So, I gotta thank you ’cause this is you. This is you remindin’ me about goodness. I lost sight of it for a while… But before you get excited, fuck if it’s too late for me to reform or some shit so don’t preach it, you hear? I’m just…happy. I’m happy and that’s a rare thing in the life of a convicted felon, in the life of a man who fucked it up real early for himself. So thanks, kid, for givin’ an old man hope.
Z.
Dear Mr. Z,
I AM SO EXCITED! I AM GOING TO WRITE THIS WHOLE ENTIRE LETTER LIKE THIS BECAUSE I AM SO HAPPY I COULD SHOUT! YOU GET TO LEAVE HELL ON EARTH!? YOU GET TO SEE YOUR KIDS GROW UP? I AM SO STINKING HAPPY. WHEN WILL YOU COME AND VISIT?!
HURRAH HURRAY!
Little Loulou
Dear Mr. Z,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I’m sorry I haven’t ever sent you anything before but you didn’t tell me when your birthday was so this year I asked Betsy and she told me so HA! I got you another biker magazine subscription, this one is called RIDE and I did lots of research so I think it is probably the best one. Do you like it? I know you don’t have much to do in there but exercise and work on the farm. I can’t believe you are 30! That’s super old. Do you have grey hairs and stuff already? I wish I remembered better what you look like. I tried to look you up on the internet but there aren’t any pictures of you. How is that possible? I looked myself up too and there are a few articles with pictures of me because Daddy’s mayor now. Happily, there are none of me bald. My hair reaches my shoulders now, just barely but still, I can do a hair flick and everything.
When is your meeting with the hell warden people to find out when you can go home? You didn’t answer me last time but when can you come and visit me?
xoxo,
Little Loulou
Little girl Lou,
Meeting was yesterday. Lou, I’m getting out. I leave at the end of the month. Got to tell you, it feels fuckin’ great to know I’ll get to see Main Street again, clap my brothers on the back and feel my bike beneath me, roaring down the hot stretch of road leadin’ from Entrance to Whistler like a windin’ biker’s paradise. Can’t wait to live again.
Wish I could visit you, Lou, I do. That said, I won’t. You don’t get this yet but me writin’ letters to a little girl is seven degrees of fucked up. Me and ethics ain’t ever been that close and don’t even get me started on morals, but still, a man has gotta draw a line somewhere and for me, that’s movin’ this strange pen pal gig we got goin’ into the real world. I debated not even writin’ you anymore and, if you push me on this, I won’t. Be happy with this ’cause it’s all you’re gonna get. And before you go whining on me, that’s the truth of the way life works, Lou. Know you got a hard knock with the cancer but your parents spoil you somethin’ rotten and you need to know real life is fulla pain, disappointment and dark deeds. I’m here to help you through the crud but only as a voice written in ink on paper, yeah?
Z.
Lou,
Been home a week now and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’ talkin’ to a kid about somethin’ like this but there it is. Somehow, you’re the only witness I want to this. ’Cause the thing is, I should be happy to be home with my kids, my brothers, workin’ in the garage on bikes I loved all my life. You know what I feel, kid?
Weird, fucked up as all get out.
I can’t sleep ’cause my mattress is too soft. Yeah, too soft after the crap mattress I rested my weight on for two and a half years. So, I’m sleepin’ on the floor. Harleigh Rose came in yesterday mornin’ looking to cuddle and I nearly bit her head off. Just touched her old man on the shoulder, innocent like any ten-year-old kid, and I nearly clocked her head clean off her slip of a body. You don’t touch in hell. You don’t smile, and if you laugh it’s a hard laugh that’s meant as a threat. My daughter doesn’t get this, I don’t want her to have to get this. Which means I got to man the fuck up and get over this shit. But fuck if it isn’t hard.
I know I’m swearin’ too much, I know I shouldn’t talk to a ten-year-old girl with her own problems (you still havin’ problems at that prissy ballet school?) but I figure, I’ve got to talk about it to someone and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be a shrink. You cool with that, little Lou, bein’ my little warrior again so I can rest some of this weight on you for a spell and catch my breath?
Z.
Dear Mr. Z,
I think I need to teach you two lessons because even though you’re an adult and I’m just a kid, I’m pretty sure I know these two things better than you do.
One thing, you don’t apologize to friends for needing them. I don’t know this because I have a lot of friends, you know that with the cancer and missing school and stuff I kinda lost all my friends. I know this because in all the really good books and movies, friends do everything and anything for each other. Obviously, you would do anything for me seeing as how before we were even friends, you saved my life by taking a bullet for me, and I’m trying not to be mad that you don’t know I would do the same for you. You want to curse? You want to talk to me about your kids? Or the hell you went through in prison because of me? It’s my duty as the girl you saved, my pleasure as your bff (best friend forever) and my honour as a girl who respects you more than she even respects her parents and whole family, to listen to whatever in the world you want to say to me.
The second thing is harder to teach but I’ve been thinking about it a lot since I got out of the hospital. We all have scars. Some of them, like the one you and me share, you can see with your eyes. Some of them, you ink, like you do, on your skin so that they tell the story like a picture book. Like a badge of honour that you overcame something really bad. Then there are others, like the scar that stays in your heart when you’re left alone in a hospital room for a week without anyone visiting you, or when you sleep on a metal bed in a concrete prison filled with bad men or weak men who only touch each other to sin in one way or another. I think it’s harder to talk about those scars and it’s harder to get over them because they wrap around you like poison ivy, making it hard to breathe and pump blood through your heart in the normal way. At least, that is how it is with me. I feel my heart skip when I talk to my friends now at school and they talk about boys they like and what they want to be when they grow up, and I know that sometimes, a lot of the time, kids don’t even get to grow up. They die.
I think bad things happen to everyone, not just bad people. My grandfather is the pastor, you know? And he says all the time that religion will absolve us of our sins and lead us to heaven if only we follow all God’s rules. I don’t think you are the kind of man to follow rules, even if they are the Almighty’s, but I do know that you definitely deserve to be happy so I think there must be special exceptions for men who are good but whose lives went bad. I think sometimes God sends us bad stuff, like cancer and prison and crappy ex-wives and too-busy daddies to see how we hold up. If we are strong and we endure, we are rewarded.
I don’t know if that makes you feel better, to know that I kinda know what you are going through, that our scars make us different and they make us hurt all the time and feel a little lonely. Only, we are lucky because we are bffs so we have each other. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I got you, Mr. Z.
xoxo,
Loulou
P.S. Harleigh Rose won’t care if you don’t want to snuggle or you flinch when she touches you. You’ll get used to it again and I bet you she’s just happy to have you back. I know I am.
2012-2013
Zeus is 32. Louise is 13.
Zeus,
Tell me another story, a good one where the hero is kind of the villain and the happily ever after isn’t easy coming. I want to hear about adventures and bravery and living life outside of the lines. I read On the Road like you recommended and I loved it. The Zen of Art and Motorcycle Maintenance was good too and I really loved Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Our housekeeper found my copy under the bed and turned it over to my mother who immediately threw it into the fireplace and informed me tha
t I would be going to church camp for the summer again. I hate church camp. Remember last summer when those girls told me I was impure because I was wearing coloured lip chap? I know you said that they were dumb, but it still really bothered me, and I know they’ll be there again this year. They go to my school and I bet you when I go to EBA for high school, they’ll be there too. They call themselves “the angels.” How self-righteous can they get?
My life is so boring. I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. It feels like I’m a Barbie, dressed by someone else’s hand in sensible shoes and sweater sets (did you know I have fourteen different strands of pearls, one for every occasion? Did you even know there was more than one occasion to wear pearls!?). Living the life someone else wants me to live. I’m good at it. I got honours with distinction again this year, which was cool but honestly, kind of easy. Apart from the angels, who are mean and don’t like me because I don’t pretend they’re cool, I have some friends. Not good ones, not like you. I dance five times a week, I do my homework, I obey my parents, volunteer at the Autism Centre, and I go to church on Sunday and whenever else I need absolution (a lot, I admit, and it’s getting worse). I’m a normal thirteen-year-old girl. A woman officially. And I still feel like such a dumb, dull girl.
So, tell me something exciting. I know you are probably driving through the California hills on your bike, drinking beer in some bar or flirting with some really pretty girl because who wouldn’t want to flirt with you?
xoxo,
Loulou
Loulou,
Sure, kid, I’ll tell ya a story. Once upon a fuckin’ time, there was a princess named Lou with a shit ton of golden hair and a smile that lit a person’s heart up. She was sweet and kind but curious. The Queen and King kept her in a big tower away from the rest of the world and only let safe, boring folk through to see her. The princess grew fuckin’ tired of that shit, as anyone would but ’specially a girl as curious, as wild at heart as Lou. So, she made a plan. Instead of runnin’ away, she staged a quiet rebellion in her soul. She made friends with the dull boys and did her duties, so her parents would be happy with her but inside, she worked away at becomin’ the kind of woman she wanted to be when she got old enough to do things her way. She listened to rock and roll, read copies of banned books by the light of her fish tank light late at night, and doodled in the margins of Gideon’s Bible. She was a good kid, a good girl, and when the time came that she turned eighteen, she was ready to take off into the sunset, no man, no rules, just a rucksack filled with booze and jerky, a head fulla crazy dreams and a heart brave enough to do ’em.
Z.
P.S. You aren’t dumb and next time you say somethin’ like that, Lou, I’ll stop writin’ ya.
Zeus,
You always threaten to stop writing me… Is it because you don’t want to anymore? I get it. Betsy doesn’t deliver my letters for me anymore. I drop them myself on the way to ballet every Sunday. But she asked me if we still wrote to each other when I saw her a little bit ago and when I said yes, she looked unhappy and told me I was probably bothering you. Am I? You’re my best friend in the whole world but I get that you have kids and a life and a job because you’re an adult and I’m just a girl with like zero real problems. So if you want to stop writing me… I’ll deal with it.
Loulou
Not so little warrior,
Don’t be like that, Lou. I get that you’re turnin’ into a woman so this passive aggressive, emotional shit is gonna come up but I’m tellin’ you right now, that kinda insecurity is fuckin’ poison and it’ll eat away at you if you let it until you become a bitter, hollow shell of the cool kid you once were. You’re the shit, Lou. We’ve been writin’ for near on five years now (fuck) so you should know by now that I don’t do anythin’ I don’t want to.
I want to write you. It’s fucked up but yeah, we’re friends. As long as it stays like that, we keep this thing to paper and pen, I’m not goin’ anywhere.
Now, tell me more about these “angel” bitches so we can game plan how you’re gonna win ’em over.
Z.
2013-2014
Zeus is 33. Louise is 14.
Z,
Okay, so can I ask you something kind of weird? I would ask someone else only I don’t really have anyone else… Dad wouldn’t know what to say, Mum is never around, you know they got rid of Nanny last year and Bea is too young to get it. The angels don’t know anything so I can’t go there. Which leaves you.
Okay, I’m just going to go for it here.
Over the summer, I, well, I “became a woman” or whatever. Late bloomer and all that. So now my body has erm, changed, and all the boys at school are suddenly talking to me! It’s super weird and I don’t know what to say to them. They tease me and tug on my hair or call me fat and stuff like that. It’s mean but I can see the way they stare at my, like, private areas so I know they like me, I mean I think they do. I don’t like any of them, though. They’re all stupid little boys and I just want them to leave me alone. What do you think I should do?
Loulou
Lou,
Jesus Christ, Lou, there has to be someone fuckin’ better than me to ask about this shit. I’m a man. You obviously don’t get this yet but men talk about three things: booze, sex and sports. For me, that would be whiskey, sex and bikes. Each man’s got different preferences but we all stick mostly to that strict rule. Remember that, Lou, booze, sex and sports.
That said, I get that you got no one else to go to, which sucks. So, kid, I’ll talk to you about this but only this once so relish it and NEVER ask me again.
Listen, it’s simple because men are simple. A guy likes a chick, he needs to get her attention. There are a coupla ways to do this. The dicks, they do it by bein’ a dick to the girl, insultin’ her hair or her makeup or somethin’ totally made up just to start a conversation. Best thing to do is ignore ’em. The better ones, they’ll try an’ be your pal, buddy up to you about somethin’ they think you might like even though they definitely fuckin’ don’t. These guys are harmless, Lou, just friend zone ’em for long enough and they’ll give up.
Then there are the best kinda men, yeah? The ones that man up and claim a woman the way a woman wants and needs to be claimed. He sees somethin’ he likes, he goes up, lays it out and asks her out. He does what he needs to do to get to know her, listenin’, spendin’ the money and, better, the time to know her mind so he can rock her world. Somethin’ fucks with her, that man is gonna throw down to make it right again. She wants somethin’ he can’t immediately get her? That guy’s gonna work his fuckin’ ass off to get it for her just for a chance to get some more of her sweetness. That’s the kinda man you’re gonna get yourself one day, Lou. Not now, you’re just a kid, so be patient. Ignore the dicks that will be ignored and throat punch the idiots that won’t. Make friends with the pussies who let you do that to them. And wait.
Z.
Zeus,
I think I know what kinda guy you’re talking about…
Also, I wanted to throat punch one of the dicks that wouldn’t take no for an answer but good girl Louise Lafayette wouldn’t do that, so I spit in his Coke when he wasn’t looking at lunch and watched him drink it after. It was nearly as satisfying.
xoxo,
Loulou
2015-2016
Zeus is 35. Louise is 16.
Zeus,
It’s my sixteenth birthday today. Mum threw me a massive Sweet Sixteen party with like four people I actually like and one hundred people I actively can’t stand. They were all hoards of plastic Ken and Barbie dolls littered around our backyard like a kid’s playroom. Only, I didn’t have fun with them because I refuse to play with them. I stood in the middle of all the pastels and polo necks listening to my parent’s friends talk about politics and vacation homes and I was more than the usual bored. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and honest to God, I think I was having a panic attack. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand my own life anymore. I wanted to rip off my double strands of pea
rls, tear the Tiffany charm bracelet from my wrist and run away. Do you know whom I wanted to run away to, Z?
You.
All I could think about was racing to you, finding you already straddling your great metallic dragon, the rev of the engine like a warrior cry as we took off into the night. Not sunset. There are no sunsets for men like you and women like I am at the heart of me. Only inky night that clutches at you as you tear past, moving through the darkness like we own it, like we are only free inside the shadow vortex of it.
I’m being nonsensical. I snuck a few extra glasses of champagne and my head feels like it’s filled with helium. What I’m trying to say is that I want to run to you. It doesn’t have to be away with you. You’ve got kids, really great ones from the looks of things, so I get that we probably have to stay here. I get that it’ll be hard because you’re a mechanic and I’m the Princess of Entrance, because you’re nineteen years older than my sixteen. But I know it’ll be okay just as long as I can get to you. I’ll leave whenever you want me to. Just say the word. And Z, say it soon.
Welcome to the Dark Side (The Fallen Men Book 2) Page 4