room with me. I turned around and there she was. Only she wasn’t twitching and picking at her face. Her hair was brushed and she wore make up.
“Breeze.”
“Mom?”
She smiled.
I hated she was there, I hated I was happy to see her and I hated how I wanted her to hold me. But mostly I hated how I knew she would hurt my dad all over again and jeopardize his sobriety.
“What are you doing here? Dad’s clean. You have to go.” I charged toward her, angry words spitting from my mouth like venom. The last thing my dad and me needed was her adding to the heap of issues already filling our plate. “I won’t let you hurt him again.”
“I’m not here to hurt him.” She held up her hands defensively and I stopped.
“Then why are you here?”
“We’ve been back together for a year.”
I stared at her blankly.
When I was seven, my mind would constantly flash to the excruciating image of my mother leaving me. She didn’t know I watched her leave, neither did my father, but every night for close to six months, I relived the experience. For years after, I was haunted by another vision that nearly destroyed me; the one where I made up her coming back to us permanently. The worst thing you could do in that situation was order your mind to believe things that would never happen. When reality set in, I was crushed. With that devastation, I turned to distractions.
My first line of defense was trouble, and Pocket was my partner in crime. My second line of defense was imagining someday a guy would fall in love with me and take me away from all of the misery. At thirteen, my first and second lines crossed and trouble led me to the guy who sent me back to the image I made up that ruined my life.
Wasn’t that a brutal twist of fate?
I had obviously regressed. My mom wasn’t there in the flesh. I squeezed my eyes shut again and again. Each time I opened them, she still stood before me with the earnests of expressions.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“We have a lot to talk about.” She sighed. “Let’s get you settled in and then we can talk over dinner.”
“Oh, I think we need to talk now,” I challenged, closing the space between us.
My dad entered the room with a box of my things. “Sounds good to me. I can unload the car later,” he said, looking at the two of us with a worried expression.
My mom and dad sat on the bed and I took a seat in the rocker that used to be in my dad’s room. I listened to them intently as they explained how my dad was not the only one Shame had paid for treatment for. Apparently, he had taken it upon himself to hunt my mom down and give her an ultimatum to be in my life clean and sober, or walk away for good.
I felt torn between how much I loved Shame and how much I hated him.
“He said you had a bright future and he would not allow me to interfere with your plans,” my mom continued, “or he would . . . well let’s say, he didn’t leave me a lot of room to argue.”
My dad added. “We spent six months in treatment and then went to counseling together. And eight months ago, your mom moved back in.”
My emotions were jumbled and I didn’t know exactly how I felt. “So, what and now I’m supposed to forget what shitty parents you were?”
“Of course not,” my mother said, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes. “But we are your parents, and we do love you.”
I wanted to believe her. I truly did, but how could you hurt anyone you supposedly loved the way they had hurt me? “This is too much. Can you leave me alone, please?”
“Sure, but I need to say this first.” My mother took my hand and though I tried not to, I stared at her skin with disgust. “I love you, sweet girl and I’m sorry I hurt you. I want you to know I always thought about you.”
I sent my mom a feeble smile and pulled my hand away. The small gesture was all I had to give. My head was spinning out of control and I wanted them to leave. Thankfully they did. I lied on the bed and let the tears pour out of my eyes. When I finally calmed down, I sent Shame a text.
Breeze: You could have warned me.
Nothing came in response, not that I expected him to reply. He was obviously done with me, although I knew he loved me. He would never have helped my parents if he didn’t. I had no idea how to move forward with the two people I would spend the next six months with. They were practically strangers and I didn’t know if I could forgive either of them. My head hurt too badly to process all of it and I drifted to sleep.
There are times we are not ready to see a revelation. We refuse to trust what we see, even if it is right in front of us. Sometimes it is because we are jaded by our past. We cannot sustain another let down, so we close our eyes.
SHAME
“It’s a beautiful morning for revenge.” I nodded my chin smugly at Tank across the front seat of the Camaro.
“You’re a sick bastard.”
“Is there any other kind?” I chuckled.
“Nah,” Tank answered and punched me in the arm.
The Villains owned an arcade over the line in Dorchester. Word on the street was they used the business to recruit out of. Nothing like taking the disgruntled youth out of the ghetto, giving them an AK and telling them they can play real life Call of Duty. Not that we didn’t give our youngens’ a sense of purpose, but The Bastards attempted to help the youth in our neighborhood and deter them from gangs. We only initiated adults who had all but lost hope. That was our code.
Tank got a tip the arcade would be closed today because Dixon called a meeting with some of his top guys. It had been enough time since the shooting at the clubhouse they should have their guard lowered. Why either side ever lowered their guard was ludicrous. For some justifiable reason, and not necessarily provoked, retaliation was always a quick beat away. But regardless of which side we fought for, time was our true enemy. The passing of days and weeks and months made us forget, until something happened to make us remember we were at war.
The Bastards had a game of eeny meeny miny moe planned. Moe would be the poor sucker who traded his life for Tex’s.
We rolled up slowly on the arcade. Dozer drove the van behind us with Ziggy and Crash. The sign on the door read closed but there were bodies strewn about inside. A larger group of Villains congregated on the right side.
I couldn’t make out who was who or if Dixon was in the arcade. It didn’t matter. We only needed one, a single Villain to vindicate Tex. The next five seconds felt like five minutes as bullets flew from the van behind us, and the glass wall in front of the arcade crumbled.
I kept right on driving and felt a smile spread my lips as I puffed a joint. The vans tires squealed as Dozer followed me.
“Fuck yeah,” Tank shouted, drumming his palms on the dash. He stared up at the Heavens. “That one’s for you, brother. We love you, you fruity, ass-fuckin’ cowboy. Giddy up and ye-haw, mutha fuckah!”
Justice felt good. Laughing felt great. The ride with my best friend who had forgiven me for being a dick was exhilarating. For a moment, I even tried to feel remorse for whichever of Dixon’s men took a bullet. Regret never came. Only pride. We did right by one of our brothers that day.
I hoped wherever Tex was, he was sipping tequila, wearing nothing but his cowboy boots and getting a nobber from a sexy southern fella.
It is only when we open our eyes we can experience a revelation. But when we have been hurt deeply, when we have experienced a loss of control, we squeeze our eyes shut. Denial is far easier than facing the truth.