Refuse: A Junkyard Wedding

by SH Richardson

  My thoughts and feelings had been so fucked up and all over the place these last few days that I broke down and did something I swore I would never do again. My chest began to tighten as I dialed the seven digits. It had been a long time, but I never forgot them. I never stopped to think about the consequences of making this phone call, or if the person on the other end would even accept it. There was no rhyme or reason to my actions, just a strange feeling I had that something was wrong and the call needed to be made. After three rings, they finally answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Max…Long time, brother.” It took him a long time to finally answer. I almost thought he’d hung up, but I was wrong.

  “Yes, it has been a long time. I’m surprised to hear from you.” His tone was emotionless, uncaring. Not sure what I expected, especially considering all the time that had passed, but Max’s indifference wasn’t something I was prepared for. Again, I was the one reaching out to him and he was the one rejecting my effort. Same song, different fucking dance.

  “Yeah…I’m…How you doing, Max?” This was a bad fucking idea, and the longer I stayed on that phone, the more I hated the fact that I was the one who broke down like a pussy and called him first. He hadn’t changed, and the whole absence makes the heart grow fonder was bullshit when it came to him. His lack of feelings was as strong as ever, much to my disappointment and disbelief. I thought the time away would bring my friend back to me, a friend I so desperately needed right now. Max always had a way of looking on the bright side of things, so easygoing, especially when it came to the stress of running his own business as a marketing consultant. Some of the shit he was forced to clean up was enough to send a priest into early retirement. Politicians trying to hide their mistresses from the press, pop star drug use, unwanted pregnancies; you name it, he worked it in the press. Hell of a way to make a living if you asked me, but Max thrived on it.

  I knew from his secretary that he occasionally checked in from time to time, but the former Max was a workaholic. Constant travel to different cities and states gave him plenty of opportunity to “play,” as he liked to call it. He loved his job and was good at it, so much so he was highly sought after by some of the most influential people in the world. Few people knew that Max was a very wealthy man. He rarely flaunted it, and I only found out when he’d accidentally left his bank book on the kitchen counter one morning. I thought it was mine, so I opened it, saw the available balance, and nearly shit myself, closed it back up, and never spoke of it again. His financial standing wasn’t my business, and since Buck left us this place completely paid for, it wasn’t like I had to ask him for rent money. He never bought it up, and I never asked.

  “I’m going home, Range.” Max spoke so quietly, the only word I heard was “home,” and I instantly got excited. My brother was coming back to the junkyard, and I was so happy I wanted to shout “hell yeah” at the top of my lungs. I replied to him quickly without taking a breath, fearing he would change his mind.

  “That’s great, Max. Your room is all ready. I haven’t touched a thing and—”

  “No, Range. I’m going home, not back to the junkyard,” he corrected.

  “What the fuck you talking about home? Max, what the fuck is going on?” Just like that, I wanted to strangle him again. The only home any of us had ever known had been this junkyard, and the only family we had was each other. This was typical Max bullshit, and I’d finally reached my limit. I had way too much on my plate to deal with this type of fucked-up cryptic bullshit coming from Max’s mouth. He was selfish to the core, and that was never going to change.

  “You ever wonder why bad shit happens to good people, Range?” he asked.

  “No, Max, I don’t. Shit happens. Deal with it and move the fuck on. Where is all this shit coming from? Are you sick?” I didn’t want to sound as frustrated as I was feeling, but it was unavoidable at this point. Max was never the type of man to worry about what ifs and how comes. He went with the flow, often laughing his way through life as if it was a board game and he held the loaded dice.

  “I need to go back to where it started, Range. I just can’t do this shit anymore, live like this anymore. I have to face the shadow. Tell the boys I’m sorry, especially Sebastian, and…I love you all. My brothers.”

  “This is fucked, Max, totally fucked. Your home is at the junkyard with the rest of us, so stop fucking around and get back here…right now!” I yelled back at him like he was a four-year-old who just spilled his milk. I wasn’t equipped to deal with this emotional shit he was spewing from his lips. That was Sebastian’s job, mine was to break heads.

  “Good-bye, Range.” Click

  The call disconnected in my ear before I could get another word out. I hit the redial button six times, but he wouldn’t pick up the line again. Gut shot. That’s what I felt like as I stared at the phone in my hand, wondering what the fuck I was going to do now. I was losing it, all of it. My family was a fucking mess, Clover left me when all I wanted to do was protect her, and I never felt so damn helpless in my entire life. How could Buck leave me to take care of all this shit? I fucking needed him to tell me what to do, how to handle this. I didn’t know their secrets, their pasts. Buck was the only one who knew how to handle Max and bring him back down to earth. Fuck. How was I supposed to handle this shit?

  “Think, boy. Use your fucking head for more than just holding your hat. What did I teach you about family?”

  I could see him standing in front of all of us, shaking his head and gritting his teeth in anger as he spoke firmly about being there for one another. As a boy, the lesson was a joke; as a man, it became so much more. It became law and we all lived by it. Never leave a fallen brother behind under any circumstance. My brothers were falling and falling hard, but I wasn’t the one to keep it all together. I just wasn’t. One man couldn’t possibly make a difference. “I can’t, Buck, I just…fuck…help me, please,” I prayed to him out loud.

  “Try fucking harder, boy. Don’t be a pussy. You’ll know what to do when the time comes. “Can’t” should never be a part of a man’s vocabulary if he wants to make it in this world.”

  I hope you’re right, old man, I hope you’re right.

  Chapter 9

  Clover

  I was a mess. A complete and total mess of a woman who needed a good ass kicking to get her mind right and shit together. Sitting in my parents’ living room with my sisters, who were chirping about something I wasn’t paying much attention to, my thoughts were preoccupied by the support group meeting I attended that morning. What happened after I shared my story with the rest of the survivors was nothing short of earth shattering. I expected a few sympathetic tears from my audience, maybe even a pat on the back or a “you did the right thing,” but color me shocked when I received none of that, not even a “sorry.” I felt like I was standing naked in the middle of town until Hank took pity on me and removed me from that unpleasant hot seat.

  Hank spoke calmly and securely, adjusting his hipster glasses on the bridge of his nose as he proceeded to ask me a few questions. I was happy with his intervention, considering the group had a look of complete and utter disbelief as I ended my rendition of the Foster’s shooting. Some were shaking their heads, harrumphing, while others just stared blankly. Poor Michelle excused herself right at the end of my story and ran out the room, mumbling something about some people having all the luck.

  “What troubles you the most, Clover? The fact that Range was confrontational with the robber or the fact that you were the one who ended up shot in the process?” I thought about it for a moment before I answered. What did bother me the most about this whole situation?

  “I guess…Well…I’m not sure. I certainly don’t wish it were someone else who was shot, but if he’d just kept his cool instead of going all macho Hulkamania, the situation could have turned out differently and the cops could have had a chance to diffuse the whole thing before the shooting started. Maybe I wouldn’t be having these nightmares all the
time and Buck would still be alive and taking care of his boys like he always did.” It was a stretch but something I felt strongly about. Hank jotted down a few notes in his little pad and engaged me again.

  “That’s a lot of maybes, Clover, considering the situation. If we take the maybes away, do you think you would still have gotten shot?” he asked.

  “That’s not the point, Hank. If Range had told me…I mean…just remained calm, none of this would have happened and we would still be together.” I tried not to shout, but I was taken aback by his stupid-ass question. I almost lost it and told the complete truth.

  “So, you blame Range for what happened at Foster’s?

  “No, I don’t blame him, Hank. What happened wasn’t his fault. The asshole was hell bent on robbing the store and nothing was going to stop him,” I answered, more in control this time.

  “I see. Do you think Range blames himself for the shooting, a shooting that resulted in the death of the man he considered to be his father?” Wham! Body blow.

  One simple question, and my world came tumbling down around me. How could I have been so blind and stupid? I missed all the signs, and they were right in front of my fucking face this entire time. All the things he’d done for me since Buck’s death, revamping the security systems at the junkyard, holding and loving me all night until I could fall asleep, allowing Julian and his friends to hang out at the yard when he hated the very idea of us being friends. He did that all for me, to make me feel safe and secure, and how did I respond? I left him and called off our wedding. No wonder these people were looking at me like the ungrateful bitch I was. Most of these people didn’t have a support system or a loved one to stand by them. I had both. A loving family and a wonderful man who wanted nothing more than to make sure I was okay. From now on, just call me selfish ass bitch, ‘cause that’s exactly what I was.

  “Michelle, welcome back. I see you were deeply moved by Clover’s story. Care to share your thoughts with the group?” I hardly noticed she returned from the restroom, but apparently Hank had. He had a concerned look on his face as he took in the watery eyes and blotchy face of one of his attendees.

  “I…Um…when I returned home from school after signing myself out, my parents confronted me a soon as I walked in the door. My father called me a slut for running around school naked and for no good reason. My mom agreed with him, and they both just walked away. They never even tried to listen to my side of the story. They just blamed me for it.” Michelle received a round of “Aww, that sucks,” “Sorry that happened,” and the holy grail of sympathy terms “Don’t worry, it will get better.”

  “And how did that make you feel, Michelle?” His soothing tone encouraged her to tell the group what was on her mind. It was truly heartbreaking to see her retreat into herself but found her inner courage to continue.

  “I just wanted them to hold me and tell me that they loved me. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to fit in and make friends. I’m…just afraid I’ll never have what Clover had, and it makes me a little sad. Sometimes people try and do the right thing for all the wrong reasons, but at least they try. My parents didn’t even try to understand how hard it was at school to make friends. They just turned their backs on me like I was nothing. I would have been happy with someone, anyone, who wanted to take up for me and made me feel safe, and at least it would have made me feel better about myself and the things that happened afterwards.”

  Hank sat his notepad to the side and addressed the entire group this time. We were at the end of the session when he usually gave us some parting words to hold on to for the upcoming week. He was good at putting things into perspective and giving us something to think about as we prepared to leave. He folded his arms over his chest and took a long look around the room at each and every one of our faces before he spoke.

  “You all have been through countless trials and tribulations resulting from your ordeals. Physical scars have healed, and you took the first steps to becoming emotionally sound by signing up to be a part of this support group. Survivors often reach out to those we feel are the closest to us in hopes that they can understand what we’ve been through and offer the comfort we need. They don’t always understand, and sadly, we place all our stock in those we love to make us feel better about ourselves and to uplift us. It’s not up to them to bring us the closure and satisfaction we need to move on. That we must do for ourselves. You’ve proven how strong you are by surviving, beating the odds that were stacked against you by fighting to stay alive when most victims weren’t given that choice. Death was their final curtain call, but not for you. You are alive, and to quote an old favorite of mine, It’s…a wonderful life.” He ended his speech with a confident chin lift and a much-needed deep breath.

  His last statement made us all smile and breathe deeply, all of us holding ourselves close to the cuff and overly stressed by the heavy topics we tackled that day. The session was brutal but honest, and I needed that honesty to place things in a different perspective. Hank was right in so many ways it was scary. I counted on my friends and family to take up the slack and treat me like a victim instead of the survivor I was. They could never understand what I was going through, and I used them all to make me feel better, allowing me the opportunity to wallow in self- pity and victimization. I allowed them to take over every facet of my life, including planning my own wedding in the opposite way I wanted it for myself. I just sat back and let it happen like the spineless stooge I had become.

  As bad as that was, it was nothing compared to what I did to Range. I took every ounce of his strength and didn’t bother to see if he needed some of my own. I didn’t lessen his burden of caring for his brothers and keeping the junkyard going. I added to it, piling it on and adding to his long list of things to take care of. Did I ever consider his feelings on anything? At the first sign of trouble, I did the exact opposite of what I swore I would never do…I left him. No questions asked, no explanations accepted, no fucking regard for the man I loved. I had to change, and not just for my friends and family, but for me. Would the real Clover Benjamin please stand up?

  “And do you know what he had the nerve to say to me? I could not believe the balls on this asshole.” I finally tuned my sisters back in, and Shelly was on a massive tirade about something that had steam coming from her ears and fire shooting out of her eyes.

  “I love weddings, hell bitch.” She spoke in a deep, manly voice as she ended her speech. I pretended to have been paying attention all along, but it was useless. I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. I leaned over slightly to Ashley, who was busy typing away on her iPhone like always, and whispered, “Who is she talking about?” Before she could answer, Shelly went in again.

  “That fucking big-ass good-for-nothing biker was who I was talking about, damnit. What the fuck, Clove? Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? I’ve been talking about this for the last hour. Jesus, you’re getting as bad as she is.” Shelly pointed a finger at Ashley, who just shook her head and continued with her texting. I felt bad that I hadn’t given her my full attention, but I had other, more important things on my mind. For once, I needed to worry about myself and not what was going on with my sisters.

  “That idiot Gan or whatever his fucking name was. I mean, what the hell kind of name is Gan anyway? It’s probably short for gangrene or some other infectious disease. If he thinks I find that sexy, he needs his head examined. Gan…humph…I hope I never have to see him again for the rest of my life, which would be too fucking soon. Who the fuck does he think he is, calling me hell bitch? I’ll give him a hell bitch, all right. If I ever see him again, I’m gonna kick his big fucking ass all the way to the moon and back.”

  “You do realize that you’ve said “fuck” about fifty times now, right? What’s wrong, Shell? Got the monkey on your back? You’re more than welcome to my vibrator if you’d like. I no longer have a use for it. My pussy is well taken care of.” Ashley was playing with fire, and I didn’t
want to be a witness to murder, so with that last disgusting statement, I quickly excused myself and headed straight for my room. Those two could battle it out themselves. I needed a way to get my life back on track, starting with facing my demons head-on and telling those bitches to fuck off. It was time to take back my future and say good-bye to the past.

  Chapter 10

  Range

  I couldn’t put it off any longer. That phone call I had with Max was taking up more space in my head than my thoughts of Clover. I had to call in the boys for a meeting to discuss what to do about this situation. I tracked down Mem at the far end of the junkyard. I wasn’t there to tell him the news, just invite him to the meeting. He wasn’t answering his phone or texts, so I had to do it in person. My mistake was not making enough noise when I approached or at the very least calling out to him. He swung on me so fast I didn’t have time to think before he pointed both nine millimeters directly in my fucking face. He was locked and loaded and a millisecond away from blowing my fucking head off my shoulders. I was stock still, shocked but not intimidated. He didn’t realize it was me, and I needed him to recognize me on his own. Any sudden move, and Mem would shoot me sure as shit. His eyes were focused on their target, keen, assessing. He was in soldier mode, and I was the enemy.