The bitter wind swept up behind me as I walked. The once quiet neighborhood became littered with the sounds of rolling beer cans and plastic bags dragging across the concrete street and sidewalks. There were no sounds of crickets on this night, at least as I recall it. The warm summer night crept all around me as I nervously walked to the bar. My tattered, soiled, white shirt and battered old blue jeans wasn't much against the force of the wind on my back, but it's not like I wasn't thankful for this little break from my stagnant, empty rat's nest of a home!
The smell of bleach still clung to me, constantly clashing with the smell of newly prepared hamburger helper. I'd been cleaning the apartment where my mother and I currently resided since morning, and after setting the food on simmer, I decided that I should go get my mother before letting it cool.
By now, this probably seems unhealthy. But this is only the beginning.
My name is Michael Chalk. I am seven years old, and I am on my way to get my drunk of a mother out of the bar before curfew.
It was only a minutes' walk from the apartment complex. A place filled with gang members and drug addicts. For most of the neighborhood, this was the top-of-the-line housing complex. Others held far worse offenders of civilized living. I knew at least twelve sex offenders faces by heart, and a slew of pimps and whores. And yes, I did know at the time what that meant. These things I had to learn to have survived this long under the barb wired wing of my mother.
Don's Tavern, the only building with a steady income within five miles, faced me as I approached. Enticing neon lights flashed what types of beer and liqueur were served, and video poker. The large metal door bore a striking resemblance to a meat freezer door, and I wouldn't be surprised if it once was one. Only to be stolen and used as a barely fitting entry point in a broken down shack like Don's Tavern.
I am great full though, that the front door was an entrance only to the bouncers court. A small room, usually occupied by one of two bouncers at a time. The room held a dim red light that cast an almost black shadow around most people's faces. This kind of room made me feel less ashamed of the black eye I sported from the last time I didn't clean the house good enough for my mom.
"Hey Mikey!" Ronnie called through a hurtful smile. I knew he could see my shiner of an eye, but he decided against mentioning it. He knew all too well what my mother would do if she overheard his concern. Blame me, and then slap me until her hands hurt.
Ronnie was a bouncer here. I always felt bad when I saw him here. Every night I wished to hear of him escaping this hell hole and getting on with his life. He was the biggest black man I'd ever seen, but bankruptcy doesn't care how strong you are. For Ronnie, it was just another case of a man with a heart of gold, meeting those without hearts at all.
He wore his same old black undershirt, a smile, and held out his hand to shake my own.
I gripped his hand as hard as I could to make him smile. "Hey Ron."
"COW! Gotta grip there little man!" He said laughing, making me smile slightly as well.
"Do you know where my mom is?" I asked, lowering my voice, hoping she didn't hear me.
A woman's voice shrieked from behind the video poker room doors. "FUCK! Fuck you machine!"
I froze out of instinct, and quickly after, regrouped... Wincing.
"She doesn't sound like she's doing too well." He said, rubbing his eyes. "It's been like this all night. A couple people complained but... Well, I really shouldn't say."
I walked past him announcing my departure and patting his back twice.
"It really doesn't matter at this point."
As I neared the door, fear started creeping up my spine. "M-mom?" I called. I knew she was there, but I had sense enough to sound as weak as possible, hoping maternal instinct would finally kick in and she wouldn't ream me for my disrespectful attitude.
"So the pansy finally came to pick up mommy, huh?" She asked, vodka lining her voice with such malice that you'd sooner believe her to be the pope, rather than my mother.
"Y-yes, Ma'am. I made h-hamburger help-per." I couldn't stop stuttering. And it was just her presence that was doing this. I never talked when my mother was in striking distance.
"Quit fuckin' stutterin'! I'll be out in a minute! Go bother someone else, maybe they'll take you home and I won't have to bother with such a winey piece of sh-- Fucking Machine!!!"
I knew at that point it was better to leave well enough alone! And acting on orders, I chose a small table near the room inhabited by my mother and started people watching.
Tonight was rather empty, save a couple sharing what I could only guess as their first beers, due to their ages. They barely looked twenty-one! A group of shady characters that could only be described as die hard Mark Echo fans occupied a table right behind the couple. And I noticed two of them were passing around what I could only guess to be joints. But who was I to guess, I'm just a kid.
Then there was him. He was thin and pale, the kind of flake that usually blew in due to a crack habit or worse. I didn't know at the time the damage this man was capable of, and still find it quite disturbing. But I had no idea of knowing... neither of us did.
He stared right into my eyes. Those cobalt eyes glared right into my own, burning right into the back of my head. And after a minute of praying that my mother would just give up so we could go home... he stood.
He stood tall. At least seven feet. A black leather coat hung low and glided across the floor as he strolled right up to me. I backed up as far as I could in my chair, but enough just wasn't enough.
I closed my eyes, only to have him rest his hand on my head. I didn't open them. I could feel him lower his head until it was adjacent with my own. His mouth inches from my ear, he spoke. A voice so cold that I shuddered at the very words he spoke.
"Soon your prison will become a vast field of possibilities."
And with that he left, a cold aura hung around me. All the way til' my mother finally got sick of losing our bread money.
She yelled at me as we left the bar, claiming I'd been her bad luck charm since my birth. I could only exchange glances of worry with Ronnie as I headed out the door and into what I thought was going to be another night in hell. I was wrong... but not by much.