“I am from the streets and on the streets, the only thing people recognize is violence and power. So yeah, this is me, telling you to PUT. ME. THE. FUCK. DOWN.” I screeched the last part.
He didn’t let me go; he didn’t even blink. He groaned, and his face looked like someone had just run over his puppy. I had zero sympathies, nada, none. He could take his “poor me” look and shove it up his ass.
I peered over Reece’s shoulder and saw campus security walking towards us along with two police officers. Apparently, I was more like my mom than I realized, I was about to be arrested and thrown in jail. Damn.
Reece took my distracted silence as me settling down. He set me down tenderly and took one large palm and placed it on my cheek. I willed myself not to cry. The man who had just betrayed me didn’t match the man lovingly stroking my face. Stay hard, I warned myself; he’s a phony and a schemer.
It suddenly dawned on me that Reece was just like my mom. He had humiliated me, hurt me, assured me that he cared for me, and now would employ whatever words he could to persuade me that his assholery wasn’t what it was. But I was finished being used, laughed at, and manipulated. Looking up into those tender eyes that I once dreamed I could get lost in, I brought up my knee and racked him as hard as I could between his legs. I stepped back as he crumpled to the ground.
Immediately, one of the police officers seized my arms. “Hands behind your back! Oh shit, Syn? Syn Patrick?”
Damn, it was bad enough I was going to get arrested, but I was going to be arrested by the same cops that arrested my mother again and again. Worse than that, he called me Syn. Syn was my nickname around my mom and everyone on the streets. When I had got to campus, I introduced myself as Synclair. I wanted to be different than the street rat I have always been characterized as.
“Yeah Donny, it’s me,” I felt ashamed. Donny was about 50 years old and had once told me he had a daughter my age and a boy just a bit older than that. If he was the one called to evict us from a hotel, he always let me gather my things and if he saw me walking home late at night, he would always pull over and give me a ride. A nice man, with graying hair and warm brown eyes, he had always been good to my mom and me. Now I felt like I had let him down.
“We gonna cuff her Donny? The lady over there wants to press charges.” This came from a police officer I had never seen. He looked too young to be a cop, with his crew cut and aviator glasses.
Donny looked down at me; I knew he felt bad for me. I placed my fists behind my back. “It's cool Donny, it’s your job, besides,” I told him looking at Reece who was being held up by his friends, “I’m done here.” I turned away from Reece; I hoped I never saw him again in my life.
In the end, Donny didn’t cuff me, he took my arm and led me to the patrol car and placed me in the back seat. Leaving the new guy to take, what I am sure was a drama filled report from Amber- Barbie, he took me to the station about three miles from campus.
Before handing me off to a female officer, Donny offered to call my mom or Uncle Jack. I shook my head. I didn’t want Uncle Jack to know I was arrested, and mom wouldn’t be able to help me. Sighing, I thanked Donny and went with the female officer.
Jail sucks. I can, now, say that from personal experience. There is nothing worse than sitting in a cold room on a Saturday night, filled with the same plastic chairs I sat on in third grade, hemmed in by hookers, drug users and drunk tourists who were furious that they were missing their Celine Dion show at Caesar’s Palace.
After being, fingerprinted and having my lovely mug shot taken, I was ordered into an office and questioned by a nice woman with a crew cut, named Charlie. After a lengthy conversation of the circumstances, Charlie informed me she would get back to me. I guess she was hoping for some way to get me released with a court date. I didn’t give her anyone to call to vouch for my character. I mean really, mom had no money, and I didn’t want to bug Uncle Jack, and there was noway I was calling Chef Max.
I wasn’t sure if my part-time job at KFC was sufficient to prove I wasn’t a flight risk and I was presumably getting booted out of The University of Las Vegas, or UNLV as we locals called it, as we spoke. It appeared my college education was going to be cut short by Reece Hudson and that Amber-Barbie twit.
After my interview with Charlie, I returned to the hard plastic chair that was closest to the television. It turned out a few hours and a disgusting bologna sandwich later, I was released. Apparently, Amber had dropped the assault charges and Reece never filed any.
Now the sucky part about being arrested is that they don’t drop you off where they arrested you. Nope, they take you down a lengthy corridor and walk you through a gate that is buzzed open by some unseen police officer and out you go.
I had never been arrested, but I had bailed my mom out before. I exhaled as the gate opened. I stepped out into the street. My purse and cell phone were in my dorm. My clothes were still damp and while the spring days were beautiful, the nights were still only in the 50s. With no money for a cab and no phone to call anyone, but then again who would I call? I began the three-mile walk back to campus. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered me but a three-mile walk at 3 a.m. in the seediest part of Vegas was not my idea of fun.
Placing one foot in front of the other, I swore I would never be duped again. I was Syn Patrick; I was going to own who I was and where I was from. I was tired of trying to fit into a world that obviously didn’t want me. No matter how bad shit was right now, everything had a bottom. I was positive I had reached mine. Things could only get better from here, I told myself.
Apparently, I’m a damn liar. I should have known things could always get worse. As soon as I stepped into my small room, I saw my phone blinking in the darkness. I was going to ignore it and tumble into bed, exhausted, when I looked and saw that I had missed 42 calls from Uncle Jack and 12 text messages. Immediately, my exhaustion was replaced with panic. I scrolled through the messages, ignoring the ones from Reece.
My hands shook when I read the message from Uncle Jack.
8:20 P.M., Your mom, overdosed, at Sunrise Med Center, take a cab I will pay for it. UJ.
I didn’t hesitate; my first call was to a cab service, and the next was to Uncle Jack. It took about 10 calls and fifteen minutes for him to eventually answer.
“Uncle Jack, how’s mom?” I asked, winded from sprinting to meet the cab at the front of campus. I flung myself into the taxi and directed the driver where to take me. I shuddered, then I realized I had the wet clothes on from yesterday.
“Doll, when you get here I’ll meet you in the back by emergency,” he answered.
I realized he hadn’t answered my question and felt my heart start to beat faster. “Uncle Jack, is mom a-alive?” I choked out; my breathing labored as I struggled to push down the fear that was clawing its way to the surface.
“I think we…” he started.
“No!” I shrieked, not caring that I was rudely interrupting him mid-sentence. The cabbie looked at me in his rearview mirror and then quickly back on the road.
“Is. She. Dead?” I had to know; I had to know now.
“Yes, hon,” came his pained response. I didn’t hear much of what he said next. It was something about talking to me when I got there, and for me not to worry.
Without thinking I threw the cell out the window, not wanting to look at it again. I sat back in the tattered leather seats and blankly stared out the window as the Vegas landscape rushed by.
I would like to say that I was surprised, but I wasn’t, even though I still was. How many times had I went to the emergency room with her when she overdosed on something? Countless. How many times had they told her that the next OD could be her last? Too many to calculate.
Like every kid with a messed up parent, a part of me wanted to believe that someday she would get better. Deep down, a little part me wanted her to wake up someday and be the mom in The Brady Bunch. Yeah, that part of me needed to be slapped upside the head.
The next
few days were a blur. I don’t know what I would have done without Uncle Jack. He met me as soon as the cab pulled up. He held my hand while the nurse pulled back the sheet so I could give my mother a kiss, it was the only time I had ever seen her look peaceful. With her hi-cheekbones and long, red hair she made me wonder what she would have looked like without the needle marks on her, fragile, arms and the dark smudges under her closed eyes.
Uncle Jack took care of all the arrangements and spoke to all the doctors. He brought me back to the small apartment above the bar. His new bar had yet be renovated, but he had them build his new apartment first so he wouldn’t have to stay in the pricey Vegas hotels. I know he mentioned, many times, that he would have mine ready in about two months, and he wished me to live with him until it was completed. I settled on his sofa, and he covered me with a blanket that smelled like old spice.
Other than getting up to pee and grab an apple here and there, I didn’t move. I had lost my mom, my dream boyfriend and now according to the phone call, my UJ was on, my UNLV dorm room and scholarship. Apparently, there was some agreement made that Amber would decline to press charges as long as I was no longer at school. Since she had taken out a restraining order against me, it would have been problematic to go back anyways.
“You don’t need to go back Synclair. You're almost twenty-one, you can help me with the books, and once you're of age, I will teach ya how to run the bar.” I could tell my uncle was hoping I’d say yes.
“I don’t get it, Uncle Jack.” I started, pushing myself up to a sitting position. Tucking my feet underneath me, I pulled my wild hair back into a careless ponytail with a hair tie I’d had on my wrist. “Mom never talked about her past, or a brother, or her parents and especially not about her inheritance. The only proof I even have that you two were related was the fact that she admitted it the night you walked into the KFC I worked at.”
Uncle Jack had popped into my life about 8 months ago. I was working the night shift at KFC, and he walked in and asked my manager when I could take a break, since it was quiet my boss called me over and the rest was history.
It was awesome for a while, but when I asked mom if she had a brother she would only confirm it, but refused more details. Whenever the two were in the same room, they did nothing but argue. Still, my mother had him as an emergency contact for the hospital, so there had to be something there.
“My parents were immigrants from Dublin, Ireland,” UJ explained. “My father was a partner in a ship building company there. He retired, he sold his stake in the company, and moved to the states. My parents settled into a large, Victorian home in the trendy side of San Francisco. My mother was already pregnant with your mom, Aggie, when they settled here. I came along about six years after, so there was a bit of anage difference between us. It was important to my father that Aggie embraced American culture. Being raised by an Irish mother, she had picked up lots of Gaelic phrases and even had an Irish accent. Father, had tutors teach her to speak without the Irish pronunciation, in fact, both my parents had tutors to help them communicate with less of an Irish tone.” His blue eyes shimmered with tears, and suddenly I felt like a fool for making him talk about this.
“I’m sorry UJ,” I used my nickname for him and smiled. I placed my small hand over his large, chubby one. I wasn’t affectionate with many people, and seldom ever with my mother, but I needed him to know I cared. “We don’t have to do this right now, it’s not like it matters, you’re here, and I love you.” I squeezed his hand, amazed to realize I meant it. I did love Uncle Jack, and I didn’t care if he and mom never got along or what happened in the past, I just knew he was on a short list of people who choose to believe in me and to give a crap whether I lived or died, UJ was my hero.
“No love, it’s fine. You should know about your mom and your grandparents. My father was an extremely strict and hard man. He was not affectionate and demanded obedience from all around him. Years of running an enterprise and having money spoiled him because he was used to everyone doing what he wanted. He was also heavy handed.”
“He hit you?” I was surprised, it never dawned on me that there could be reasons my mother turned to drugs, I was just too busy being pissed that she did.
UJ’s sad blue eyes caught my hazel ones. I could tell he didn’t want to say anymore. One hand cupped my cheek as he sighed.
“Dear God, you have your mother’s eyes,” He said wistfully. “Her name was Agatha, but we always called her Aggie. She wasn’t always a drug addict. She was once full of life and beautiful.” Dropping his hand from my cheek, he stood up from the couch and turned away from me. I thought maybe he was done speaking, but when he turned around, I saw the tears streaking down his cheeks.
“I loved my big sister, Aggie. We were playmates and friends. She read me stories and would take the blame when I broke a dish or forgot a chore. It was always her butt, my father paddled.” UJ smiled at me sadly.
“She wanted his attention and approval. I learned from a young age no one could please him, but she tried. When she was eighteen, my father decided it was time for her to date. However, my father chose all the suitors. All of them with money, education and status. My sister didn’t like any of them, but she endured the dates to please my father. When she came home crying after a date with a particular boy, she told me the man had attacked her. Her being 18, I was only ten, I ran and informed my father right away.” I could see UJ shake with anger at the memory.
“My father, the bastard, made her strip so he could see the marks. She was bruised on her arms and her thighs had purple marks from being spread apart by force. Instead of comforting her or going after the raping bastard, he began to yell at Aggie. He told her he would be a laughingstock; he blamed her for not being stronger to fight off the beast.”
“Grandpa was an asshole UJ,” I told him, the anger coming through loud and clear. I couldn’t imagine what my mom had gone through. Hell, I didn’t even know her name until I was ten, and that was only because a Police officer banged on our hotel door wanting to arrest her for something.
First, she was raped and then she was humiliated and blamed by the guy that was supposed to protect her, her father. No wonder my mother never spoke of her family, she probably hated their guts.
“Yes, he was. Your mom was never the same. She no longer tried to satisfy him. She started going to clubs, coming home drunk and getting into massive battles with my father. The crowd she hung with not only drank but also did various drugs. Sometimes, I would come home from school, and she would be on the couch in a weird fog. My mother would shoo me away, and my father just ignored her.” I waited for him to continue, yet not sure I wanted to hear anymore.
“When I was eighteen, I left to go to Stanford for a business degree. Your mom overdosed while my parents and I were getting me settled into my dorm room. If the housekeeper hadn’t called 911, she would have died. It was when she got to the hospital that we found out she was pregnant with you, baby girl,” he gazed at me affectionately.
“My father was livid, my mother just cried, and I just held your mom’s hand.” He sighed and sat back down on the worn, cream colored, leather sofa. He grabbed my hands in his and turned so that were sitting knee to knee.
“My father threw her out of the house; he told her not to come home unless she was willing to go to rehab. Of course, my sister agreed, she had nowhere else to go and no money aside from what my parents provided. So she went to rehab and came home six weeks later, my parents seemed appeased, and my father set her up with an appointment to see a physician for the baby.”
“So what happened? What went wrong?” I wanted to know.
“She was about seven months along when I found her in her room with a needle in her arm.”
“What?” I reared back like I’d been slapped. “She was using drugs while she was pregnant, she could have killed us both,” I practically shouted.
“But she didn’t,” UJ pointed out. “But I did tell my father; I thought he would put he
r in rehab or a hospital. Instead, they had a huge fight, and she told me I was dead to her. The next morning she was gone. My parents tried to find her but apparently your father, who was also her drug dealer, had persuaded her that all of her dreams would come true in Las Vegas. I pressured my parents to chase after her but my father was too stubborn, and my mother would never go against his wishes. Everyone was forbidden to mention her name and all of her pictures were removed from the walls. The two times I found her number her she hung up on me. When I was about twenty-five, I got the call that my parents had died in an accident. I was working on Wall Street as a stockbroker, at the time. It was a weird feeling of sadness and relief. I never wanted to be a stockbroker; I had done it for my father. I tried to reach out to your mother again; she told me she didn’t have parents and hung up on me. So, I let the lawyers deal with the will and the sale of the house and told them to send whatever the inheritance was to Aggie in Nevada. They had to use a private detective to get her address.
I decided to take a vacation to Ireland. I was always curious about it; I wanted to see where my parents came from. So, I quit my job and flew to Ireland,” he sighed as if he was lost in a memory he wasn’t willing to share.
“I remember my mom getting a lot of money; I don’t know how much. I know it was the first time I got dolls to play with. We stayed in Treasure Island on the Strip. She talked about getting a house, going on a trip and a bunch of other stuff that never happened,” I told him bitterly.
“She was given a million dollars practically, and you never got a house?” He asked in disbelief.
“No, her new guy Dan, a real low life, convinced her to invest the money in his business ventures. They never worked out; mom lost all the money, and Dan split as soon as the money was gone.” Yeah, that was a great memory.
Sighing, I looked at UJ. He looked tired, and his eyes were red from crying. The wrinkles around his eyes looked deeper than I had ever seen and he seemed pale, even for an Irish guy.
No Refunds No Exchanges: A Hudson Family Series- Book 4- Matt and Ali Page 43
