Chapter Nine #2
“Um, I think it was more confusing than anything. She wasn’t around often enough for me to genuinely miss her.
And for all his faults—and believe me, there are many—my father was more equipped to be a parent.
He wasn’t warm and fuzzy or anything, but he was able to give me the one-on-one attention I needed. ”
“When did you see your mom?”
“Mostly when I had inconvenient school breaks. When I was in actual school.”
“You dropped out?”
“No. But anytime we were traveling, I did distance learning or had tutors.”
“Was that lonely?”
“I mean, I could easily be really lonely in school too. I was a little different from kids my age. Probably because I was around my father a lot, and that meant I was around his friends and clients. Everyone was an adult. So I was better with adults than with kids my age. And he did try to make sure I always had contact with people my own age.”
“Classes. But not fun shit?”
“Little kids are easy. All you need to do is both like cats, and you’re best friends.
But that isn’t how it is as you get older.
And by the time I got someone to talk to me, it was usually time to move on.
So I mostly hung out on my own. At home or at a movie theater.
I have to give my father credit; wherever we moved, whatever kind of place we were staying in, he always made sure we were within walking distance of a movie theater, since he knew that’s where I wanted to be when he wasn’t around. ”
It still sounded kind of lonely.
It was no wonder she was still a bit of a loner. Even if she did have good interpersonal skills from that unusual upbringing.
“Is your dad still alive?”
“He is.”
“Still consulting?”
“God, no. He’s retired now. Over in the Everglades.”
“That why you settled down here?”
“Partly. Though I did want a little distance. He’s become a little more nosy in his older age. And I don’t need him questioning all my business moves. But Miami is also a big hub for crime. So it all just shook out nicely.”
“So he knows what you do?”
“Definitely. He’s the one to suggest it. Among other possible jobs that worked with the skills he taught me.”
“You ever work a job with him?”
“Oh my God, no. All we would do is butt heads. But I will sometimes call him and ask for his advice. He likes that. Why are we only talking about me?”
“‘Cause my story isn’t as interesting.”
“It led you to becoming an arms-dealing biker, so it must be at least a little interesting.”
“Parents were addicts. Are. They’re somehow still kicking. Dunno how that’s possible. But all their money went to that. No food. Hardly any clothes. It was bad enough when I was growing up. But then Dixon came along.”
“You’re a lot older than him, right?”
“About ten years, yeah. So when he came around, I was already practically raising myself.”
“But if your parents weren’t raising you, did they take care of Dixon?”
“Maybe the first few days. Honestly, I don’t remember.
All that comes to mind from those days was the crying.
He cried day and night, and I had no idea why until the lady from the state came because a neighbor complained.
Dixon was severely underweight and had a diaper rash so bad it required wound care. ”
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah, we got a ticket to foster homes then.”
“Separate?”
“That time, yeah. I guess no one wanted a newborn and me. My parents got me back first. Still not sure how the fuck that happened. They were high as hell the day they dropped me back off. Almost no food in the fridge. The place was a wreck.
“Dixon didn’t come back for another few months after that. By then, he was a little over a year. And I was able to figure out how to make sure he was eating enough. And getting his diaper changed. Which was good for him, but I guess bad for us in a way.”
“Because there was no reason for you to be taken away.”
“Yeah.”
“You wanted to be taken away?”
“I lucked out in my first two foster homes. There was no abuse. I was fed. Clean. Someone gave a shit if I got good grades. We got less lucky as we got older, save for one foster dad who kept us for almost two years. He was a biker. But a weekend warrior kind, not a one-percenter. He had a lasting impact.”
“Was he your last foster home?”
“Yeah. By the time we went back home, I was old enough to make sure there were no signs of neglect. And Dixon was old enough not to say anything that would get us taken away again.”
“You wanted to be home with your parents?”
“We didn’t want to be separated. By then, I’d heard a lot of the sick shit that some of the kids went through in their foster homes. I wasn’t taking a chance that Dixon went through that when I wasn’t around to protect him.”
“That makes a sad kind of sense.”
“Eventually, I got hooked up with a local crew where I could earn money to feed us, since I was too young to work more than a few hours and that wasn’t gonna cut it.
Eventually, I hustled my way into being able to get my own place.
Don’t think my parents even realized my brother was missing when I took him with me. ”
“Good for you. I’m sure he was more stable with you, even if you did kind of kidnap him,” she said with a little smile.
“I tried. We still struggled on and off, but I did everything I could to protect him from shit like hunger and cut-off lights and no air conditioning.”
“It’s why he seems… lighter,” she said.
“That’s the best compliment you could give me,” I said, feeling the words settle deep in my chest. Because it didn’t matter how hard I tried, some part of me always worried that shit weighed on him too, that he was using all the fun and humor to mask some hidden stressors.
I imagined it was the same way any parent might feel if they’d raised kids in less-than-ideal situations.
“You were just a kid too,” she said, shaking her head. “But you stepped up to be a parent. That says a lot about you. I can’t imagine that responsibility. And I’m a full adult.”
“You don’t want kids?” I asked.
I had no fucking idea where that question came from. I’d never asked someone that before. Let alone found myself caring about the answer.
Because while, when I’d first joined the club, I’d seen it as a break from the responsibility of being a parental figure, the more time I spent around the club kids, the more I walked back that mindset.
Did I want kids tomorrow? No. But it was on my mind now.
What it might be like to do it without poverty, with a support system, as an adult with a fully formed frontal lobe.
“Well, I don’t want to do it alone. And since I’m not seeing anyone,” she said, shrugging.
“You got time.”
“If we can figure out who is shooting at me before they get me.” It was the first time I’d heard her sound anything other than completely sure of herself.
“We will.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding. “We will. So finish your food so we can get on it.”
That’s my girl , my mind whispered.
Even though she wasn’t, in any definition of the phrase, my girl.