Sunday Morning (Damaged #7.5)
By: Bijou Hunter
Sunday mornings were probably the only times the park wasn’t rocking a Morton Downey, Jr. Show vibe with unsupervised kids, drunken arguments, and blasting TVs. Whenever I got nostalgic for my childhood, I took a ride through Princess Farms and saw the lack of parental attention.
Sometimes, the bullshit got to me like when I intervened with a stoned mom wailing on her kid. No doubt she returned to beating the shit out of him as soon as I drove off. There was no fixing what was wrong with the trailer park. The only solution was to burn it down and hope something worthwhile came from its ashes.
Everything about Princess Farms pissed me off until I caught sight of a pajama-wearing Jodi swinging her bat at a wasted Gordy. The chick raged on him, and I nearly burst into laughter. I knew how she felt. These younger guys in the Chesterfield Vandals Motorcycle Club often made me homicidal.
They didn’t know how to keep their asses focused. The cops in Chesterfield were a joke, but they weren’t the only law enforcement assholes keeping an eye on us or the Memphis outfit pulling our strings. If I were in charge, our operations would run tighter and leaner. More work, fewer parties. Except I wasn’t in charge, and I didn’t see the benefit of taking on the pressure. Not with these guys or in this town.
I’d done my time as the guy with the plan. A decade earlier, I worked ugly jobs for powerful men in Memphis. I made connections, and I could have moved up in the organization. That life didn’t interest me. Fancy fucking cars and playing handshake with other assholes wasn’t nearly as fun as riding hogs and enjoying a hot afternoon with a cold beer.
Pressure was for other men. I wasn’t a follower, but I sure as hell didn’t want to be a leader. Hell, I didn’t want much of anything those days. Life was stable.
Then I looked into the pissed-off blue eyes of a raging teenager and wanted someone I shouldn’t have. Someone I couldn’t have yet knew was mine. This chick was it for me, and I didn’t even know her name.
Her eyes were clear of drugs and alcohol. What I was witnessing was pure, righteous indignation. She had a temper and a solid swing with her bat. When she stood up to me, I knew she was full of shit. Fuck! She was so completely overflowing with shit, but she challenged me anyway. How in the hell could I not want this woman even if she was barely past being a kid?
Reality ensured I was already backtracking on my instant lust for the blonde by the time I left my card with her. Jodi was too young I told myself. An hour later, I was convinced I was ready to wait five years until she was old enough to deal with a man like me.
Five years were nothing to a man my age. I could wait while she grew up. I’d let her mature and experience life. Not experience men, of course. She’d need to stay away from them because only one man would do. I wondered if she was sitting in her trailer thinking about me and knowing I’d claimed her. Probably not. She was likely scared that one of the club guys planned to take away her bat and make her publicly pay for embarrassing Gordy.
She surprised me by showing up at the club and then surprised me again by challenging me. When I hurt the asshole, she didn’t even blink. Jodi was made of tough stuff, and I needed a strong woman. Her courage made me even more willing to wait for however long it took.
Whether Jodi sensed this truth, our paths were headed in the same direction. I was a patient man when I needed to be, and I needed Jodi. I could do five years in my fucking sleep.
4 - Jodi
The trailer got so hot sometimes that every old, vile stain in the place awoke, and the smell spread. I tried to ignore it all and disappear in my books, but there was no escape on that blazing hot Thursday. Everything was too fucking loud, ugly, and noxious.
In the living area, Mom laughed with one of her boyfriends. Terry was a trucker who stopped by whenever in town. I knew she really liked him. I also knew he was married and probably had a few other losers who liked him in the other nothing towns he passed by. Her laughter made me sad. I loved the fool of a woman, but her life was a fucking mess, and she didn’t care.
Sadness never felt right while rage provided invigorating warmth. When I got too sad, I started worrying about the future. Was I a few decades away from being the joke in the next room? How long before I laughed for any man who showed me the least bit of attention?
Leaving the trailer, I was desperate for a quiet place to read. I considered using my search as an excuse to see Kirk. Unwilling to tempt fate, I avoided the strip club. The more I saw Kirk, the more I craved him. With enough time, I might forget the way I felt when he looked at me. That feeling was a lie. I wasn’t special, and we weren’t living in a storybook. There was nothing storybook about being fifteen years away from possibly becoming my mom.