Page 45 of The Biker and the Loner
“Is that what you want?” he barks at me. “You want me to put a goddamn bullet in her head?”
This is what I get for falling for a biker. Hasting to get out the door, I quicken my pace. But I’m not fast enough. Just when I’m within reach, he grabs me and drives me back against the wall.
“What iswrongwith you, Leyana?!” he yells in my face.
“You don’t understand!” I yell back. “She’s all I have left. She’s my family!”
“Yeah? Well, Grunt’s my family and if he tried to suck my dick, I’d snap his goddamn neck.”
“You don’t get it.” I sigh and slump back against the wall in defeat. “You just don’t get it.”
“No, Ley, Idon’t.” He pulls away. “You could’ve called it abuse before. You had no voice, no choice, no power. Now, though, youdo. You’re a grown woman. She’s not forcing you anymore. You’re just letting it happen.” He watches me with a slightly raised brow and a cocked head. “You’re in arelationshipwith her, Leyana. That’s what it is. And I’m sorry, but my first real relationship isn’t gonna be an open one.” He takes another step back. “So, you know what, you’re right. This isn’t gonna work.”
With that, he turns and walks away from me.
Chapter 10
Ley
I can’t feelmy life.
Numb. Hazy. Ethereal. That’s what I feel. All the time. Like I’m trapped in a bubble of darkness floating above myself, watching this stranger who looks and talks like me living my life for me, and living itall wrong.
I scream out to the stranger, but she never listens. I urge her to fight back, but she never does. I beg her to run, but she always stays. I’m disgusted by her cowardice. Her weakness, her spinelessness. She’s a train wreck, but she won’t let me in, won’t let me guide her,livefor her.
After speeding out of Opal Meadows, I drive straight to the cemetery. From Nana Mary, the tiny old lady who sells flowers on a bench outside the cemetery, I purchase a bundle of gardenias. I come here so often that she only charges me half the price now. She pities me.
A blanket tucked under my arm, I sniff the gardenias as I navigate to Papà’s grave. They’re his favorite. According to him, my mother had a green thumb and loved gardening, and their small front garden used to abound with gardenias. He said seeing those gardenias in all their brilliant white glory as he left for work each morning used to feel like a reminder from God that He was with him. Then after mom passed, he said he fell in love with them all over again as they reminded him of her and the “pure” love they’d shared.
Once I reach his grave, I stoop down and sweep off the dried and darkened gardenias from the last time I was here and replace them with the fresh ones. Then I spread out the blanket that I keep in my car—his old blanket—and sit cross-legged.
Juan Oliveros
Beloved Father, Husband, and Brother
While tracing the letters with my forefinger, I whisper a prayer. And then I sing him his favorite song,Eres Tuby Mocedades.
“Hi, Papà. I want to believe that you’re resting in peace right now, but I don’t. Because you dreamt me last night. And even though I don’t remember any of it, the cold sweats, shivers, and fear that took over me are enough for me to know all isn’t well. Wherever you are, you aren’t there in peace. You’re crying out for me.
“And guess what, Papà? I’m not living in peace either. I’m not happy. I’ve been crying out for you, too. Crying out for you to release me.
“Papà, I came here today to tell you that…I can’t do it anymore. I can’t hold on to this promise I made to you any longer. It hurts too much. Every day it hurts. I don’t know how anything feels, or tastes, or looks anymore. I no longer see in color. Everything is…gray. Perpetually gray. And dull. And I just want it all to stop. I want to see color again, like when you were alive. You were color, and we laughed in color, lived in color, loved in color.
“When you left, all the color went with you. And I don’t know how to find my way back. To laughter, to living…to color.
“But, I do believe I know where to start. And it’s by letting go of my promise to you to be there and take care of her. I’m sorry, Papà, but for my sanity, I must. Because it’s hurting me, suffocating me, sucking the life out of me. She tries to use me as a substitute for you, and I’m dying, Papà. I’mdying. I tried to hold on for so long…but I just can’t anymore.
“Because there’s another thing, Papà. I met someone. You wouldn’t like him for me, and I don’t think I do either. But he makes mefeel, and I think he’s my way to color and laughter and taste. But I can’t let him whensheowns all of me. I can’t let him in while I’m being strangled with the burden of her. Please forgive me. Ibegyou to forgive me, Papà. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. It just means I’m ready to be with the living, not the dead. Because she’sdeadPapa, she’s not living anymore either. And if I don’t break free now, she’s going to lose me in the darkness with her.
“I love you, Papà. And hope you will continue to love me after this. I won’t be coming to see you as often anymore. I need to be among the living more. It’s time for me to let go and start a new journey. One of happiness, laughter, and lots and lots of color.”
I lay back on the blanket and cry for hours. It feels like I’m saying goodbye for the first time. Like I never truly said goodbye before, and it hurts more now because this time I know it’s real. I’m letting go, for the first time, and it’s simultaneously terrifying and cathartic.
It’s the wailing of my phone that eventually drags me back to reality, reminding me that I’m lying among the dead in a graveyard.
“Hello?” I answer through tears, sniffles, and a clogged throat.
It’s the delivery guys. They’re preparing to head out and want to confirm that someone is at home to collect. That they’re even calling me instead of Scratch meant he’d written down my number on the form instead of his.
