Maria blew my mind. There’s no other way to put it. My head was under a category five hurricane, and I don’t know how to save myself from it. All the things I believed in for the longest time now ended with question marks.
The world never really liked guys like me. From when I was just a boy, I have always been an outcast. And because of that, I was made to believe I am different, and in an unflattering way. Simply put, I was a social reject. This label, pinned on me by everyone else, led me to believe I am meant to live and die as one. And for a while, I owned it. I paraded the gloriousness of being a scum because the world taught us to ‘be proud of who you are’, right?
But this girl… she changed all that. She took the pin away -- my label -- and now I’m confused. I don’t know what I am anymore. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore.
Fate used to be but a child’s dream to me. Somehow, I’m starting to believe the universe purposely dropped me to this farm, and it wants me to stay for a while. And I don’t mind at all.
Just when I was about to leave, it started raining cats and dogs. Maria’s older brother, Mark, was not kind enough to give me a lift to the closest town, which was about eight miles from their farm. He only said, “His feet works. He can walk.” The guy don’t trust me, and I completely understand.
Paul, on the other hand, was a lot friendlier and more animated. When I was left with no choice but to linger around, he began bugging me. First, about my tattoos and how cool they were. Then he started talking about how he wanted to leave the farm, go somewhere far and new, and become like me. He was under the impression I was just a lowly hitchhiker who got in trouble, and I sincerely wished my life was really that simple.
I was stuck with these two, for Maria was attending to their pregnant horse. We lounged around the kitchen table, waiting for the rain to stop. Paul kept on talking and I pretended to listen. He was now narrating the story of how they found me at the bottom of the cliff and how crazy the whole thing was. What amazes me, however, was how much he eats. Whether he’s eating breakfast, or lunch, or brunch, I’m too afraid to ask because it looks as though he’s eating portions of each meal in one sitting.
Mark, on the other hand, simply stood in one corner, but never interrupted our conversation. He was keeping an eye on me. I have been in my profession for years and sizing potential threats have become a habit, and this guy won’t be easy to fight off. He was taller and bulkier, and judging from the way he worked around the house, he’s fast. This must be the result of working twenty-four seven around a farm. The only advantage I have was experience. I know how to handle fights, and I know where the human body’s weakest points were.
My thoughts were interrupted when Maria entered the kitchen, and I shot up from my chair like how a private does when a general enters the room. All three looked at me in a “What the hell?” sort of way, so I eased back on my seat with a tinge of embarrassment.
“So,” Maria started. “You three seemed to be getting along just fine. What do you guys want for lunch?”
“Bacon!” shouted Paul. Does this kid ever stop eating?
“Too much bacon is bad for your health, Paul. How about chicken, mashed potatoes, and steamed veggies on the side?” Maria suggested.
“What’s the occasion?” countered Mark. It seemed he was not too happy for having such a grand meal.
“Nothing,” she replied flatly, then her eyes travelled to me. “We have a guest. And by the way, you two should fix the roof of the barn right now. The dripping is making Gypsy uneasy, and the last thing we want is a stressed pregnant horse.”
I didn’t say anything. The last thing I wanted to do was get on the bad side of the people who helped me. Mark was silent too. I’m not sure what was happening exactly, but I could feel clashes of thunder and lightning between his and Maria’s eyes. In the end, however, he just grunted and said, “Let’s go, Paul.”
Without a word, Paul stood up from his chair, grabbed a few slices of bread and an apple, then followed Mark out the kitchen. Maria and I were left alone once more, and though I kept a straight face, I felt like a happy puppy inside.
“I hope Mark wasn’t too disrespectful,” she began, as she took out the ingredients for the chicken and mashed potatoes from the fridge.
“No, he wasn’t. Not at all. Do you need help with that?” I offered, referring to lunch. I don’t know anything about cooking, but I don’t want to seem useless as well. Besides, she was making a special meal because they have a guest, and that simple fact made me want to smile and hug a rainbow-colored cloud.
Maria was surprised by the offer. I guess she didn’t get a lot of help in the kitchen from her brothers. “Wow! Thanks. Yes, please,” she said as she handed me the potatoes, a bowl and a peeler. Peeling shouldn’t be much of a problem. “That’s good. It also seems Paul likes you a lot,” she complimented with a smile, as she began preparing and dressing giant chicken thighs.
“Yeah. I guess. He’s a lively kid.” Though I’m not fond of talking, I sincerely liked Paul too. “Do you ever let him out of your land? He seems hell bent on leaving.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Judging from how her expression saddened and darkened, I just hit a delicate subject. I was about to apologize for asking, but she already spoke and said, “Well, our dad and Mark thinks bad things happen to our family whenever we leave the farm. Our mom died when she did. Our dad got incarcerated when he did. And Mark got beat up bad everyday when he entered a public high school.”
She paused for a while. I can see she was trying to hold back tears, and that made me even feel sorry for opening the topic, but she continued, “We used to go out a lot when we were just kids. Paul was just a baby then so he couldn’t remember. We used to attend church every Sunday, eat at diners on Saturdays, and visit fairs whenever we celebrate special occasions. But bad things happened one after another, so we were discouraged to go out and explore.”
“That’s really sad. And I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay. The only thing that bothers me now is Mark’s overprotectiveness.”
“Well, if I had a sister as beautiful as you, I’d be as overprotective as Mark,” I countered absentmindedly. When I realized what I just said, I peeked from my peeling and saw how red Maria’s face was. She held back a smile with a bite, and that made me grin. Despite her strong and domineering personality, she was still a lady, and I liked that. I can’t tell what exactly, but I like it -- I like her.
“So, how about you? What got you in the profession of… eradicating people?”
That caught me off guard. “Uhm… It’s a long story.”
“We have time. You still have a lot of potatoes to peel,” she said jokingly. I guess that’s another thing I like about her. She made sensitive conversations like this light and funny.
“Let’s see. Where do I start?” I pondered as I add another peeled potato in the bowl. “I never really wanted to be one. And I never thought I’d end up as one. But things in my life just got so messed up, I had no choice but to become one.”
Maria simply nodded in response, waiting for further elaboration, so I continued, “My father was a drunkard, you see, who thinks beating his wife and kids was an intimate display of affection. One night, our dad lost all his money in gambling. He was heavily drunk then, so he picked a fight after the game. Because of that, he lost his job too. He was so mad, he grabbed the baseball bat when he entered our house and shouted my mom’s name. She already knew what was going to happen, and she knew it would be the worst, so she told us to go and escape.
“I was the eldest -- a blooming thirteen year old boy -- and I had two little brothers. I carried them both out the window of our apartment, and snuck them to our next door neighbor -- a friendly old lady. She took and cared for them when I rushed back to our flat to help my mom. When I got back, however, I was too late.
“She was curled in the corner of the living room. Her head was bleeding and she was already unconscious, but my dad continued hitting her. I
got so furious. I grabbed his arms and took the bat by force, then kicked him hard in the gut. I was already taller than him then, and I know I can fight him off, but I didn’t know my own strength and rage yet. I forgot what I did next. All I could remember was hitting him as hard as he hit my mom, and that’s how I ended up killing him.
“I got in juvy detention afterwards. With the help of our neighbor, my sentence lightened after she testified against my father and reasoned that what I did was an act of self-defense. When I got home, however, I found out my mom had died a few days after the incident due to a concussion, and social workers took my brothers. I never saw them again. And no one told me where they buried our mom.” I paused.
A lump was building in my throat, and it made talking without cracking difficult. I’ve told this story before to Spinner. He was the only one who knew about my past. But back then, I could only feel rage. I never cried about my past, and I never lost myself in self-pity. Now, however, telling the same story to Maria, it seemed that the load that had piled up was getting lighter -- that the emotions I locked away somewhere in the deepest crevices of what little heart remains in me were being set free. It was painful -- immensely painful -- but liberating too.
After swallowing the lump, I continued, “Anyway, I was left to wander. School was not an option for me too because… well, just because. Then Spinner found me, learned my past, and introduced me to The Saints. He said the gang was my family now, and I believed that. Every member became a brother, and Spinner became the father I never had. He taught me all the things I know today.
“The Saints is kind of like a mafia, and they are involved in almost all kinds of criminal activity in the state. Whenever Spinner gets doublecrossed or cheated, he would send the other party a warning and a penalty of some sort -- in the form of money of course. If they ignore it, he sends me in to kill them. And I did what I was ordered because I wanted to make Spinner proud. He and The Saints were everything I had, you see,” I trailed off as I lose my gaze beyond the potato I was peeling.
“I see,” Maria whispered in response. She stopped what she was doing, looked at me with deep sad eyes, and held and squeezed my hand. I could feel her empathy, and receiving such a selfless and wordless gesture was the best feeling in the world. It touched a part of me I never knew I had -- the part of me that would have cried and shouted in anguish when all those bad things happened, the part of me that would have sought the comfort of an embrace instead of the ravage of anger.
And right then and there, I wanted to stand up and hug her with all my might, and cry all the tears I kept all these years... but I resisted. I was afraid the act will only scare or push her away from me, and right now, I am craving for more of her.
VI: Maria