Playing Patience

Then the memory of my mother telling me about her first love sank in. Maybe that was her way of telling me. Maybe that was her way of getting it off of her chest. My real father was a bad boy named Robert that she’d been forbidden to see. How fitting that I’d be in love with a bad boy myself. It was in my blood.

The man I’d been calling Dad my entire life wasn’t my dad, but he was definitely Sydney’s. She looked just like him, with the exception of her eyes. All these years, I’d been worried about him going to Sydney, and all these years she was really his while I wasn’t. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to do things to me. Maybe the thought that my blood wasn’t his own made it okay in his mind to have sex with me. Either way, I’d still keep a close eye on Sydney. The man was obviously sick and sick people aren’t picky.

Later that afternoon, the man who was working on Zeke’s guitar called and said it was all finished. He didn’t want to see me, but I knew what I had for him would make him happy.

I drove to the man’s shop. The little bell above the door sounded like my name when it rang. I pressed my forearms against the front counter and fidgeted as I waited for someone to help me.

A little gray-headed man came around from the back with a smile.

“What can I do for you, sweetie?”

“I dropped off a guitar and you called and said it was ready.”

I gave him my name. When he came out from the back again, he had a black guitar case in his hands.

“Here you go, little lady,” he said as he set the guitar case onto the counter.

He popped open the little latches on the side and opened the case. Inside was the black Fender I picked out. The bits of Zeke’s old guitar were intricately added to the front of the new guitar beautifully, especially the part where his mom had signed her name. It was personalized just for him.

He had no idea I’d picked up the broken bits of his guitar. I still felt like it was my fault that his most prized possession was destroyed. The least I could do was replace it, and I thought using pieces of the precious guitar his mother bought for him was a perfect idea.

I paid the man behind the counter an obscene amount of money and then walked to my car with the guitar in hand. Megan told me Zeke was staying with Tiny, so I called her and got directions to their apartment.

The drive across town wasn’t so shocking anymore. I remembered going to Zeke’s side of the world the first time and thinking how disgusting the place was. I remember thinking I could never live in a place like that, but now, when I drove to anywhere he was, I felt like I was going home, like I didn’t grow up in a million-dollar house, like I belonged somewhere for the first time in my life.

The ghetto apartment complex was worse than Zeke’s trailer park. I tapped on the door and was shocked when Tiny answered in his boxers.

“Is Zeke here?” I asked.

His eyes roamed up and down my body and I felt dirty.

“No, he went over to his dad’s place to get the rest of his shit.”

That wasn’t good.

“He went alone?” I asked with wide eyes.

He looked at me like I was an idiot.

“Ah, yeah. He left about…”

I didn’t even listen to the rest. I rushed to my car and jumped in. Thankfully, the apartment complex wasn’t far from the trailer park.

His dad’s tow truck was nowhere in sight, but his car was parked in the yard when I got there. I could hear his loud stereo outside the trailer, and I thought it was strange that he’d come to his dad’s and play loud music. I knocked extra hard on his door and after five knocks he never came. I was starting to get worried, so I tried the doorknob.

The door opened and I slipped into the small, smoky space. I shut the door behind me and called out his name. Still, I got no answer, which meant either he couldn’t hear me or I couldn’t hear him. The music was so loud it seemed to be shaking the tiny trailer. The guitar was pulling my arm down, so I sat it up on the grimy, plaid couch and worked my arm to ease the tension that had worked into my elbow.

I heard a noise coming from his room and figured he was back there packing. Maybe he had his shirt off and I’d catch him with only a pair of those deliciously ripped jeans he was fond of. Hopefully they were the ones that barely held onto his hips and showed his sexy tattoos. I’d seen him without a shirt on before and I’d seen every tattoo he had down into his pants line. I wasn’t disappointed; nothing physical about Zeke was disappointing.

I found it funny that such a dangerous guy like Zeke would be the one that finally caught my attention. I wasn’t the kind of girl that looked for trouble. Especially since trouble seemed to find me at least once a week, but something about him caught me and reeled me in. Getting to know him and seeing the secret parts of him made my attachment to him all the better. He was perfect for me.