by Wilde, Ora
Their guns?
“You mean... all of you are armed?” I asked, shocked by what he shared.
“Andrea... the group I joined... it’s not some college fraternity with greek letters. It’s not an assembly of guys who do nothing but drink and fuck. The truth is far more sinister than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I joined a gang, Andrea. The worst kind of gang you can find in the city.”
I was shocked into silence. I felt like my body was paralyzed. A gamut of emotions rushed into my soul... fear for his wellbeing... concern for how their culture of violence has changed him... anxiety about how he managed, and still manages, to evade their vengeful wrath... doubt about the real identity of the man who was sitting beside me...
“Y-You joined a gang?” Those were the only words that I was able to say.
“Yes. And I regret it. At first, they promised brotherhood... a bond that was so strong that nothing and no one would be able to break it. Eventually, when the leader started to assign me to join some runs, I realized that they weren’t a brotherhood at all. They were a bunch of criminals.”
“What sort of things have you done, Nash?” I asked him, bracing for the worst. Has he killed somebody? Has he raped a rival gang member’s sister, like in the movies? Has he tortured people?
“Robberies. Burglaries. Vandalisms. Pranks that could’ve injured some people. Brawls with other gangs.”
“Have you... taken someone else’s life?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking that question.
He clenched his fingers together and looked away.
“I don’t know...” he responded with a strangely remorseful tone.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I begged for an answer.
“When we have encounters with other gangs, violence ensue. When you’re in the middle of a gang war, it’s total mayhem. You don’t know who’s in front of you or who’s behind you. All you’ll be able to think about is survival. No matter the cost, you should survive. I kept punching. I kept kicking. But I was getting beat up. Sometimes, I felt that they’d have me cornered. So I drew my knife and I kept swinging. There were times when I heard the flesh of another being ripped from his body. I don’t know if the people I slashed... if the people I stabbed... actually lived.”
My lungs were running out of breath. His revelations were too much to bear. I always saw him as a loner, a rebel, even an outcast. But never did I imagine him to be a gang member.
“I heard you that night, when you robbed the convenience store,” I told him. “You said that you were out.”
“Yes, for the second time.”
“The second time?”
“Remember that night when I went here, in your room, badly beaten and with a stab wound near my ribs?”
“Yes.”
“Earlier that evening, I told our leader that I wanted out.”
“And what happened?”
“The rules of the gang are crystal clear. Once a member, always a member. All of us took a blood oath, and it can only be broken by blood.”
“What do you mean?”
“The only way out... is death.”
I swallowed some air as terror engulfed me. I couldn’t believe that Nash was involved with something that serious. Since a month ago, I always had an inkling that he was engaged in something dangerous. I just didn’t realize that it was that dangerous... that it was something that would cost him his life.
“For them,” he continued, “breaking the oath is the ultimate sin. They have instilled in us that the gang is our life. And we can only leave the gang once we’re dead.”
He pulled up his sleeves and revealed his tattoos, particularly the image of the barrels of two guns forming a cross, and the words beneath it: Vive Gladio Peri Gladio.
“They made you get that?” I asked.
“No. During my first few days with them, I was proud to belong to their group. This design was my decision.”
“What do they mean? Those words?”
“Live by the sword, die by the sword.”
“The gang’s motto?”
“Sort of. They gave us guns. They said it was symbolic of our new life. And when we leave, that gun becomes a warning of how we’ll die.”
“So where’s your gun?” I asked him.
“I threw it away. At Hangtown Creek.”
“So... they’re armed... and you’re... unprotected?”
“Well... I have my fists.”
“As if those would be enough! Can’t you just... I dunno... tell the police or something?”
“I... can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because they would have to take me in as well,” he defeatedly replied. “I’ve committed a lot of crimes too, Andrea. With them. My hands aren’t clean, and the authorities would figure that out. They’ll just send me to jail.”
I stood up as I began to panic. I paced around the room, sweating profusely, horrified by the things he said, deathly frightened by the perils he brought into our household.
“Nash... how could you be so... so... so stupid!” I told him without even considering to choose my words. “You... you’re a smart guy. Weird sometimes, but smart. Why would you join a group like that?”
“My best friend... my only friend... Travis... he wanted to join,” he started to explain. “He’s the closest thing to a brother that I have. So I accompanied him. We met their leader. He was very... charismatic...”
“Charismatic?” I asked incredulously. “How could any of those damn... hip hop boys... be charismatic?”
“Their leader was... different,” he calmly said. “He was... very dignified. He commanded respect, but he was also very respectful. He had this manner of speaking that made anyone believe in what he spoke.”
“So their leader convinced you to join?”
“He told me that he needed someone like me... that with their group, I could be who I wanted to be... that our brothers will have my back forever...”
“Acceptance? Just like you said?”
“Yes.”
“And you left because you couldn’t bear the wicked things they did?”
“Yes.”
“And now, they’re hunting you down? They want you dead?”
He paused for a while before answering. He looked outside, past the window, into the darkness of the night.
“Yes,” he finally answered. “It is how they deal with traitors. Deserters. Leavers.”
Leavers.
Leva.
“What should we do, Nash?” I asked him, my voice trembling in dread. I sat beside him and rested my head on his shoulder. My hand reach for his. He squeezed my fingers, an attempt - though futile - to comfort me.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said with conviction. “This is my problem. I’ll deal with it. It doesn’t have to involve you... any of you.”
But it did.
“No, Nash... it involves me,” I muttered.
“No harm will come to you,” he replied as he gripped my hand even tighter. “I will protect you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” I told him.
“What do you mean?”
“Nash...” I began to say, mustering all the courage in the world to utter the words I should have spoken weeks ago. “I’m pregnant.”
There are different kinds of silences. There is the type of quietness that is relaxing and reassuring, like that shared between two lovers who are so secure about each other’s affection. There is the type of quietness that is disarming, like that between two acquaintances who can’t read each other’s perception about their respective selves. There is the uncomfortable kind of quietness, filled with awkwardness and unspoken misgivings.
And then, there is the type of quietness that is just simply devoid of noise... and everything else. It comes with a feeling of emptiness. A black hole that seems more than what it really is. A cold, vacant space, possessing no mass but forms a seemingly unbreakable wall between two peop
le who have become worse than strangers. It is the kind of silence that screams, the kind of silence that ruins, the kind of silence that hurts.
And it is the kind of silence that separated us at that moment, despite the fact that our bodies were joined by each other’s touch.
“I have to go,” he finally said as he stood up without warning. He withdrew his hand from mine without even giving me a look. He went straight to the window from where he came from and stepped out into the sill.
“You’re the father, you know,” I told him... calmly, sincerely, painfully...
But he didn’t look back.
He leapt into the branch adjacent to the window, then jumped back to the makeshift steps formed by the uneven bricks on the wall. He climbed down and left. Towards where, I wouldn’t know. I didn’t bother to stand up and watch him go.
I can’t.
I worried about him that night. A lot. His life was in danger. People were after him. They wanted him dead for leaving their group.
The choices he has made, the life he has decided to live, the repercussions of his decisions... they were plaguing him now. He will forever be hunted... by the specter of an episode he has left behind, if not by the men who wanted to kill him.
I don’t want him dead.
I cared so much for him. I couldn’t even imagine a life without him.
But dead or alive, I knew... with so much ache and dejection, I knew... he won’t be there for our baby.
18
One Fine Day
I woke up the next morning with puffy eyes from a night of tears and sadness.
I wished there was something good to look forward to. But there wasn’t. Even the simplest things that would’ve given me some semblance of comfort before I went to school were maddeningly broken.
I had to brace myself for a cold shower because the heater has been acting up since last week. I had to settle for a cold breakfast that Aunt Susan has prepared two hours earlier because the microwave oven wasn’t even working. And I had to endure the five to seven minute drive to school hoping that I won’t sweat too much as to ruin my makeup because my car’s power windows didn’t work.
So, to say that I was pleasantly surprised with what I discovered that morning would be a big understatement.
First, as I went to the bathroom and disrobed, I scrunched my face as I anticipated the freezing cold water to flow from the shower. But when I turned the faucet, I wasn’t greeted with an icy sprinkling, no. Lukewarm water fell all over my body, and that made me happy. Finally, I thought to myself, dad found someone who was able to fix the heating machine!
After taking a bath and dressing up for school, I went down to see Aunt Susan bringing out some plates from the microwave. The microwave! I greeted her, and she responded with much enthusiasm and glee.
“Hot breakfast, for a change,” she said smiling as she presented to me a plate of salami sandwich which was still steaming.
Again, it was a very simple thing... but to be able to start my day like that was truly a welcome break from the doom and gloom I have been feeling for the longest time.
I enjoyed my sumptuous breakfast as Aunt Susan hummed her way around the kitchen. She was in an awfully jolly mood.
“What’s up?” I just had to ask her.
“For starters, the microwave’s fixed,” she said.
“I can see that,” I replied as I turned to my right to gaze at the source of his happiness. “When did the repairman come over?”
“This morning,” she enthused. “He surprised me, too. I didn’t expect him at all, that good looking young man!”
Hmmmm. Aunt Susan’s probably in heat, I joked to myself.
“Darn! I didn’t get to see him. Will he be back anytime soon?” I asked her.
“Oh, you will!” she animatedly answered. “He promised that much, that he’ll be around more often now.”
Okay. That sounded creepy.
“He fixed the heater too, just in case you didn’t notice,” she added.
“Oh... I noticed!” I said with a wide grin.
“He was asking about you, though,” she continued.
What?!
“Me? Why?” I asked in disbelief. I took a large bite of the sandwich she prepared.
“I guess he misses his sister,” she nonchalantly responded.
I spewed out some of the food in my mouth and started coughing. Aunt Susan looked at me to see if everything was alright.
“You mean Nash?” I questioned. “Nash did all... these?”
“Yes. I told you, he’s really a sweet kid.”
“He fixed the heater and the microwave oven?” I still didn’t believe what I heard.
“Yes,” she answered. “Nash... he has always been good with his hands.”
I tended to agree.
“What time did he come home? Has he left? Where is he?” I belatedly realized that I was talking too fast and Aunt Susan may not have understood a word I said.
But she did.
“He’s outside, fixing your car,” she told me.
I immediately dropped my sandwich on the table and darted off to the main door. I went outside to see if he was still there.
He was.
Nash was on the driver’s seat of my car, twiddling with the controls of the power windows. He was so focused on what he was doing... so much so that I didn’t think anything would’ve distracted him from it. It was actually the first time I saw him like that... committed to a particular task, undaunted, unyielding. I found that very appealing, so much so that it made me smile.
He got out of the car and checked the window from the outside... and my jaw almost dropped to the ground. He was shirtless and perspiring, the sweat on his body gleaming under the morning sun, every drop sparkling like stars in a sea of flesh. His body looked like it was molded by the gods of legends, not out of clay but out of granite. His biceps, muscular but not overly humongous, bulged out when he attempted to jerk the door loose after it was jammed on its hinges (one of my car’s many faults, unfortunately). The solid surface that extended outwards from his spine were a sight to behold... rigid, sturdy, obdurate. He turned to his side to check on the power window controls once again, and I caught a glimpse of his chest... not exaggeratedly burly but undoubtedly strong... and his abs... his marvelous, marvelous abs...
Sure, I have seen him naked before... but never like that... never in broad daylight with nary an inch hidden by darkness.
The thought may be sickening for most, but at that moment, I imagined myself slurping every drop of sweat from his luscious body.
The he turned around and saw me... just as I was licking my lips.
I quickly turned to my side, and then bowed my head. I pretended to step on something... anything... just to give the impression that I wasn’t staring at him... that his half-naked body never tickled my fantasies.
“How do you manage to hide it?” he asked, emotionlessly.
Oh shit!
“How do I manage to hide what?” I asked back, feigning ignorance, pretending to be innocent.
“Your sweat whenever you come out of this car,” he said as he wiped his arms and neck with a towel. “Your AC’s broken beyond repair. It’s an oven in there.”
I heaved a sigh of relief.
“Oh... you’ll get used to it,” I answered, realizing that I was flapping my hands too much that it would’ve looked very unnatural.
He should’ve found that funny. Or irritating. Or weird. But his face remained expressionless as he continued to tinker with the window.
I decided to approach him. I looked over his shoulder, posturing as an interested onlooker who was curious about what he was doing.
He tilted his head and gave me a sharp stare.
“What?” he asked, with a hint of annoyance.
“What what?” I returned his question, trying my best to curtail a smile.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing! You’re the one fiddling with my car. I’
m just... checking up on how you’re progressing.”
He looked back at the interior of the door, pulling out some wires and squeezing their edges with his fingers. That act reminded me of something sensual... but I tried really hard to snap out of that train of thought.
