Page 3 of Broken Cracks
He hollers again. His hat flies off as my village mates gasp; their voices have been nullified and they’re too terrified to dare speak. “We get money for you! You go with the biker! I will kill you if you don’t. Go now.”
The deep knife of betrayal cuts through me. Tito has lied to us; he’s supposed to get all of us over the border, unharmed, away from other bad men, but he’s pushing me into men who have potentially ill intentions for me. I have no choice. I’m going to die, and either way, nobody cares about my survival.
I drop my hands by my sides as fearful tears slide down my face and I step over the border in my thin handmade jacket, jeans that I ripped on the haphazard hole made for us in the wire fence, and my now-dirty canvas shoes. I have a red woolen scarf my mother knitted for me around my neck, and I tighten it now as I step forward.
If I stay, the cowardly soldier would shoot me in front of the others in cold blood, and I don’t want that for them. I must go, and so I cross the threshold to the skint head biker whose eyes are a cold liquid blue.This gringo could rip me from limb to limb if he wants to.
My teeth are chattering and as I cross over the border, he starts gesturing to the bike in funny, wild hand movements. I’m both scared shitless and irritated.
“Get on the back of my bike,” he says in slow motion, patting the seat and I give him a weird face. This gringo has no idea that back at home I teach English and have better pronunciation and grammar than he will ever have in his life. I look at the seat on the back of his angry-looking bike, trying to find where to put my feet. I see the two cylindrical bars sticking out and figure that’s where I put them.
The other guy speaks as he stubs out his cigarette. “Man, I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. I can’t believe you bought her. It’s fucking sick.”
I agree with you mister, even though I don’t know who either of you are.
“My name is Damon,” he says as his small lips move, and I blink rapidly letting the charade continue. I don’t want to talk. I'm still in shock that this is happening to me. I’m a quiet and reserved person anyway, and this is not what I had planned for my life. I loved Tres Olivos; my home is peaceful and tranquil, a place I never wanted to leave, and now I’m here on a Mexican border being trafficked by two scary-ass bikers.
I nod my head to let him know I at least understand what he’s saying as he starts the ignition to take me to an unknown destination which could well be my gravesite.
“What is your name?” he asks, again with the painfully slow speech.
I don’t answer as I don’t know what to do. Giving him my name after he just bought me feels like I’m compliant. I blink in the moonlight as his piercing baby blue eyes hook into mine. There’s danger in them, but there’s also an unnatural oddity to them, as if he’s peering into the house of my very soul. His eyes appear to be bottomless pits. He touches my hand to take it and I whimper in horror. He doesn’t try again but walks forward repeating more words.
“Bike, this is the bike, you get on with me.” I simply stare, careful not to make any sudden movements to alarm and set the man off. There’s no telling what he will do. He’s not overly tall or intimidating in that way, but his eyes… there’s stories in them. Stories of violence, of killing, like Miguel. Before him, I’d never experienced such things in my life. As I get on behind him and he pats the side of his leather jacket to clutch onto him, my eyes begin to smart with salty tears.
I never should have left. I should have stayed and dealt with the situation; Miguel wasn’t so bad to deal with. As the bike starts and gravel kicks up and I look back one last time I don’t know if I’ve made the right decision. I ran, but am I right?
Picturing my father’s kind, placid face with a row of freckles across the bridge of his nose, I try to keep my vision and thoughts on him. I want to cherish the good memories I’ve experienced in life. I have so many of them, until I was wrenched from my home and all that I’d ever known was taken from me.
I bear a smile through the shadows; all I can see is the bike zooming ahead along with the other one and the light shining on the broken street lines ahead. My father used to watch a biker show called “The Mayan” and I always hated it when it came on. The bikers in it were dirty, vile, perverted men who took women when they pleased. Aside from the wind, a goosebumpy shiver runs over my spine. I let my imagination run with the images that match the show he used to watch. These big gringo men with their powerful muscles and dark, beady eyes. I see them in the image, circling me like shark bait as all of them drop their pants, waiting for their turn to have their way with me, sneering and drinking whiskey.
The bikers turn off from the freeway and I have absolutely no idea where we’re going. I begin to sob and can’t stop. What if they do that to me? What if I can’t recover? How will I be able to escape? I have no visa for this country and I’m at the mercy of these men that have picked me up. I’ve been bought and it’s the worst nightmare of my life.
The severe pressure of the wind cutting across my face helps dry my tears as I wipe the residue clear. There’s no point crying and acting as the victim; it won’t help me in the long run. I try to take my mind back to happier times and maybe a different perspective of bikers so I’m not so frightened.
There’s a biker in the show named Easy and he was devastatingly hot. He had these eyes that could rip a hole in you and a broody darkness that was hard to resist. I would get hot whenever he came on the screen. He was a savage on the show, but an irresistible one, and I wondered if Damon would be like him. Easy had to be like that to survive, but he was mushy on the inside.
He loved the women he was with. There was a vulnerability he displayed with them.Please be like him. Please.I begged in my mind as the bikes idled at a green sign signaling left to a place called Serenity.This is promising.At least the name of the place sounds good. It will be serene and peaceful and have emerald waters like the hidden pools of water in my homeland. More memories of my father come to light, his light cackle as he walked by while I ate popcorn and watched Easy on the big screen.
“Ah, your boyfriend is on the screen. Look at you, lost in your own world with him, aye?”
“What, Papa? What did you say?”
“What did I say? Isabella, there could have been a fire in the house and your eyes were locked on the TV with that imaginary character of yours. One day he might just pop through the screen if you get lucky.”
He would joke with me about the show, and I’m grateful now that I can think of him again and have known such a loving, peaceful man in my life. Then reality sinks in, making me heartsick. I realize I’m never going to see my father again. I won’t get to hold his hand or inhale his essence of Mexican hand-rolled cigars that he loved. He used to smell of sweet aromatic tobacco and fresh clean soap, reminding me of folded laundry. I would never, ever again in my life get to see him. I want to cry again, but all the buckets of my tears are empty. I can't do it anymore.
The bike is slowing and now we’re in the city limits of this town called Serenity. We pull into a place that resembles a large warehouse with a corrugated roof and a bunch of other bikes. A whole host of knots bunch together to form a pack in my belly. Shit, I don’t think I can get my legs to work, and I freeze with my teeth chattering again even though I’m not cold one bit.
The bike stops as I take in the surroundings and the other guy gets off his bike first. An automatic light pops on as my purchaser gets off his bike too.
Holy shit. I’m in trouble.
Chapter Three
Psych
On the ride to the clubhouse, I can feel the girl shaking like a leaf. I’m worried she’s going to fall off because she’s not exactly wrapping her arms around me. A reluctant passenger, and I get it, but it’s for her own good, and when I can communicate that to her, I will. I don’t even know if she understands English, but I couldn’t leave her. I saw what I saw and if I left her there, I would have regretted it.