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  “It’s time to pay the piper.” That stupid line always proceeds the beating and he uses a low, slow voice filled with drama. Who was the piper anyway and why did he need to be paid? Was he the Pied Piper? He led the rats away for free as far as I knew.

  I always rose up to meet him, but this time I wouldn’t.

  “Get up!”

  “No.”

  “I said get up!” Nostrils flaring and spittle flying from his mouth.

  “No. I’m telling the truth. You can’t punish me if I didn’t do anything wrong.” I don’t know where I found the courage to speak to my father that way. Feeling tired of catching beatings all the time for no good reason, I decide to stand my ground.

  Without warning, he grabs me by the arm. I struggle to pull away but he is too strong. I kick him in the shin with everything I have and he releases his grip. He yelps loudly making a sound I’d never heard before out of any human being.

  In one quick motion, I drop onto the floor and roll under the bed. With my back squarely against the wall, I prepare to defend myself. Like a wolf, he is on all fours, reaching and grabbing for me. He tries to pull me out. So he can beat me. I am the little lamb set up for slaughter.

  On my right side, I kick for all I am worth every time he tries to grab me with his hand. I am crying now and it will be only a matter of time before he gets to me. The tears are streaming down my face and mixing with the dirty dust I am now rolling in to fend off my attacker.

  Just then, I hear my mom’s voice at the open doorway to my room. “George! What are you doing?” My father says nothing. I am sobbing uncontrollably now as he gets hold of my right ankle. He starts pulling me out.

  What happens next I never expect. My mom jumps on his back and starts pulling his hair and scratching his face. I can see it from an upward-looking vantage point and it is pure craziness. He is wincing in pain as he tries to swat her away.

  My mom never relents. Finally, he gets one arm around and throws her backwards, though not enough to hurt her, thank God.

  Shimmying out from under the end of my bed now, I make a beeline to the window which leads to my garage roof. Fast, like a wild animal, I hop onto the roof and take three long strides as the shingles crunch below my feet. Not bothering to shimmy down the tree, I leap to the ground and end up rolling forward.

  Up and sprinting now, I make for the driveway where I know I can make a getaway. On my bike and pedaling fast now, real fast, I fight off the tears and regain myself as best as I can. Mrs. Miller looks up from her gardening, concerned and curious as I streak past her. I’m not slowing down for anyone.

  Fast approaching Lonergan’s Hill, my usual instinct would be to slow down. Instead, I pedal harder, speeding as I go as fast as a 20” red Mongoose bike can be pedaled. As I crest the hill, my stomach rises into my throat as I feel a tickly sensation deep in my belly.

  I hurtle down Lonergan’s faster than likely anyone has gone before me. Eyes are on me now and I can feel their thoughts of dread as they await the seemingly inevitable. Going so fast now that pedaling won’t gain me any speed, I tuck my chin just over the handlebars and the cool breeze against my face dries my tears until they feel like a plaster mask against my cheeks.

  After being cornered under a bed by an angry man intent on throwing me a beating, this ride is intensely freeing. I feel like a bird, no, an eagle swooping at over 100 miles per hour at unseen prey. I am in control and nobody can stop me, not even father and his badly worn leather belt.

  Then I remember. The stop sign at the bottom of Lonergan’s quickly made its way toward me. Knowing I can’t stop now even if I want to, and I don’t intend on stopping for anything, I have to think fast.

  Faster, and be sure to time the cars. Faster.

  As I reach more level ground, I pedal faster. Looking left and right, I time my approach. A blue sedan in front of me and a green SUV approaching from the right, a GMC Jimmy, I think. Judge their speed, Lane, that’s it.

  Now! Pedal for your life.

  This really is a matter of life and death. If my calculations are off, I have a good chance of dying by either getting hit by a car or riding into the side of one. Either way the options are not good.

  Don’t die, Lane. Avoid and weave as you need to. These thoughts repeate over and over again as I enter the intersection, avoid and weave, avoid and weave….

  It’s exhilarating. I have never felt more alive or in control in my twelve years as I do now. A near miss on a Ford with some terrified faces looking out the side. Little kids, I think. A red pickup slams on its brakes, although he doesn’t need to.

  I am in control.

  As I exit the intersection into calmer traffic, I draw in a deep breath that fills my now aching lungs from the extreme effort. I am smiling now, then laughing at having dodged death.

  At having dodged my father and his worn out old leather belt.

  ****

  Jolted back now from my old memory, I can’t help but smile. I hadn’t beaten my dad at many things in life, but that day I got the better of him. If he did hear of my exploits, which I doubt he did, he never let on. He would have surely lined me up for another beating.

  Thoughts back to Celia. It was a damn fine last three days. I can’t remember anything better. No, there has never been a better time in my life. A few weeks ago, I was all about driving fast and fucking as many fine women as possible. And then I met her.

  Beautiful inside and out. Wild in bed. A mustang.

  Boy, the look on her face as she is about to come is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. And then there were the conversations. I love talking to her. We can talk about anything and I would be happy as shit.

  I’ve heard people talk about it, but had never experienced it. The art of ‘being’ with someone and feeling like everything in the world will always be all right.

  Not just all right. Fucking great. That’s how I feel with her.

  Fucking great.

  Chapter 32

  CELIA

  "Hello, Belle.” She is named that for a reason. With a beautiful white coat, and small black receding spots toward her belly, she is a stunning looking horse. Her light eyes shine in the bright sunlight.

  We have a special connection, she and I. We understand each other as much as a horse and human being can. Belle knew when I was troubled and she would come greet me and nuzzle her head next to mine. It was one of those days. Belle and I were like two old girlfriends who grew up together; we understood each other perfectly.

  She eagerly chews the carrot in my hand and whinnies her gratitude. When she is done, I got to grooming her tail. As I use my fingers from top to bottom, little pieces of dirt fall to the ground. Slowly, I work my way through the knots and free them as much as possible.

  My mind wanders to Lane. The guy I met at the race was cocky and arrogant, but the Lane I came to know intimately was sweet and thoughtful. He is quite a lover. The best I’ve ever had. It’s almost like he is reading my mind all the time. I would think something in my mind and five seconds later he responded to it. Synchronous.

  You can’t force that in a relationship; it’s either there or it isn’t. We had that and it would always be there. Always.

  What does that mean? Would Lane always be there? I used to think the people I loved in my life would always be there for me, but now I know it is not true. It was a lesson I learned at a young age.

  We’re so impressionable when we’re young. Things don’t just fade away, they stay with us. They’re chinks in our armor, cracks in our china. We are all precious and through loss, neglect, and abuse we can be damaged. Permanently. But nothing that’s good is permanent in this life. I’ve never been permanently happy, permanently satisfied, or permanently anything. It’s why we need to make the best of life while the getting is good, and weather the inevitable storms that seek to destroy us.

  This world has taken its shot at destroying me. What got me through I will never know.
Time I think. The pain is still there. It started out excruciating as open, untreated wounds often are. And years later it still hurts, but it’s more a numbness than anything else. I can feel it growing again. The hurt.

  I guess that’s permanent.

  I will always have a numb spot in my heart but there is room there. In my heart. There is plenty more to give. Lane.

  He already has my heart whether he’s aware he does or not. It’s glowing now with love. Love can heal my heart. Nothing else can.

  But when you open yourself to love, you open yourself up to hurt. It’s a chance we take. I know women who have opened their hearts to men over and over only to have it broken just as many times. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I guess. Many have chosen woman lovers now. Guys are really good at breaking hearts. There is more than one way to break one.

  With Belle fully groomed, I decide I need to ride. “What do you say, girl?” The low hills and trees are a blur as Belle and I streak through the mid-morning breeze. Ocean smells fill my lungs as I pull back the reins on the edge of a bluff. “Whoa, girl.” I hitch her to a white birch tree and make my way over to the edge of the one hundred-foot rocky cliff overlooking the Cranberry Isles. My view is south and I imagine I can see Lane humming his Harley down the coast and back home.

  Born in late February, I’m a water sign under Pisces. Maybe that’s why I meditate near the water. It’s where I’ve made my biggest life decisions. While sitting by a mountain lake, I decided to move on to Bar Harbor. My current home. I meditated on that for days, until it finally came to me in crystal-clear form.

  I sit cross-legged on the edge of the bluff, the drop-off would be fatal. The view here is breathtaking. I feel small amid this beauty, and my yoga has taught me how to breathe, out the old thoughts and in with the new.

  Deeply in, then deeply out. Each breath brings more clarity and the cool ocean breeze feeds my soul. I sit here for minutes, maybe hours, as the sun lowers in the sky. Then it comes to me like a lightning bolt connecting with the ground without any warning.

  I’ve just decided.

  I fully open my heart to you, Lane.

  Please be gentle.

  Chapter 33

  LANE

  Just arriving home now, I park my bike and head inside for a cold beer. Sitting out on the deck now overlooking the harbor, my thoughts drive me to my next action. Sending a text.

  Lane: Hello angel! I’m home safe.

  Celia: I’m glad…thanks for letting me know.

  Lane: Is everything okay? You seemed upset about something.

  Long pause. She must be thinking.

  Celia: Yeah Lane...it’s nothing really.

  This doesn’t seem like nothing. If I know one thing, it’s women, and Celia has something on her mind.

  Lane: You sure? We can talk about anything.

  If she answers me quickly, it may be nothing big. If she takes a long time, it’s something big she’s not ready to talk about or she doesn’t know how to talk about it. Either way, if she doesn’t give me much, I won’t push it.

  At least a minute and still waiting. Finally.

  Celia: I’m okay. Something sparked a memory for me and it took me by surprise.

  Shit.

  This is one of those 50-50 deals. If I keep pushing, I’m opening up a can of worms that may be better off staying closed. If I don’t pursue it, I may come off like an arrogant prick who doesn’t care for my woman’s feelings. Celia’s feelings.

  Be careful here. Don’t take too long.

  Lane: You know I’m here for you if you need to talk. If you’re not ready to talk or don’t want to that’s okay too.

  Bam. Honest. It’s how I feel and if this relationship is going to work, I need to be honest. Response comes quickly.

  Celia: Thank you Lane!

  Well played, Lane. The tone was good and it seems like she’s not ready so just leave it alone. I can get used to this relationship stuff.

  Lane: Goodnight angel! Sleep well.

  Celia: GN lover.

  It gnaws on my mind a bit, but I can’t force Celia into something she’s not ready to talk about. Celia. My angel. Beautiful angel.

  For the first time in a long time…or ever…all is good in my life. I feel complete. I haven’t always felt that way. My dad never made me feel complete. More like incomplete. Like there was something I should have achieved by now but failed at. Mother fucker. Who the hell was he to know what I should do with my life?

  My life. Not his.

  Some parents don’t fucking get it. They think if they put food on the table and a roof over a child’s head, then it’s enough. Guess what fuckers? It’s not.

  My need for speed. Always running. Speed was my escape. Is my escape. If you’re going to run away from your life, you may as well run fast. The faster the better.

  ****

  Lane - 13 years ago

  “You will study! If you get one more B, you’ll be sorry mister!”

  Looking up at my dad, while he stands over me screaming in my face. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m doing my best.”

  Going ballistic now. “Your best is not nearly enough. I’m ashamed to call you my son. What am I going to tell my friends when you don’t get into Harvard? That I failed as a parent?”

  I’ve had enough of this shit. One freaking B and this is what I get? I retort. “You have failed…you fail every day at it!”

  Crash! I’m on the floor and my jaw is hurting. What the fuck? He just hit me. Son of a bitch. Crying now. Don’t cry. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

  Getting up fast and pushing my way past. Grabbing car keys and running out the door. Yelling behind me, but can’t stop now.

  I need to get away. Fast. In the car, shift into gear, reversing it out and onto the street. Free. Jam into gear and drive. Far. Fast.

  The world’s a blur. Street lights flying past, passing cars, on the highway now. Son of a bitch hit me because I got a B. I’m not good enough in his eyes. I’ll show him. Speedometer at 100 now and rising, plenty of gas, keep going. No one can catch me.

  Ever.

  Chapter 34

  CELIA

  Damn, no spots open. There we go. Pulling into a parking space in front of Smokey’s Lounge. I am in town to run errands and this is the first spot that I find open. In Bar Harbor if a spot opens up, you take it.

  Phone rings. “Hey girlfriend!”

  Smiles. “Hi, Tracy.”

  “Soooooo?”

  I’ll mess with her for a bit. “Sooo what?”

  “The gorgeous cocky guy. How did it go?”

  “I’m not sure what guy you’re talking about. Do you mean the fat bald guy I met at the dump?” I find it’s hard to talk on the phone while backing into a spot, but I do it anyway.

  “I mean that hot as shit gorgeous guy who stared at your ass for five minutes before ever saying a word to you. You know, that guy.”

  “Ohhh…him. Well, yeah, it was all right.” I burst out laughing.

  “Did you fuck him?”

  “Wow, that’s straightforward.”

  “Don’t mess with me, Celia! I haven’t gotten laid since Prince was popular and you’re holding out on me?”

  “Well, when you put it that way. There might have been some fondling and touching going on.”

  “C’mon…I want dirty details! Don’t leave anything out!”

  Fifteen minutes later, I finished describing the sucking, licking, humping and fucking details. I had to keep my voice low as my window was down, and at one point I said ‘pussy’ a little too loud and an old lady － probably a tourist － flashed me a disgusted look. Of course, I talked about the tender and sweet moments, too, but that’s not what Tracy wanted to hear. At least not until I gave her the dirty stuff.

  “Hellooo…are you there, Tracy?”

  Silence, then. “Holy shit…you are a slut! I had no idea.”

  “Well, you know how it is, we slu
ts need to stick together!”

  We make plans to go out tonight for a few drinks at Smokey’s Lounge. Tracy wants more details on the relationship side of things, so I finally gave in despite being tired.

  I am reluctant to give up my spot, but after shopping, I decide to go home for a shower and a quick nap. Our nights out together tended to go late and I need this tired headache to go away already. Or is it a stress headache? I’m not sure.

  A few hours later I am back at Smokey’s Lounge. Tracy has secured us a quiet seat at a table just off the bar, and a small candle is burning red, its flame dancing animatedly through the powdered red glass candle globe. Smokey’s was named before smoking was banned in bars – something I was happy about since cigarette smoke was always a turn-off for me and I hated coming home smelling like an ashtray – but the name stuck. The building is long and narrow, and there is an old wooden bar running down the length of it on the left, while small, two-person tables flank the wall on the right.

  “Hi, Tracy!” Always big, long hugs.

  “I ordered you a chocolate martini.”

  Here we go, it’s going to be one of those nights. The last time we drank chocolate martinis together we ended up running barefoot through the wet dew of the grass on the town green at midnight giggling like school girls. We passed out on park benches and woke up to the sound of cars and birds chirping as people went about their day. How embarrassing.

  We clinked glasses and both took a healthy sip. Mmm... this could be trouble. “All right. Let’s pick up where we left off. So, I know all about the juicy sex stuff, and it seems like that was a focus for you two.” She winks. Tracy was one of those people who could wink easily and it looked natural, whereas when I did it, it looks like I had a bug in my eye.

  “It’s funny you say that, Tracy, because I seem to remember a man named Gus who wouldn’t let you keep your clothes on for more than five minutes at a time.”