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“I’m sorry, Dave, I just have to,” I barely give him a chance to respond before rushing toward the back door.
"Robin!" he calls after me, but I don't have time to explain. Adam comes first—always has, always will—and right now, if I don’t go meet Uncle Craig and he gets annoyed, I’m afraid of the consequences it would have on Adam and me.
As I sprint through the crowded streets of Philadelphia City, dodging pedestrians and weaving between parked cars, the only thought running through my head is: What could Uncle Ray want this time so urgently?
***
My heart hammers in my chest as I reach the dimly lit alley behind the tattoo parlor where Uncle Craig works—our usual spot. I’m breathless by the time I arrive. He’s got a car, and I don’t. I had to ride my bike all the way here.
But it’s not like he’s ever asked for an opinion on what might be a convenient meeting place for us when he needs something from me. He snaps his fingers, and I show up where he wants me to. That’s just how it’s always been since he took us in six years ago, and I’ve known no other way.
“Uncle Craig?” I call out.
He steps out from the darkness of the inner alley. His imposing figure casts a menacing shadow on the graffiti-covered walls, and the sinking sun casts an eerie glow around him.
"Uncle Craig, what's going on? Why'd you call me out here like this?" I ask, my voice trembling with fear.
Then, he steps closer, and I can see the bruises. I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth in shock. A raw gash marks his cheek, his left eye is swollen shut, and a deep shade of purple is creeping over his eyelid. The knuckles of his right hand are split open. "Uncle Craig, what happened to you?" I ask, my heart clenching with worry.
He grunts, wincing as he moves. "Got into some trouble with the wrong people," he mutters through gritted teeth. “No thanks to you.”
"Trouble? What kind of trouble?" I press, feeling a knot of dread form in the pit of my stomach, all the while trying hard to ignore his passive-aggressive remarks.
"It's those damn thugs your mother dealt with. They're new guys demanding their money," he explains, his eyes flashing with anger and pain.
My breath catches in my throat. The memories of my mother's gambling addiction and the mess she left behind in the wake of her death come flooding back, mingling with the fear of what these goons could do.
"But we paid them all back, didn’t we?" I ask breathlessly. Anxiety gnaws at my chest. I never went to college. Straight out of high school, I took up three jobs to pay off my mother’s collectors. I’m 21 years old now and don’t have a cent to show for my hard work. All of it goes into paying off her debts or to my uncle for the ‘upkeep’ of Adam and me.
"Turns out there are more. They want their money, Robin, and they aren't willing to play nice," Uncle Craig replies grimly.
I step closer to him, instinctively wanting to run away. "How much do we owe them?” I ask with a trembling voice.
“We? There’s no we. It’s just you,” he pauses, making sure his words sink in.
I lower my head and ask again, “How much?”
“Five grand. And look what they did to me for it,” he bellows at me, pointing at his eye. “You have one week to come up with it, or god damn it, I’ll be sending them your way.”
I feel the world around me spinning as the weight of his words sinks in. Five thousand dollars. Where on earth am I going to come up with that kind of money on such short notice? My throat feels dry, and my hands are clammy with anxiety.
“Five grand?” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the distant sound of traffic. The rage in Uncle Craig’s eyes does little to ease my anxiety. “But I… I can’t.”
“I’ve spoiled you, I have,” Uncle Craig hollers. “All these years, you’ve lived under my roof. No rent, no food to buy. I’ve paid for you and your brother. You’re an adult now, 21. This ain’t my problem, you hear me? I’ve made up my mind. If you don’t fill your shoes, I’ll take that wretched brother of yours and move to an address you can’t find us at. Then you’ll see how fast that creative mind of yours can come up with a solution.”
Uncle Craig's words linger heavily in the air, suffocating me with their impossible demand. There’s no point arguing with him. I pay him four hundred a month in rent, all forgotten at his convenience. I eat at my workplace, but he doesn’t count that.
Five thousand dollars in a week. It might as well be five million for all I have in my bank account. My mind races, trying to come up with a solution, a way out of this mess that my mother had left behind yet again.
“Earth to Robin?” he says, walking closer and tapping my forehead. I turn my head away, tears springing to my eyes. “Oh, don’t be a weak coward. One week’s plenty for you to figure outthe funds. Sell your shit, ask for an advance at work, do whatever you need to. But I swear, Robin. If I get in trouble with these thugs next week, I will take Adam and leave. You hear me?”
The dimly lit alley feels like a prison closing in around me as the panic tightens its grip on my chest. Uncle Craig's gaze is piercing and accusatory. His threats hang ominously between us like a guillotine waiting to fall.
I nod numbly, my mind racing with the weight of his ultimatum. "I'll... I'll find a way, Uncle Craig. I promise," I manage to stammer out, hoping to appease him and buy myself more time to figure things out.
He grunts in response, his expression still hardened with anger and pain. "Good. You better. I'm not playing around, Robin. This is your mess to fix," he growls before turning to walk back into the shadows of the alley.
***
