Breaker

Breaker Read Free Page A

Book: Breaker Read Free
Author: Richard Thomas
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cold air fills my mouth, piercing my lungs, as the metal and greenery slides by on my left, parked cars on the right, streetlights sending globes of pale yellow reflecting off the puddles, the ice, the windows, and the darkness. Up ahead neon glows, the dull throbbing of bass emanating from bars and restaurants, laughter spilling out when a door is flung open. Red brick and iron girders, tall windows filled with fire and candlelight, glasses tilted back, hands grasping for purchase in the night, but nothing there for me. Too many times the room going quiet, too many times all eyes on me, the room full, starting to spin, nothing left for me.
    What to do, how to find my own kind?
    We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
    That would be my mother, Rita Nelson. And so many bridges, we’ve crossed them all—wood splintering under rotting rope, metal gangways over raging rivers, bricks placed one after another over concrete, nudged into place, an archway spanning the slippery, amorphous forest below. Some bridges were burned, some were left behind, too far to go back, some still waiting for a gate to lift, a key to be inserted into a lock, a password to be whispered into an eager ear.
    I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. Tensing up too soon, no time for this, have to stay loose. Hands out, fists into the air, punching the night, deep breaths and the el stop is looming, cars crossing back and forth, people rising up and out of the earth, heading home, the train beneath our feet vibrating, rumbling north, and I’ll be on the next one. I will retreat farther and farther into myself, until there is only a shell, a skeleton wrapped in meat, two blazing eyes focused only on destruction, my heart gone dead and cold.
    Predictions—the men will stand around with their notebooks and cigars, jotting down everything from the color of my piss to my weight to how shaky my hands are. Most won’t see me coming, but those in the know, they’ll bet heavily on me. Everyone likes Ray-Ray. Boom-Boom. Sugar Ray. When I step out of the shadows, the miscreants will cheer. They’ll scramble to put more money down, and the boy, the man, whoever waits in the ring, he’ll sneer, curl up his lip, lick his teeth, and feel his stomach clench. Nowhere to run, he’ll ask for more cash, his trainer pushing him back inside the ropes. And for once, the women will touch me, all hands on me as I climb out of the darkness, parting the sea of soft flesh, tentative tiny hands, their sharp nails leaving marks, reaching out to touch my cold, slick, pale skin, muscles twitching, as my legs propel me forward. I’ll suck in the perfume—lavender and musk, orange and vanilla, red currant and bourbon. And something sour lurks underneath it all—urine, vomit, and rotting meat. Head nod after head nod, the men with arms crossed, teeth clenched, for a moment my allies, but only for a moment.

Chapter 4
Natalie
    Next door to Ray, Natalie sits in her bedroom. The room is slowly evolving from a little girl’s to a young lady’s. She sits alone on her bed, surrounded by pinks and purples, talking to her stuffed animal, Jackie Puma. The little black animal is somebody she confides in, when her mother is quietly drinking herself to death in the kitchen and her father is nowhere to be found. Her door has a deadbolt lock now—she put it on herself, with the $6.16 she saved up babysitting a neighborhood kid. Much like the boys in the alley, she’s fifteen going on eighteen, learning to cook mac and cheese, remembering to take her vitamins, or drink a glass of orange juice in the morning, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches quick and easy, or sometimes just a slice of American cheese on white bread from Aldi. Out the door she goes, bundled up in long scarves and dirty gloves, leaving behind a silent apartment—off to school on her own, but searching the sidewalk for her neighbors and friends, eager to blend in with somebody—anybody. She never notices the white

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