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“Well…” My thigh aches in the nighttime cold, and my left shoulder smarts from the pressure of leaning on a cane. But I trudge outside and make a beeline for the ramp instead of attempting to survive the concrete stairs. A helicopter swish-swish-swishes in the dark sky above, far enough away, that the noise is barely a bother. But close enough that I can make out the spotlight on the side. Bringing my gaze down again, I shake away the memory of a man I once met. A fireman who, in another time of his life, jumped out of planes and helicopters for a living.
He was my hero the day of my car accident. And he might be the first man, ever, to make me smile and trust he wasn’t a cheating dirtbag.
He spoke of his girlfriend while we hung over the side of a cliff. He talked of love, and forever, how sweet she was, and how smitten he was at the idea of commitment.
When I bring my focus back to right now and to the exhausted nurse who watches me with a single raised brow, I scan my thoughts quickly and search for whatever we were discussing.
“Cheese,” she smarts, as though reading my mind. “We were talking about cheese sandwiches.”
“Oh yeah.” Grinning, I bring my triangle half sandwich up and take another bite. “I like cheese. I like my life. I love being here for my mom.”
“And you’re glad you met me.” She holds the back of my arm as we descend the ramp, tight enough to catch me if I fall but not so tight that she thinks my streak of pride will arc up and brush her away. “It bothers me most of all that good people die young, Rory. And that the evil bastards in this world skip along in their infinite assholishness and somehow escape karma.”
“Beats me.” At the bottom of the ramp, I gently shake her off and toss the last corner of my triangle between my lips. Then, I come to a stop and accept the other half with a smile. “Assholes tend to feed off bad karma, and the sweet ones are often handed a lump of shit and a‘too bad, so sad, get on with things’.”
“Mmhm,” she hums. “It’s not fair. That’s for sure.”
“But I have no clue how to change it. So I stay in my lane and focus on me.” I turn my body to the right and stare down the long street I must walk before I find the next available bus stop. The insurance money on my car is still nowhere to be seen, and I don’t have enough liquid cash to buy another. So I make do with the public transport this city offers, and curse myself every single time I stay out past dinnertime. It’s cold. It’s dark. And if I’m being completely honest with myself, walking this city at night is a little scary. “You heading home now?” I peek back over my shoulder and look the heavyset woman up and down. “Driving or bus?”
“I have my car tonight.” She digs into her purse and victoriously presents a packed keyring with a smile. “Want a ride?”
Yes, I do. A million times, yes.But we live in different directions, and I learned last time that giving me a ride adds at least twenty minutes to her commute. “No, it’s okay.” I show her a smile and hope she believes its sincerity. “I’m thinking of heading into that bar a couple of blocks down first. Get a burger. Look at all the cute cops. Sit in the warmth for a minute.”
She laughs under her breath and turns away. “Alright, sweet pea. You be safe, okay? Walk straight there. Don’t dilly dally and get yourself caught up in drama.”
“This is first responder central.” I take a bite of my dinner and start walking. “Cops on every block. Doctors everywhere in between.” I pause and peek back to make sure she’s not following me. “If I should find drama, I also know where to find cops and someone to take care of me.”
She rolls her eyes and hugs her purse tighter as she takes another step away. “Be safe. I have my cell on me in case you need to chat or whatever.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I turn back around and start in the direction I’m going. Now that I have half a sandwich in my belly, hunger roars to life and reminds me to keep eating. Two slices of bread and a piece of hyper-processed cheese a day is simply not enough, and ramen noodles are not the least bit nutritional for a twenty-one-year-old healing from a major injury.
It’s all a bit tragic, really, how skilled I am at being the martyr.
It’s not a conscious decision I make. But rather, a way of life after spending two decades trying to help my mom, and before I knew better, please my dad.
I’m forced to save what few pennies I have because soon, I’ll have a funeral to pay for. I must squirrel away every cent I own because soon, taxes are coming in for the property my mom paid off. If I let those taxes get away from me, I’ll lose the one thing she busted her ass to achieve. So that’s a non-negotiable for me.
I have college to pay for and student loans piling up. I have four years of medical school to get through before any real money begins flowing in, and though I had a part-time job to help ends meet, the car accident some other douchebag was responsible for made that impossible to keep.
Physical therapy costs money. Specialist appointments cost money.
Lifecosts money.
I have no clue how my mother got through, raised me on her own, and still got to where she is now without a massive chip of bitterness eating away at the goodness in her soul.
“You shouldn’t ignore me when I call you, Lorenzo.”
I screech to a stop about a block from the hospital when an angry voice slams into my consciousness. In a panic, I plaster my back to the brick wall and search the shadows on the opposite side of the street where the voice came from.
“V-Vallejo,” the scared second voice stutters in response. “I wasn’t ignoring you, I swear.”
“You owe me money,” the first snarls.
Squinting my eyes to cut through the glare of streetlights and headlights, I rest my hands on the wall at my back, but lean forward. This is how chickens lose their heads, I’m certain. They stretch their necks and make the axe’s target so much easier.
“I don’t take kindly to shitheads not paying what they owe, Lorenzo.”
As my eyes adjust to the dark and figures move in the shadows across the street, I catch sight of three, maybe four, overly large men with their backs to me. They stand in the mouth of an alleyway, hidden from the cars passing by and unnoticed by the few pedestrians walking past.
