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It’s my birthday today, a day I should be celebrating—and in a way I guess I am—but where I am and where I’ve been since I was twelve put a cap on any joy I should be feeling.
Looking down at my release forms while I sit in the Counselor’s office feels surreal. I never thought I’d see the outside of this godforsaken complex again; in reality I knew I would but the pain and misery I’ve dealt with made it seem like an impossibility. An unrealistic hope that I’d let go of years ago.
I reread my name and release date wondering if I’m dreaming; if this is some cruel joke the Universe feels it owes me. It would be just my damn luck too. The juvie center I’ve spent the past seven years in has shown me that life is nothing but a shitstorm and you either fight through it or curl up and wait to die.
I refuse to give in and I refuse to give up fighting because I have a score to settle. I have my baby sister to find and these forms in my hand just gave me the extra boost of steel in my spine to do so.
“LucianTwitchDeLuca, did you hear a word I said?”
The center’s Counselor, Cindy Lopez sits behind her desk with a brow cocked. I almost smile at her use of my nickname, like it was my God-given middle name. Her wrinkled face morphs into one of concern. Since the day I arrived here she’s looked out for me and even though she has always been kind to me I’ve always treated her with a cold indifference. Not because she deserves it but because that’s who I am. I have no smiles to give, no charming words to spew. I’ve got bitterness in plenty and cruel words sit on the tip of my tongue constantly but for Lopez, I hold them back. That’s about as much kindness as I can show her.
I sit up straight and stare into her brown eyes while I wait for her to repeat whatever it is she said.
“I was saying,niño.”Little boy. “When you arrived here you didn’t have anything. No clothes aside from the ones you came in with, and no money—but I’m retiring and my last day is the day before you’re to be released.” She speaks to me in Spanish a lot and even though I’m fully Italian, I can easily understand. Spanish, when spoken correctly, is very close to my native tongue.
She stops and drinks some water, not because she’s nervous but because she’s old as hell and gets winded easily with her Parkinson’s disease. I watch her shaking hand as she slowly reaches for her water. Her shakes remind me of my Tourette’s syndrome but where her disease is very obvious and painful to watch, my syndrome is slight, and you’d only notice it when my agitation is high.
Normally I twitch at random moments which is the reason for my nickname. I prefer to be called Twitch than by the shit name my aunt stuck me with when she saved my sister and me from being killed alongside our parents. I shake off the memories that always stir my demons and focus on Lopez.
“From the little bit you’ve confided in me over the years, I know you don’t have any family to stay with but my home is very large and empty.”
When I continue to stare without comment, she sighs heavily like I’m grating on her last nerve and I suppose I am. I’ve been this way since the day my parents were killed and I’m not about to change my character to satisfy anyone. Don’t get me wrong, Lopez is the closest thing I have to a grandmother but I’ve done some dark shit in my young years especially while living in this hellhole, so my demeanor will never be described as jovial. With that in mind, I open my mouth to give this woman a break but before I can even say anything her Latin fire shows itself.
“Mira pendejo, I’m not going to offer again so pay attention. I’m retiring and I’m offering you a place to stay until you can get yourself back to your city and find that baby sister of yours. You’re still planning on finding her, yes?”
I bite back the smirk because I know she’ll hit me with something if I show any amusement at her calling me stupid. She has hit me before and I still have the scar on my bottom lip from her cane. She feels terrible about that, even to this day, but I deserved it. You say something disrespectful, you get a slap. Simple.
“Si vecchia,” my voice is deep and raspy as I call her old. It sounds rude but it’s the closest thing to an endearment and it’s one I’ve called her for years. She doesn’t mind me calling her old but when you call her old hag… Let’s just say her cane to my mouth was enough to shut me up and respect her.
“Okay then, you will come and stay with me. You’ll help me around my home for a few months and I’ll pay you each week. No funny business though, you stay clean and out of trouble and I’ll make sure you have a car to take with you to New York. Dealchiquito?”Little boy.
I’m completely taken aback. I always knew this lady had a soft spot for me, though I don’t know why. She has even saved my ass from isolation a few times when I got into fights here and let my darkness take over, almost killing my opponent in the process. I’ve never been able to figure her out. I know she and her husband were never able to conceive before he passed away in the nineties and for whatever reason she loves troubled kids enough to become a Counselor for this Californian juvenile detention center.
“I don’t know what to say.” I really don’t. I’m number one in the fighting ring some of the damaged teens have created here and she knows this so I’m a little shocked that she’s willing to open her home to the likes of me. Her trust in me is the kindest thing any authority has ever shown me.
“Say yes and take the bus to my home when you’re released. I’ll be waiting for you with a home cooked meal, so you better show up Lucian or I’ll have to get my ass out on the streets looking for you.”
The phone on her desk begins to ring so I stand to leave.
“My address is on the back of the last paper. Don’t disappoint me, niño.”Boy.
I don’t reply or look back as I exit her office and make my way to my cell. Day after tomorrow I’ll be free. I’ll be able to get to New York and begin my search for Sia, my angel face sister. In my mind’s eye, I picture the chubby-faced baby my mother brought home from the hospital, but I know she’s older now. Eleven years old to be exact but I need to find her. I have no clue what she looks like now or if her name is still Sia Romano. It’s possible my aunt changed her name too.
I think back on the last days I’d seen my parents alive. I don’t remember their names but their faces are like photographs in my mind. Each detail burned into my memory like my beautiful mother and her long brown hair, which usually hung like a silken curtain draped over her shoulders, and my father with his crooked smile and mischievous eyes.
I remember my mother’s raspy voice as she told me she had a surprise for me on my upcoming eighth birthday and the tears in her eyes when I told her that my sister was the only surprise I needed. In my young mind I was my sister’s keeper and protector.
That sense of responsibility was brought on by many factors but mostly because when Sia was brought home, my father put her in my six-year-old arms and spoke with his deep voice rumbling around the room.
“Ragazzo, this is your new little sister.”
I reached for her tiny hand and watched with fascination as her fingers wrapped around my finger.
“You see how small she is, how she is at your mercy? Do you feel the power you hold over her?” I nodded because I did feel it. That tiny baby was at the mercy of everyone including me. One drop and she could break like the glass cup I had dropped that morning.
“Then you see how much protection she needs. She cannot defend herself if someone tries to harm her.”
I remember pulling her closer to me at the mere thought of someone hurting her.
