Past
Regardless of how hard we try, we cannot change the past. We can attempt to move forward. Should be easy enough, right? We merely recreate who we are, pretend the past did not change us, and live our life. Only, what happens when the past keeps rearing its ugly head to remind us how incapable we are of moving forward? What do we do when the nightmares keep us up, and we cannot simply forget? For most, we get angry, we fight, and then we live in denial until we have to succumb to our own mortality.
SHAME
THE MOMENT I descended the stairs, I wanted to punch Tank. As my best friend, I afforded him more leeway than other people in my life. I had allowed him to look at me with disapproval before, but tonight I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” he asked.
“Collecting a debt,” I answered, shoving past his large frame into the kitchen for a beer.
He followed me, and I grabbed a beer from the fridge for both of us. The harsh look I gave him as I handed him the bottle didn’t stop him from continuing with his interrogation.
“Are you insane? That girl’s thirteen and a cop’s daughter,” he reminded me.
“And old, washed-up cop.” I touched my lips, remembering how it felt to kiss Breeze and turned away. I still couldn’t wrap my brain around her age. Kids were growing up way too fast these days. Maybe Benson was right. I slipped up, because even a few minutes ago upstairs, Breeze didn’t look like a thirteen-year-old kid. It made me feel sick. Still, I wanted her in my house, under my watch. “She deserves better.”
“You’re exactly like your old man,” Tank said and I spun back around. “Always bringing in strays, but Berg never wanted to get horizontal with any of them.”
“Fuck you,” I roared. “It ain’t like that.”
“The hell in ain’t!” Tank shouted and took a swallow of beer, before he added, “I saw you kiss her.”
“When I thought she was legal.” I chugged the beer until the bottle emptied. He still looked at me with reservation. “We’re done talking about this,” I said adamantly. “We need to find out which one of our guys is feeding information to Dixon. Cole knows, and Delarosa is the only one who can help us find him.”
“Do you think Maddie’s involved with The Villains?” Tank asked, the concern in his voice as strong as I felt.
I turned and headed for the door. “I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out.”
“I’ll go with you,” he offered.
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Go home. My sister and I need to have a long overdue chat.”
Nearly five years later and the Camaro still smelled like my pop. As I gripped the wheel, I couldn’t help but remember the hours he put into re-building it. He stole it. Although, jacking cars registered lowest on his list of criminal activity. It was a classic and motivated him to open the garage.
Tank’s old man, Kegger, got in line to help first. The garage rebuilt classic cars, but mainly fronted club operations. They only restored cars for friends or for the club. If not for Kegger, I would close it. It reminded me of the past. There were too many ghosts amongst the grease and parts. But Kegger loved the garage. He rarely left and we needed him to work on the engines the rest of our crew destroyed street racing. He had been like a father to me, especially after my old man’s murder. I couldn’t take the garage from him.
The past proved too maddening to think about. I revved the engine once before pulling onto the main road.
I could only hope to find Maddie at her condo in City Side. She rented it out when she first left town, but it had been empty for the last year.
Snowflakes danced in the air like tiny pieces of ripped tissue. I held my hand out the window and felt the bite of each flake as they touched my skin. The cold air calmed my anger for my sister. She had not only abandoned the club. She left me. I knew she had reasons, but she hurt me. And that pain haunted me every day.
Maddie never recovered after our old man died. Before it all went down, she thought Pop should let the club go. Stubborn as a mule, he wouldn’t budge. He had too much pride and Maddie hated him for it.
With The Villains vying for control, the streets had become a war zone. Despite everything, Pop made sure guns and gambling from Four Points to Moakley Park stayed Bastard territory.
Our neighborhood had an old and respected code. The first rule of that code, and the only one that mattered, was you didn’t entreat on turf that wasn’t yours.
The Villains had no honor. They didn’t care about unspoken ethics, or traditions. They felt entitled to everything northwest of Dorchester Street. When Pop refused to give it up, he and Dixon had a blow-out. The next day he died in my arms. Maddie blamed me. She wasn’t alone in that sentiment, either. I lived with the guilt every day.
A black BMW filled Maddie’s parking spot, which gave me hope she would be inside. I pulled up to the curb and killed the engine. With a deep breath, I got out of the car and made my way inside her building. The elevator smelled of stale roses, like god-awful perfume old ladies bathed in. It made me sneeze and further irritated me.
With each step toward Maddie’s, a memory from the past flashed in my mind, like how Maddie would steer me from the room when Pop would come home bloodied and beaten. And how she would let me come in her bed when Pop was drunk and yelling at Ma. I smiled, remembering how she would always try to cover my eyes when one of the girls in the clubhouse pranced around topless. That one used to annoy me.
Man, our childhood was wacked. I was pissed at Maddie for coming back. I hated the past and I damn sure didn’t want to remember it.
As I approached Maddie’s door, I heard voices inside, and one of them belonged to my sister. She owed me an explanation and I felt prepared to confront her. I knocked softly at first, but when she didn’t answer, I began pounding.
“Open the fucking door, Maddie. I know you’re there.” After causing a scene that brought out witnesses, the door opened a crack. A security chain prevented me from barging in. “Open the fucking door!”
“No,” she yelled and then hushed me. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”
I glanced from her messy fuck hair to her red satin nightie.
“Is that loser Delarosa in there?” She didn’t answer. I screamed past her, “You’re a pussy, Delarosa, hiding behind a skirt. Get your ass out here.”
“Go away!” Maddie screamed.
“Mad, you gotta listen to me. The club has a rat. That loser can help me find out who it is.”
She shook her head. “Michael doesn’t know anything.”
“How can you do this to Pop?” I stared right at her. Her taunt expression never faltered. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
She slipped a piece of paper through the crack. “Please go away.”
The door slammed shut.
As I walked to the Camaro, I clenched the note in my fist. Once inside the car, I read it.
Meet me at Donavan’s at 9AM.
Donovan’s was the diner where my old man and his crew ate breakfast nearly every morning. I had not stepped foot inside since he died. Fuck my sister for making me.
They say, what happens in the past should stay in the past. The only problem is the past holds the answers to questions we have in the present. So, we go poking around, until we find what we are looking for. Then, the past sits back and laughs at us when we discover we should have left well enough alone.