4. Joker
With tires screeching, I brake in front of the ER entrance. Throwing the car into park, I open my door and run around, scooping Queen up. “Someone get the fuck out here and help me!” I scream at the top of my lungs, never being more afraid. People scramble behind me and I hear them pushing a bed toward me. Blood is coating the front of my shirt and hands as I lay her down.
She opens her eyes slightly, and I hear her say HIPAA and don’t say shit to anybody. I don’t know if she is talking to me or if she is talking to the doctors. It gave me a small bit of hope; she spoke. I follow them to a room, and a nurse asks me questions. They hammer me with questions, but I can’t focus on anything other than Queen. I try to keep an eye on her; I need to know if she is okay. If I keep my eyes on her, she can’t die. “She is in A-FIB!” I hear someone scream. “Get me the paddles!”
They shock Queen, and her body flies up off the table before doing CPR. They shock her three more times before her rhythm starts back. “Let’s get her to the OR now!” With that, they rush Queen off and leave me standing there looking at the spot where she was. My legs want to collapse, and I stand there, terrified she is going to die. She died for a second in front of my eyes. Instead of being with her, I am now left alone inside this room with blooded gloves and medical equipment. My eyes look down at my bloody hands and they are shaking.
“Sir?” A nurse snaps her fingers in front of my face. I tilt my head to look at her, wondering when she got here and how long she has been trying to get my attention. “After you park, go up to the 4th floor. There is a waiting room to the right of the elevators. You should call any family to come in case—“ My hand shoots up, signaling her to stop talking. I can’t hear the thought of her not being okay. “Sir.” I turn and walk away, not letting her finish that sentence. Queen can’t die. I can’t live without her, and it hurts to breathe while thinking about it. She has to wake up and yell at me for even putting her in this position. All I can think about is how this is my fault. I put the target on her back.
When I enter a parking space, I scream and place my head on my steering wheel. I glance up at the sky. The only thought I keep having is how if she pulls through this, then as punishment, I will never pursue her. The fact that I am looking to the sky begging for Queen to live is telling. I gave up praying long ago, but that’s what I think I am doing right now. Never have I been to church or been taught how to pray, but it feels right.
I try remembering the last time I felt this helpless, and the answer is easy. The last day I saw my mother was when I was around seven years old. I began fighting the men she would bring home. She screamed at me when I busted the last man’s nose with my forehead. Then she took a wire brush and beat me with it until I bled.
Why is it every instinct for a kid to want to be loved by their parents even when they are monsters? I wanted her to love me more than the drugs. Her stringy bleach-blonde hair had about 2 inches of dark growth at the roots. She was coming down from a high, and her face was pockmarked, but she was still pretty. But when you looked at her, you mostly felt sorry for her. She was just another drug addict that the world stopped caring about.
She grabbed me before pushing me with both hands into the wood panel corner of the living room and sneering at me with her lipstick staining her teeth. Her mascara from the previous day had run down her cheeks and dried, highlighting her bloodshot blue eyes. “You stay in that fucking corner, boy!” she said, pointing at me and pulling on her jean jacket to cover the track marks on her arm. “I’ll be back, and I swear if you’re not in that corner when I get back…” She took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, and fished a cigarette from the black bag. Fumbling through the bag, she pulled out a light blue lighter and shook it, trying to get it to produce a flame. She took a long drag off it when she got it lit—now pointing two fingers with her cigarette between them. “Don’t fucking move.”
I didn’t move, not even when I had to use the bathroom, peeing myself in the corner. My body trembled, knowing how bad she would be when she got home. I woke when I heard the front door slam, and she was laughing as she led two men into the room. She swayed on her feet, grabbing onto the brown leaf-patterned couch. “There he is! He is a little fighter, I tell you! He will make you some money.” My heart sped up, and they tilted their heads, looking at me. One had a scar that ran down his eye, and he wore a black cap pulled down. The other had curly hair and freckles. When he spoke, you could see his missing front two teeth.
“Yeah, we will take him and train him. I think he will do nicely.” The one with the scar reached for me and pulled me up from the corner. I fought his grip, trying to get back into the corner.
“Don’t touch me!” I screamed, fighting them as they dragged me away to my new home. When I glanced back from the street below, I saw the home I had always known at the top of the hill. My mother stood on the porch waving with a smile on her face. I didn’t have to see her eyes to know that her pupils were pinpoints, no longer blown from the withdrawal of heroin. They reached the car and threw me into the trunk before taking me to my home for the next five years, where they trained boys to fight for money. It was there that Regina and Frank found me after my last fight. I had to be pulled off the kid’s body. They claimed I was a Berserker, so I embraced the Viking parallel, because once I started fighting, I couldn’t control the rage. That fact is why they needed me gone, and Regina found her new project.
I don’t know how long I sat in that spot before I found my way to the waiting room. Walking to the corner, I pull the chair out and sit. It’s what I deserve. I don’t even remember getting my phone out to call Ace and telling him to get to the hospital as fast as they could and that they weren’t sure she would make it. I don’t wash her blood off of me. For some reason, my body and mind need it on me. Proof that she was alive the last time I touched her, blood still pumping through her veins.
Less than 30 minutes later, they roll up. Jack paces as he watches the doorway for a doctor. Ace screams at me, wanting answers, but I can’t. Queen told me not to. It’s her story to tell. If she dies, then I will tell them everything. Until then, I say nothing as I stare off into space, not moving until the doctor tells us where she is and that she pulled through. Her heart stopped three times, but she is a fighter.
I will keep my promise to the universe. I will not pursue my Queen. She will be mine to watch from afar.