🅣🅘🅚🅘
As I gaze at the girl, she feels foreign to me. The girl in my memories is of a time when life was simpler and when stress was a distant concept. In those days, I had a life filled with love and joy. There was a man who cherished me unconditionally and a little boy who brought purpose to my existence. Happiness radiated from within me, evident in the younger version of myself. I can almost hear my laughter as she playfully pushes the little boy on the swing, their shared joy reverberating through the air. The sun’s warmth bathes them in its golden glow, as the handsome blonde man leans in to kiss her, sealing their love in that tender moment.
Then the sunshine disappears and the darkness descends across my mind.
The memory flashes vividly, the image of my son hiding under the table while I frantically pace around the kitchen, my voice raised in panic. My hands tremble as I clutch the phone to my ear, the urgency of the situation weighing heavily on me.
“I need to protect him, Jax,” I shout into the phone, my heart racing as I glance at Abel’s frightened expression. The fear in his eyes mirrors my own as I turn towards the window, my voice filled with desperation as I threaten whoever is lurking outside. With a surge of adrenaline, I scream,
“I’m armed, and I will fucking kill you if you try to come in here.” The tension in the room is palpable as I drop the phone, the deafening sound of a gunshot echoing through the air. The metallic scent of blood fills my nostrils, causing a wave of nausea to wash over me.
I blink my eyes, to shake the flickers of that day away and turn over in the top bunk bed, so my roommates can’t see my tears. The thing nobody ever tells you about insomnia is, how in the middle of the night your mind is razor-sharp, and even though your eyes are open the memories of your past can play in front of you like a movie. I have lay awake at night for many years playing the past in my mind, I can’t remember the last time I had a peaceful slumber.
As the first rays of morning light seep through the worn-out curtains, the sounds of commotion fill the air, signaling the start of another day in this cramped bedroom. I cringe at the sound of one of my roommates coughing incessantly, a reminder of the constant issues among the residents. Meanwhile, my other roommate hastily administers her morning dose of crank, a sight that fills me with a sense of awareness. It’s disheartening to realize how powerless I am in changing my current circumstances. However, a glimmer of hope emerges within me, fueled by the anticipation of receiving my first paycheck from my new job. With that money, I dream of renting a modest room where I can finally escape the company of individuals who refuse to help themselves. I look at the door when the house lady comes into the room.
“Phone call for you, Munson”
I jump from my bunk and pull the covers over my bag which carries what little I own before leaving the room and picking up the phone in the hallway.
“Hello,” I say, but only silence greets me. “Hello,” I repeat. This time heavy breaths can be heard on the other end of the line, after a few seconds a woman growls her words with hatred.
“You murdering fucking bitch!”
I slam the receiver down as the strangers’ words cut me deep, I know that this is how the world will perceive me now, I am not delusional but I thought I had a few more days to adjust to my new freedom before anyone knew I was out, this phone call only tells me that the people who are interested in my history, know that my parole was grated and this only confirms that SAMCRO know now too.
I retreat to my room, only to find my roommate rummaging through my belongings. At that moment, anger consumes me, and I lunge toward her, forcefully pulling her away from my things. With a tight grip on her hair, I make it clear that she has crossed a line.
“You dare touch my fucking things? I’ll make you regret it!” I growl menacingly into her ear. Pushing her away from my bunk, I can feel the rage propelling me forward. My heart pounds in my chest as I frantically search my bag, my fingers trembling until they finally find what I’ve been desperately seeking – the picture of my family. Relief washes over me as I gaze at the picture of Jax and Abel, a reminder of the love and strength that keeps me going, I don’t know what I would do if I lost this photograph.
After getting ready and leaving the halfway house, I go to my new employer Jose’s Custom Choppers for our scheduled appointment to start my first day. I am disappointed as I arrive and I am met by a man named Hector, who looks like he wasn’t expecting me, he leads me to an office at the side of the workshop and I sit opposite him as he looks my name up on his computer system. I watch as his face flickers from bored to what I recognize as unease.
“Sorry, no work here.” He tells me bluntly.
“No, Jose said I was guaranteed employment, my start date is today,” I said confused.
“You’re mistaken. You are not employed here, lady.”
I stiffened, Hector wasn’t even looking at me, he was concentrating on a spot on his desk, I could feel the vibration of him bouncing his knee under the desk and it dawned on me.
“Did Jose, terminate my employment before my first day, or did SAMCRO?”
Hector sighed, pulled back his shoulders, and straightened up in his chair.
“Okay, I’m sorry I bothered you.” I slowly rose from the chair, a heavy sense of emptiness weighed me down. With each step I took down the bustling main street, I felt like I was walking through a fog, completely lost in my thoughts. The realization hit me hard – my one opportunity to try and build some kind of life had been snatched away by those I once considered my flesh and blood. Now, it seemed impossible to find work in California or any other state where the sons held charters, their influence being strong and convincing.
I took a moment to collect myself after the shocking realization of being unemployed, which was a major violation of my parole. At that moment, Vince Cross’s words echoed in my mind as he had given me a business card for a fish factory, promising guaranteed work. Despite initially dismissing the idea, I couldn’t afford to go back to jail. I had to swallow my pride and find employment, even if it meant doing a job like descaling fish that I had previously looked down upon. The reality of my situation hit me hard – once a gifted mechanic with a perfect life, now scared and alone, with no one willing to give me a chance.
unedited.Â
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