“Why am I so tired?” I ask her as I search through my closet for my favorite hoodie. It’s old and worn and so very comfortable.
“I’m sorry, Alex,” Gloria says as she stands next to me. “I didn’t want you to flip out so I…” And then I remember something—years ago right after my mother died, I’d been inconsolable. Aside from wearing her dirty nightgown day and night, I’d also been plagued with insomnia. It was awful. After a week or so, I became a zombie. That was when my father took me to the doctor, who had prescribed me some pills that would calm me down. I turn and look at Gloria, eyes bugged out and jaw slack.
“You drugged me,” I accuse. In my head it’s a fierce yell of betrayal and anger. Out loud it sounds more like a child’s bedtime plea. My voice is hoarse, and the words come out slow. No wonder I had trouble moving in the night and have been in a haze since Gloria pulled me out of bed. I’m angry, though in this moment, I can’t feel it. This is why I stopped taking the anti-anxiety medication. I really hate how it makes me feel—compliant and unable to argue.
Gloria finds my hoodie and helps me get it on. The sun isn’t quite up yet, though it isn’t far off, from what I can tell. We walk out of the closet and Gloria hands me the small bag she put together yesterday. A loud rumbling sound comes from the street, growing louder with every moment. It’s so noisy and so overpowering that I can’t help but feel it in my bones. It sounds like a motorcycle engine, but not just one—many. I’ve heard this many motorcycles before—it hadn’t been good. The motorcycle club from Queens made a visit here a few years back, making demands on my father’s business. I don’t know what came of it, but that the club left in a good mood and my father was grouchy for a good week. I haven’t so much as seen or heard more than one stray bike drive past the house since. My stomach sinks.
“Ruby is here to help you, baby,” Gloria says, and she clamps her hands on my shoulders, keeping me in place. I stand there, unable to even think about what’s happening. Ruby, as in my mother’s sister? My head spins.
Suddenly, the noise stops and what sounds like a thousand men on the pavement below race up to the front door. With three loud bangs, they’re inside the house. Did they break down the door? Gloria whispers reassuring things in my ear as though it’s supposed to help. It doesn’t. I’m panicking, but know well enough that I can’t get away. Heavy feet sound, climbing the stairs and walking down the hallway, closer and closer to be my bedroom. I want to scream or cry, or do something. But Gloria said it’s going to be okay, that Ruby is here to help me, and since I don’t have anything else to cling to, I have to hold onto that with the ferocity of a thousand suns.
My bedroom door flies open and there stands a man with black hair that is closely cropped on the sides and longer on top, a hard-set jaw, and sun-tanned skin—and he has a gun pointed at us. I grab for Gloria as tears fill my eyes. For the second time in a short period I’m on the losing end of a gun. But the man doesn’t shoot, and Gloria doesn’t seem fazed.
“They’re in here!” he yells and lowers the gun. He isn’t one of my father’s men or anyone my father has done business with, that’s for sure. He wears black jeans with black boots and a black short-sleeve tee shirt underneath a leather vest that’s been adorned with various patches. Over his heart is a patch that reads FORSAKEN, and below that, one that says FORT BRAGG, CA. On the other side of the vest at the same height are two more patches. The top one reads ROAD CAPTAIN, and the one below it reads ANGEL OF DEATH. I don’t know what the patches mean to him, but I know what they mean to me. He’s a dangerous man. Just then, two more men walk in; one close in age to him, while the other is much older. They’re all tall and wearing similar vests.
“Jim,” Gloria says and lets go of my shoulders. She walks over to the older man and smiles at him. He smiles back, and they greet one another with a quick hug.
“Sorry we’re late. Should have been here last night,” Jim says.