by A. J. Downey
Fuck.
I was fan-fucking-tastic at just plain digging myself deep and deeper, wasn’t I?
4
Data…
“Was wondering when you was gonna get around to callin’ in,” Dragon’s gravelly smoker’s voice came heavy over the airwaves.
“Yeah, well, we needed to sleep.”
“Hm.” I pictured him taking a long, slow, drag off of one of his cancer sticks. His slow sigh all but confirmed it and he sucked in a breath and said, “Boys and I been talkin’ it over. It ain’t our usual hospitality but we can’t be havin’ her anywhere near the clubhouse. Not with all the women and children. If this had been a couple a years ago it wouldn’t be no thing, but now?”
“No, I feel you D. I just… shit. I just don’t know where to go.”
“Well that’s easy, you go nowhere.” I paused, brow furrowing and then I got it. The lightbulb went off and I nodded slowly.
“Right, off to points unknown,” I said. It was a careful ploy, one that I knew Dragon would know. Going nowhere and responding with the word point just confirmed that we were on the same page. He wanted me to head straight for Point Nowhere. The club’s back-up and last-resort safe house and body dump.
“Safe travels, brother,” he ground into the phone and I pictured him stubbing out his cigarette at his favorite table in the club’s common room.
“Thanks, P.”
“Keep the dirty side down.”
“You know it.”
The line went dead, my phone giving the disconnect tone in my ear. I lowered it and wondered what the boys were going to put together out at Point Nowhere for us. The place wasn’t exactly made for habitation for any kind of extended period of time.
I let out a pent-up breath and racked my neck back and forth. I was going to need to go back in there with Mali and throw on some real clothes. She needed more than what she had and there was a Ross down the road. I was planning on picking her up a few things but it would be better if I went myself. She needed to stay out of sight.
I went back in and she straightened up, staring at me plaintively from where she sat on the foot of the bed.
“What’d your buddies say?” she asked, but her voice was neutral, tone careful. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to hide how she was feeling or what. Her eyes weren’t exactly giving anything away, either.
“They’re on it, setting up a place for us to crash-land,” I answered.
“When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow. I need to go out and get you some things. You’re going to need more than what you’ve got on.”
“I hate shopping,” she said.
“Yeah, well, you’re off the hook on that score. Write down your sizes for me.”
“You’re going shopping for me?”
I hung my head and let out a harsh breath, “The less you’re seen the better off we are until a time we can figure a few things out. Just write down your sizes, some of the shit you like to wear, and I’ll do my best.”
Her shoulders dropped and she put on a wry grin, “I was always a pain in your ass, why should now be any different?” she asked and I put my hands on my hips and shook my head.
“You were a lot of things, Amalia… a pain in my ass isn’t even close to the top of my list.”
Her self-deprecating smile dissolved into an expression of surprise and she dragged her messenger bag from the floor to the bed. She rifled through it, pulled out the newest looking sketchbook and opened it to the back.
“Need something to write with?” I asked gently and she shook her head and pulled out a roll of light purple paisley-printed material secured with darker purple ribbons. She untied it and rolled it out just enough to slip a drawing pencil out from the pocket sewn into it.
“It is so weird you buying me bras and underwear,” she muttered and started writing.
“Better than tampons, but I’ll buy you those too if you need ‘em.”
She snorted a laugh and it made me smile. She scratched out her sizes and measurements haphazardly across the thick white page and then started whipping out some quick sketches underneath. I didn’t say anything, patiently waiting her out, and truthfully, actually pretty appreciative of the visual aids she was rendering. I didn’t want to get her shit she wouldn’t like.
She sighed finally, coming out of her little zone that she went into when she drew and carefully tore the page out of the book, holding it out to me.
“Thanks,” I murmured and let my eyes graze the sizes and the little sketches she’d done, calculating how much room I had on the bike to store the extra shit. I had some leeway; I could strap a bag to the fender rack and sissy bar behind Mali. Should be able to get her straight for about a week’s worth of clothes. I nodded and creased the paper into four quadrants and set it by the television.
“Right, I’ll be back in a minute.” I went into the bathroom and put on some real clothes and my riding gear. When I came out, she was still sitting on the end of the bed, feet up, crossed at the ankle, arms loose around her knees; folded up like a lotus blossom. She’d always sat that way when we were kids and it was as alluring now as I’d found it when we were teenagers. I just didn’t know what it was about it that got me, but then again, some of the strangest things about her did.
“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” she asked.
I shrugged and pulled the remote off of the dresser the television was on and handed to her. She rolled her eyes at me and made an ‘ugh’ noise; I smiled. I couldn’t blame her, hotel TV pretty much sucked.
“You could draw,” I suggested and she looked down wistfully at her sketch book, now missing a page.
“Don’t think I’m in the frame of mind to pull off anything artistic at the moment.”
“Don’t say I can blame you,” I answered, shoving her measurements into my back pocket.
She hesitated with whatever she was about to say next and I stilled, waiting her out. Finally, she spoke and what came out surprised me. She said, “Don’t take too long, ‘k?”
“Back in a flash,” I said and tried to sound both nonchalant and reassuring at the same time. Mali had never been one to display any sort of weakness or vulnerability and her softer tone along with her hesitation was an unexpected crack in the hard exoskeleton of confidence she typically had on.
We still hadn’t really talked about things. Bits and pieces that I was slowly putting together into a mosaic depicting a timeline, but I didn’t want to push too hard. Not yet, not right now. There would be a time for that later when the buck would stop and she’d have to spill but in the interest of not piling on more frustration of her having to repeat herself ad nauseam, I let myself grow nauseous with dying to know everything in minute detail.
Mali gave me a nod and I returned it, scooping up my helmet and leaving the room, heading out to grab some items for her that would get her out of my underwear, because fuck, while I had self-control, it wasn’t endless and I didn’t want to push my luck by making a wrong move, you know? I didn’t want to be ‘that guy’ and so she needed some extra things. Things that I could provide. I honestly needed to occupy my time during the hurry up and wait. I needed to be doing something so I didn’t explode.
5
Amalia…
I had no idea what to do with myself. I wasn’t tired anymore, I’d slept hard and dreamless for the first time in forever but I didn’t think it had too much to do with Kyle. No, it had everything to do with just being that fucking exhausted. Now, I felt restless and on edge; my body very nearly vibrating with the want to do something, anything, to fix this situation.
I stared at the silver surface of my closed laptop and felt as if it’d somehow betrayed me. I knew what I’d been asking for when I put my name on that forum but the universe had given me Kyle instead. I sighed and picked up my Tarot deck, scooting back against the headboard and shoving pillows behind my back. I shuffled the cards easily between my hands and took comfort in their worn surfaces and batt
ered edges. The sudden silence, the absence of his presence, pressed in on me and I wrestled with the confused emotions that wrought.
I’d missed him, just been put back into his orbit, and even though I knew he’d be back, I felt his new absence keenly. We had a lot to talk about, he and I, and I had no idea where to begin. Now, more than ever, I wished I could divine the future absolute and not just the likeliest of a myriad of possibilities.
I decided to do a very basic three-card spread, each representing a cross section in time – past, present, and future. I closed my eyes and breathed deep and clear, focusing my energies on the simple task at hand, shuffling the deck between my hands until I reached an almost meditative state. When I felt calm, cool, and collected, I stopped and turned the first card, laying it in front of me.
My gaze skated over the image on its surface, a skeletal rider on a skeletal horse, bony hand outstretched, an hourglass with the sands trickling away perched in his palm. I couldn’t agree with the meaning behind it more. Death traditionally represented change and not just simple change like moving from one location to another. It meant a deep, fundamental change to one’s entire being. Something profound, life altering… looking at the card the night that changed the course of my life forever sprang immediately to mind. Like the monster under the bed, slithering out from the dark to loom menacingly above me. Although, as an adult, I knew that no amount of cowering under the blankets and wishing it away would make what’d happened disappear. It wasn’t a figment of my imagination that could just be ignored.
I reminded myself that I was alone, that there was no one here to see me, no one I needed to impress, and I let the emotions wash over me and through me. I let myself drown in the despair I felt over taking that man’s life, of altering my path and Kyle’s so completely. Even if I hadn’t had a choice, the guilt was still there. The horror at watching his eyes go wide, the dark blood spilling between his fingers as he fell, as if I’d cut him down with an ax as he’d fallen backwards, just as slowly as a felled tree. He was young. Probably no more than twenty, almost as fresh-faced as I had been at seventeen, and he hadn’t even been the one I had been aiming for.
The one I had been trying to shoot was the one holding the gun on my father. I’d shot him too, but he hadn’t died… I’d seen him again two years later when he’d caught up with me and my dad in Memphis and we’d run again. We’d had to bolt at least one more time since then and only the last ten years had our new identities stuck.
I let my mind drift, playing out vignettes from the past to present. Little bits of my life flickering past my mind’s eye as if I stood like stone in the midst of a river or stream, letting it wash over and around me. When I reached the present, I opened my eyes and when I felt still and focused again, I turned the next card…
The Tower also represented life-altering change, however, unlike Death, it was a much easier card to swallow; at least this time. The Tower represented all of the things unnecessary to you falling away. They might be things that you didn’t wish to lose, people and comforts and the like, but much like facing a car crash, or your house burning down you begin to realize that it doesn’t matter. That it was all just stuff, not who you were, not who you are at your core. The Tower represented loss and change, but when it was all said and done what crumbled away left you back at your foundation. This was important and reassuring. Yes, everything was tumultuous, yes, everything was frightening and in a freefall right now, but my foundation was solid. It was true, and I could always rebuild.
I analyzed how I was currently feeling. So far the two cards drawn rang eerily true and were, in fact, indisputable when it came to my situation and their base meanings. I rolled my lips together and took a deep breath, holding it, as I cast my mind’s eye to the future and turned the next card.
The Fool.
Interesting. Out of a deck of over seventy-eight cards I had managed, on a three-card draw, to pull, arguably, the three most powerful of the major arcana off the deck. Frustratingly, The Fool didn’t tell me much, unless it served as a warning. I tilted my head and let my eyes roam the familiar image. The young man, entranced by the butterfly, about to step off a cliff. It spoke to me, saying “Go forward with both eyes open…” and I had every intention to but I still couldn’t help but wish for something more to it. I turned over the next card as a sort of enhancement to The Fool, seeking clarification, something further to go on and felt my breath leave in a rush.
Here was a minor arcana, the Queen of Swords. I chewed my bottom lip. The suit of swords was an air symbol and typically meant power, rationality, and intellect. The Queen of Swords meant growth and clarity in an intellectual capacity. I took it to mean, in conjunction with The Fool, that there were many paths to take going into the future, and basically, not to be stupid about it. I needed to go forward with both eyes open and really think about what I was doing to avoid stepping off a cliff. The spread told me unequivocally that danger lay ahead and not to fuck up.
How quickly things can change. This time yesterday I was prepared to throw in the towel. Tired of running and tired of hiding – now here was Kyle, something totally unexpected and while I was still on the fence about some things, I still stood firm on my foundation, my truth, which was fuck whatever happens to me but I don’t have any right to drag anyone else into it or cause collateral damage. I’d already caused some of that when we were teens. Already hurt him once, had hoped and prayed he would forget about me and move on with his life (as much as that killed me to wish it.)
So now what do I do? I asked myself, scrubbing my face with my hands. I let out a giant exhale, never thinking in a million years that Kyle Cochran would still be looking for me, let alone that he would find me.
I swept the cards leaving me with more questions than answers up into my hands and re-introduced them to the deck. I suppose I couldn’t complain too mightily about what they’d told me. I mean, they certainly hadn’t been wrong, but they hadn’t exactly helped much, either. I wrapped them back up in their scrap of silk, my eyes falling to a battered old sketchbook covered in band stickers. I picked it up, older and more bruised than the rest, and let it fall open in my lap.
Most people had photo albums but I’d been too poor to have a camera. Instead, I stole art pencils from my art classrooms and drew the things that I wanted to commit to memory the most onto the pages of my birthday gift from my best friend. The book opened to the latter half of the middle, to the page I spent the most time on, the spine cracked there more than any other place from repetitive use.
There, in many varying shades of graphite, was my most beloved sketch. It was of Kyle, sitting perched on the back of a park bench in jeans and a black tee shirt, one of those black bomber jackets with the neon orange interior making him seem bigger than he actually was through the shoulders. On the opposite page, taped there, was the Polaroid I had been working from. One of our mutual friends had snapped the picture and I’d stolen it as soon as she’d set it down. She’d had a crush on Kyle hardcore and had been pissed the picture had disappeared.
I didn’t care, though. I coveted my best friend back then, but he didn’t know it and I didn’t show it. I cherished the time we spent together and to this day had sketches of those times, the good times, in just about every book scattered across the end of the bed.
I heaved a sigh and pulled my laptop into my lap and opened it up. I called down to the front desk for the Wi-Fi password and plugged it into their network. I connected but it was slow as fuck connecting to the email of my alias and alter-ego, and when it took too long for the email from my job to open up I shuffled the computer off my lap and got up, taking my restless self into the bathroom.
I stared at myself in the mirror, hair a frizzing catastrophe around my face since I’d slept on it wet. There was no fixing it, short of another shower, a blow dry, and combing and since I didn’t have anything better to do with myself, I did just that. I knew Kyle was bringing me some more clothes, but what I’d had on when he�
��d swooped in was clean now and would work just fine. I carefully dried and styled my hair and sighing in front of the mirror, hair smoothed and sleek, pinned down into a braid over one shoulder, went back out into the room to find a hairband or tie. I rifled one handed through the little pockets in my bag and found not only a hair tie but a small stash of my makeup.
I took my small haul back into the bathroom so that I could see what I was doing, and with time to kill, tied off the ends of my hair and set to work on my face. All I really had was some black eyeliner and some face powder but it was enough to take the shine off my oily skin and smooth out my already pretty smooth complexion. I’d lucked out with whoever my mother had been. Her genetics ruled the day when it came to me and as conceited and fucked up as it sounds? I could see why my dad got with her.
She’d left just after I was born, leaving my papa holding the proverbial bag. The diaper bag, I guess. It’d just been me and him ever since. Well, until it was me and Kyle for a good chunk of time. My dad just couldn’t help himself and tended to fuck up a lot, and when he did, I always ended up at Kyle’s place. It hurt my heart to know his parents were gone. They’d been my pseudo-parents for so long, you know?
I leaned heavily against the edge of the sink and stared wide eyed into the mirror. My eyes, rimmed in the dark kohl liner, seemingly much larger and taking up over half my face. I refused to cry, so I simply stared myself down until the choking sensation diminished and the hot prickling at the backs of my eyes receded.
I had no parents left at all, not even Mr. and Mrs. Cochran to go back to someday. I just had Kyle… but do you? I let out my breath slowly and closed my eyes, shutting out my shaken and crumbling visage.
