by A. D. Smith
Terrified, I remain silent. Jimmy stands about my height and looks as if his name should be Snake instead. He has high cheekbones, a pointed nose, and slender frame. Alone, I could quite possibly fight him off. But he’s not alone. The other brute, Beef, stands 6’3” and looks like a worn-down heavyweight fighter. There’s no way I can fight off both of these guys. Think Gloria!
“Gimme all your money,” scowls the snake looking Jimmy.
“I don’t have any money,” I cry. “I left my bag at home.” And to think, my stupid bag is the object behind most of tonight’s troubles. But that’s beside the point now. I’m not naïve. Money isn’t the only thing that concerns them. Nevertheless, I begin to barter.
“Look, you can have this ring,” I plead, quickly placing the $30 coin ring in Jimmy’s hand. “And you can get good money for these shoes. Just take them and leave me alone. Please!”
“An old class ring and some imitations?” he snarls. “You’ve got to be kidding me. But I tell ya what. I’ll make a deal with ya.”
The short, vile man stands eye to eye with me. He rubs my hair making his way to my face. I jerk away at the touch of his cold, brittle hands.
“Ooh, hot and spicy. My favorite!” he cackles.
“Look, just leave me—” My sentence is cut off as I am drug fifty feet into darkness through a slit in a chained-linked fence. My cries are unheard as one man drags while the other covers my mouth. My heart pounds as my worst fears rush to the forefront. I bite down on the cold, scaly hand in my mouth. The Snake screams in pain.
“I will stab you! Is that what you want? Just give me what I want and it’ll be over!”
As if either choice is better than the other. I have given myself to no man in nineteen years and to think one, or two, will just take it from me—just like that? I can’t bear the thought. What have I done to deserve this?
“Please! No! Don’t do this! PLEASE!!!!”
My mind races as they drag me through the grass. I think about my mother, and even with all her lies, I’d give anything to be home. Even the Deacon would save me … if he could.
I’m tired and I can’t fight the both of them off. Maybe I should just let them get it over with. Quickly, my body instinctively denies that option as the big one lunges for my shirt. His breath smells of cheap wine and garlic. I fight back, scratching at his face, but it just makes him angrier. Viciously, he slaps me back, causing my neck to pop. The true pain sets in seconds later. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Why? I’ve never hurt anyone, not intentionally.
Oh God, WHY?!
“Now lie still, will ya?” says the Snake. I dare not move. “It’s okay Beef. She got the message. She’s cooperatin’ now. Stand over there ‘til it’s your turn. Make sure no one’s coming.”
Before he starts, I make one last plea, screaming to the top of my lungs.
“Oh God! Save me! PLEASE!!!”
Suddenly, my world goes silent. I can see the men as their mouths spit out obscenities, but I can’t hear a thing. For a moment, I’m not sure if I’ve been hit too hard or if I’ve just checked out mentally.
POP.
Just like that, the silence is over. I can hear again. Everything looks the same, but yet different somehow. I can’t quite put it into words, but I feel a silent strength build up within me. A peace forms over me so loud, it shatters ear drums without making a sound. I feel power. Physical power.
The snake-looking one grabs me by the throat threatening me to be quiet. Unconsciously, I return the gesture, cupping his slender neck. He gags, my strength surprises him. It should surprise me too, but for some reason it doesn’t. It’s like my body’s been waiting to feel like this.
Still on the ground, I throw the man ten feet back. He crashes into a collection of aluminum trash cans. “Beef, get ‘er!” shouts the Snake as he writhes in pain. His dense accomplice looks back, surprised to see his boss lying on the ground, crying in agony to top it off.
It’s obvious the big dope is trying to process what just happened. I smile as I shrug my shoulders. This drives the Snake livid. “Get her, Beef!” he yells again. “Do it!”
Should I even be smiling at a time like this? Probably not, but it comes naturally. Finally coming to the conclusion that he can’t get a hold of what’s going on, Beef runs straight towards me.
Like a skilled gymnast, I jump to my feet. He throws a punch with his right hand. With my reflexes heightened, I maneuver to the left. The momentum of the missed punch propels him forward. Jumping straight in the air, my elbow comes crashing down straight to the middle of Beef’s broad back.
“AWWWW!” yells the oafish bully as he falls to the ground.
Flexing my fingers, I feel comfortable with this power, as if I’ve had it for years.
“Hey, nobody does that to me!” says the embarrassed accomplice. He inches towards me, cautious this time. Instead of waiting, I dart towards the coward, jumping 12 feet in the air, landing a perfect drop kick to his chest. His body shoots back from the collision. Suddenly, I hear the silence again. Someway—not sure how—I just know to turn around, just in time to catch a knife being hurled at my head. Emotions swell as I sprint back for the man who nearly took my—my everything. A cry of anger fills my vocal cords as I close in, wielding the knife out in front of me. The Snake cringes. Three inches from his face, I stop.
I can hear the accelerated rhythm of his heart. It comes through so clear it sounds as if a microphone has been placed over his chest.
“I should kill you!” I sob as he begins to plead for his life. “No. Please—look, just take whatever you want!”
What am I doing?
I drop the knife before running towards light. The adrenaline pumping through my body finally subsides as feelings of victimization replace the rapid chemical. I can’t even begin to make sense of all that’s happened. For some reason, all I can think about is running back to the home I ran away from.
Chapter 10
I am awakened by a strange squeaking noise. Groggily, I force open one eye. Someone’s kid jumps up and down on the bed—not sure—too sleepy to focus my eyes. They close as I redistribute my weight in the small hospital chair.
“Daddy, wake up. Canwee get some pantates?”
“Hmmmmppph,” I grumble. The questions persist.
“Daddy, can we go to the park?”
Sounds like Christina. “Sure baby,” I mouth, eyes still closed — what is that noise?
“Daddy, look!”
Her continuous words pry open my eyes. Slowly I begin to see what looks like Christina jumping up and down in the hospital bed. “That’s good sweetie.” My eyes shut quickly hoping to resume the—
“WHAT THE—!” Jumping straight up from the chair, concern sets in. “Chrissy baby, get down from there! You could—”
“Daddy, I’m hungry. Canwee go?”
“I—I—I”
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Standing before me—rather jumping before me—is Christina. She shoots up and down the stiff bed like a baby kangaroo. Just like a father seeing his child walk for the first time, I watch in amazement. She goes for more air on every take off.
“Whoa, baby. Be careful. You could hurt your—you’re not tired, sweetie?”
“No Daddy,” she answers back between launches. “I’m not sleepies anymore. Nooowww can we get some pantates?”
The moment finally hitting me, I rush to grab my Chrissy. “Baby, you can have whatever you want!”
For what may be the first time ever, tears of joy glide down my cheek. I haven’t held her like this in months. My baby. Little Chrissy.
Immediately I pull back, hurriedly loosening my grip. I haven’t held her like this in months. Her body can’t take this activity … at least it couldn’t before.
“Wait a minute baby. Stand still for Daddy.”
Christina doesn’t even feel the same. Her normally frail body seems to have put on weight overnight. Her skin once dry, paled, and cracked, is now soft to
the touch. Christina’s big brown eyes shine bright in color, her lips again pink and full of life. And her hair—her hair is full, no signs of shedding. Each lock whimsically bounces up and down with every jump on the bed. Just like her mother.
My mind overflows with questions, but I put it all to the side … at least for now. This isn’t a time to think but rather a time to rejoice. What am I doing still on this floor? I reach for my baby’s hand as we jump up and down on the hardened bed.
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“Glo-reeee-ahh!”
No one could say my name like A’ma, her Mexican accent still heavy over the years. However, I do wonder how she has the audacity to even speak it, considering last night’s revelation. Guess some things never change. Staring at my bedroom ceiling, I ignore her repeated requests.
“Gloria, I need to eat! I have to take my medicine!” she shouts from the front room. My initial impulse is to go see about her. That’s what I’ve done my whole life. But shouldn’t she be attending to me now? I don’t know what to feel. How could so much happen in one night? And why me? Why now? And—I could go on for days, but A’ma’s periodic nags prevent my mind from keeping any kind of flow.
“Gloria! Are you gonna leave me here to die? If so just get it ova with!”
There was no real reason to scream, other than for effect. The walls in our apartment are paper thin. I can easily hear everything she says, plus the verdict on “Divorce Court”. Boy does A’ma hate to be ignored. “If only you knew, you ungrateful little runt,” she mutters under her breath.
Okay, that’s it! I’ve had enough! Enough of the secrets, enough of the lies. Just like last night, adrenaline shoots through my body, but not the kind that produces superhuman abilities—noooo. This jolt gives me the gumption to fire back at my mother. Jumping from the bed, I rush to the front room. I knock the vodka bottle from my mother’s hand before the miserable woman has time to hide it. Shocked, her eyes widen.
“If only I knew what, A’ma?!”
“Wh—What?”
“You heard me woman! I’m sick of your lies! You said clear as day, if only you knew, you ungrateful runt. If only I knew what!?”
A’ma’s eyes expand even more. She stares back, obviously amazed I had the nerve to repeat her words. “Well I’m waiting old woman!” I snap.
“Ho—How—How did you hear that?”
“Whada you mean how did I hear that? You said it loud as day!”
“Yeh. But I say it in en Espanol.”
That isn’t possible. I never learned Spanish. The woman only uses the language to taunt me.
“All you do is lie!” I shout. “All you do is—”
POP.
My ears ring as if I’m on a jet changing altitude. Nanoseconds later, words fly from my mouth, except these words are unlike any I’ve ever spoken.
“Me dejan sola mujer de edad!”
A’ma sits straight up. Her mouth drops as she listens.
“Oh, you don’t know what to say now, hunh? Well how about this. Du riechst wie Ziegenkase!”
My mother utters not one word.
“What’s wrong A’ma? Cat got cha tongue? Why you’re just a coouuu na laaa, it nguuu, phuuu cu de heooooooooow!”
I cover my mouth, the reality of the moment sinking in. Did I just speak … German? A’ma watches. Not knowing what to make of it, she briefly glances over at the displaced vodka bottle.
“What just happened?” I ask. A’ma opts to remain silent, merely shaking her head.
“Did I just …?”
She answers with a nod, her eyes big as ever.
“Look, I’m sorry A’ma. I—I gotta get some air.”
I run back to my room, slip on some tennis shoes and get my iPod. Back in the living room, A’ma hasn’t moved.
“I’m going for a run. I did say that in English, right?”
A’ma’s head quickly moves up and down as she nods.
-----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------
“And how long was it from the time he called til the time you actually arrived on the scene,” asks the detective.
“Dunno, maybe an hour … two.”
The detectives continue their questioning in the office of my folks home. Still wearing housecoats, my mom and dad sit close to one another, their hands clasped. Doesn’t look like they’ve moved much since receiving my call. The sun was nearly up before I could muster enough strength to move from that … that place. I called my parents, who I guess in turn called the authorities.
But this is their first time hearing any details and as police protocol dictates, the detectives ask the same questions in numerous ways in order to make sure they receive accurate answers. And telling this story over and over, especially in front of my parents is killing me.
“And you were coming from that … bar … Round One?” The detective jots down notes.
As I lean on the edge of the computer desk, my brain tries to think of any other way I can answer these questions. My mind and my body wearing down, it’s been nearly 24 hours since I last slept. The $600 shirt that once held my concern is now soiled with the blood of my brother and all they can ask me about is the name of that stupid bar!
“Yeah, like I said, I was—I was—”
Come on Tre, get real. It’s not the cop’s fault. What’s the real reason for my common practice of having drinks at the popular spot—the spot where people yell my name and treat me like royalty—what’s the real reason I’m so shamed to speak about it now? I know very well why, but I can’t let my mind go there. I’d go crazy if I did. With all that’s brewing inside me, I’m not that far off.
My parents haven’t said anything since I arrived at the house. Their silence punishes me more than words. The bleak expressions on their faces remind me of Martin’s eyes—the way they looked when I turned over his body. I’ll never forget that moment.
Never.
“So he said he was scared and needed a ride and yet it takes you two hours to get to the announced location?” asks the brazen detective, never looking up from his notepad. What does he expect me to say?
My father lays eyes on me for the first time in two hours. The bold question triggers something in him. Sensing the tension, a second detective asks a more subtle question.
“Okay, TNT. Is there anything else you can think of that may help us out?”
The unusual symbol freshly marked on Martin’s right wrist comes to mind. A symbol shared by a girl I just so happen to meet hours before my brother’s death. Instead, I shake my head, conceding the police will eventually find it.
“Why didn’t you just go get him?!” shouts my father. The emotions swelling inside finally overwhelm him. “All you had to do was go pick him up.”
Tears now flow from both my parents faces. “Why, Tre? That’s all I wanted you to do. Just see about your brother.”
I thought their silence was punishment enough, but my father’s words produce a pain so sharp, I can barely breathe. Panic rises up through my belly, now my lungs. I reach for deep breaths only to find shallow ones in their place. Before the attack can consume me, I gather enough strength to flee the room.
“Tre!” yells my mother as she calls for her only son.
What have I done …
-----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------
Hours later and still none of these so-called experts can explain it. Less than 24 hours ago, the only thing keeping my baby alive was a cold white box attached to the side of her bed. She weighed less than 20 pounds. The tone of her skin bordered on ghostly white. She couldn’t eat, barely talk, let alone jump up and down in bed. Now Christina pines for her favorite. Pantates.
Dr. Amali suspiciously examines her vitals. He’s been over them ten times already.
“I can’t explain it, Mr. Myers. This child was in a vegetative state just 12 hours ago. We all saw her.”
There’s something not quite the same about the doctor. I can’t put my finger on it. The
memory of what I saw by the elevator—or at least thought I saw comes to mind. Oh well, who cares? And who cares about his tests? I know what I see. A healthy little girl—and man can she eat! I’d almost forgotten. She’s gone through three popsicles already. I sat here and counted every bite. Heck, didn’t even need to go outside for my morning smoke. Guess the excitement’s got my levels where they need to be.
In the shower, Alicia missed the initial fireworks. No matter. She’s taking it all in now. “She was not like that when I got up. My God, it’s a miracle,” she gets out before blowing her nose. Alicia kisses a cross medallion fastened around her neck. Wow. Never noticed how much it resembles the one Angelina wore.
Dr. Amali doesn’t seem to approve of Alicia’s enthusiasm. “Well, whatever it is, we’re going to have to run some more tests,” he interjects before rushing out of the room. Another visitor takes his place.
“So that’s what a miracle looks like?”
“Chappy Brynint!” yells Christina.
“What a beautiful sight, indeed,” the chaplain smiles, his eyes water as he approaches the bed. Even the preacher man is thrown aback by what he sees.
“Chaplain Bryant,” Alicia says nearly crying. “Can you believe it? I mean …”
“Chappy, look at me!” says my baby girl, ready to show off her newly acquired leaping skills.
“Woooowww,” entertains the chaplain, before turning his attention towards me. “So Mr. Myers, I guess you are a man of faith.”
I smile at Christina, ignoring preacher man’s comment. Even he can’t get under my skin today.
“Well I guess God has a funny way of turning things around, hunh Mr. Myers?”
“The doctors are still running tests,” I finally respond. “They don’t know what happened. Those guys probably had her misdiagnosed from the jump.”
Now what’s he got to say? My stance on a god hasn’t changed. If anything, I feel more confident in my beliefs.
“Are you serious, Mr. Myers?” he shoots back. “I saw this child less than 24 hours ago and she was—”
