Passion for the Heist, page 2
CHAPTER 2
Passion arose at roughly the same time as she had every morning for the last few years, right before dawn. She never needed to set an alarm to wake at that hour; it was just something that her body had been programed to do. Even before she had adopted the predawn rising ritual, Passion never slept longer than she needed to. That was something her mother had instilled in her. “Tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone. Life can be snatched from us at any moment without rhyme or reason, and every day that we wake up is a gift from God. Never waste a moment of it.” Her mother could be really heavy into God and the church. Sometimes too heavy for Passion’s tastes. Back then she couldn’t really understand what her mother was trying to teach her, but as she got older and suffered a bit more, she received the message. They were all living on borrowed time.
She gave her joints a good stretch before swinging her long legs over the edge of her twin-size bed. She expected to feel the rough threads of her area rug under her bare soles, but instead her feet sank into something lumpy and warm. Cuddled up on the floor next to her bed were her cousin Claire and a light-skinned boy that Passion recognized from the neighborhood. Ramel was his name, if she recalled correctly. She didn’t know him well and the only reason he was even remotely on her radar was because she had peeped him sniffing around Claire for the past few weeks. Passion had tried to warn Claire about the slick-talking youngster and his intentions, but the fact that the two of them were likely naked beneath the cheap sheet said that Claire hadn’t listened.
Passion gave Claire a nudge with her foot, but it failed to stir the girl. So, she tapped her shoulder blade with the heel of her foot. It wasn’t necessarily a kick, but it had the same desired effect. Claire sat bolt upright and looked around nervously like she was under attack. When her eyes landed on Passion they narrowed to slits.
“Bitch, I know you didn’t just kick me like I’m some dog,” Claire snapped. Her skull was still heavy with sleep and she couldn’t understand why Passion was coming at her.
“You rather I kick your simple ass to bring you back to reality, or watch you get your shit cracked when Uncle comes in here and catches you being a ho?” Passion looked at Ramel, who hadn’t so much as paused his snoring.
Claire looked at Ramel as if she was just noticing him. About then is when the fog released its grip on her brain and flashes of the night before began coming to her. She had let the liquor carry her out of pocket. “Shit!”
Passion watched from her bed as Claire tossed the sheets, frantically looking for something swallowed in them. In doing so, she exposed Ramel’s sleeping and naked form. Passion blinked twice, zeroing in on his midsection. She felt herself staring now, and hadn’t meant to, but Ramel had one of the biggest penises that she had ever seen. Even with him unconscious and his dick half flaccid, she could tell that the young man was capable of inflicting some serious damage with it. She smacked her lips unconsciously while her brain drifted to a nasty place in the corner of her mind. “I might have been in a coma, too, if I’d spent half the night trying to take all that.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but had.
“What kind of beating my pussy can stand up to ain’t none of your concern,” Claire said defensively. She hadn’t missed Passion staring at Ramel’s penis as if she was trying to decide if it would taste better with hot sauce or ketchup.
“It becomes my concern when one of you little hot-in-the-ass broads does something that can affect what goes on with the rest of us,” Passion informed her.
“Whatever, Passion.” Claire sucked her teeth and went back to searching through the sheets for whatever she was looking for. A few beats later she dug her cell phone from the sheets. She tapped the screen, but it remained dark. It was dead. “That’s why my alarm didn’t go off,” she said more to herself than anyone else.
“Your alarm might not have gone off, but you know he’s going to go more than off if he comes in here and catches you being freakish with some random boy,” Passion warned. The color draining from Claire’s face said that she didn’t have to expound on who she meant by he.
“Wake up!” Claire began shaking Ramel. When he was slow to respond, Claire grabbed the plastic cup of water that Passion always kept at her bedside and threw it in his face. That got his attention.
“Mama … I’m drowning!” Ramel called for his mother, while his arms flailed like he was trying to swim up from the deep end of a pool.
“Put your clothes on.” Claire ignored his confusion, shoving his jeans and sweatshirt into his lap.
“Let me get five more minutes.” Ramel sucked his teeth and attempted to lay back down. Passion stopped him.
“Shorty, that extra five minutes ain’t worth the rest of your life. Because ain’t no question in my mind that if my uncle comes in here and catches you, you’re surely going to die,” Passion told him.
It was then that Ramel remembered where he was and why he had been skeptical about coming in the first place. “Oh, hell nah!” He jumped up and began hurriedly dressing. He had wanted to fuck Claire in the staircase, which was their norm, but she picked that night to suddenly develop morals and insisted that the only way she was going to give the pussy up was under someone’s roof. Ramel’s mom was home, and didn’t play those kinds of games, so they couldn’t go there. This was when Claire suggested that they go back to her place. He knew what time it was with her uncle, and entering that apartment would’ve been a bad idea when he was at home, but crossing that threshold while he wasn’t there was borderline suicide. Still, Claire’s phat ass looked so good in the tight pink boy shorts, and the pussy print in the front was calling his name. Against his better judgment he went for it, and now he found himself moving like a man just highlighted on America’s Most Wanted and trying to get out of the apartment before the marshals kicked the door in.
“You ain’t got time for all that.” Claire pulled him to his feet as he was trying to put his boots on.
“Hold on with all that. You acting like I stole the pussy, knowing damn well we always negotiate in good faith. I ain’t really feeling how you’re treating me, considering,” Ramel said, not feeling the way he was being rushed out like some type of sneak thief. He had taken Claire to BBQ’s and bought her a bottle of liquor before coming back to the apartment with her, and felt like he deserved a little more courtesy than he was being shown.
“Bruh-bruh, we can discuss that at another time. Right now, I need you to get the wind beneath your feet and fly.” Claire ushered him out of the bedroom and to the front door.
Passion sat on the bed for a time longer, listening to the arguing couple’s voices as they receded through the living room and finally out the front door. Ramel clearly wasn’t happy with the treatment he was receiving from his temporary bedmate, but getting him out of the house when she did should’ve been looked upon as a gift, considering the alternative. He didn’t know it, but Claire had just done him a solid.
After making sure there were no more bodies to step on, Passion headed to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet and relieved herself while going through a mental checklist of the things that she needed to do that day. Next, she moved to the bathroom mirror where she proceeded to brush her teeth. Standing in front of the mirror she took inventory of herself: clear pecan-colored skin, twinkling brown eyes, and an infectious smile when she allowed herself to do so. She pulled free of the colorful bonnet that she slept with to hold her hair in place and shook her dreadlocks loose. She pinched the end of one of them between her green-painted fingers and pulled it to its limit. Her hair was just past her shoulders now. A far cry from when she had started. A few years ago, Passion had done the Big Chop, cutting the long brown hair she had been growing since birth down to an Afro. When her family witnessed what she had done, everyone just assumed she was having a mental breakdown due to everything that she had just gone through. It wasn’t a breakdown though, but a rebuild. The things she had held most dear in life had been stripped from her, so she decided that the superficial should go as well: no heat to her hair, no weaves, and no makeup, save for the occasional coat of lipstick. She wasn’t making a statement with the act, or trying to fit into any group or trend like some girls did when making such extreme changes. It was just something Passion felt like she needed to do to reset her wounded soul. Everything that she had been taught or told to that point was burned down, and from the ashes rose a phoenix crafted in the image in which God had made her: all natural. She was still no expert at flying, but the more she healed the higher she soared.
As Passion was toying with her hair, the long sleeve of the shirt she had slept in fell back. Along her forearm, stopping just short of her wrist, were remnants of scars old and new. Those scars told a two-sided story, one that both beat her down and lifted her up. When people who saw the scars asked Passion about them she would never offer more than some fabricated story about a childhood injury, or for those who hadn’t known her that long, something along the lines of being clumsy at school. The truth behind the scars was something more intimate, and she had only found one person she trusted enough to be that candid with. The collection of scars was her cross to bear.
She applied a bit of cocoa butter to some of the more recent scars and fixed her sleeves. As she was brushing her teeth she considered jumping in the shower, but decided against it. Any other morning Passion would’ve taken advantage of being the first one in the bathroom, and not having to wait to wash her ass or brush her teeth, but not this one. The time she had spent dealing with Claire’s mess had put her behind schedule. She had precious few minutes to spare or run the risk of missing her regularly scheduled meeting. The shower could wait.
While Passion was washing her face, her eyes went to her neck in the reflection of the mirror. She felt her heart skip when she found it bare. She dropped the rag and her hands instinctively went to her throat as if the image was playing tricks on her. She then began shaking the shirt she wore, which doubled as a nightgown. She looked to the floor hopefully, but nothing fell out. With terror gripping her chest, Passion bolted back into the bedroom. She ripped both pillows and sheets from her bed, frantically searching. When the sheets yielded nothing, her mind immediately started playing out the worst-case scenarios. There was no way she could’ve been careless enough to lose it. Not something so precious. Someone in the house had to have stolen it. It wouldn’t have been the first time they’d helped themselves to something or hers, and most of the time she let it go, but not this. All the girls in the house had at least a touch of larceny in them, so this made it hard to say for sure exactly which one had done it, but Passion planned to take her time in finding out.
She was fishing around under her mattress, in search of the scalpel that she kept tucked there to keep the bad dreams away, when she caught a glint of something in her periphery. It sat in the nook between the head of her bed and the closest window. Had the light of dawn not been creeping through her window at just that angle at just that time, Passion would’ve probably never noticed it. But there it was in all its sparkling glory. She dropped to her knees and snatched it up, keeping it cupped in her hands like an ember she was trying to keep from going out. It was a thin white gold chain with two twin heart-shaped pendants hanging from the end of it. To the casual observer, neither the fourteen-karat chain nor its diamond-flaked hearts would’ve earned more than a second look, but it was the most valuable thing that Passion owned. It was as much of a reminder of a bad yesterday as it was a beacon of hope for a better tomorrow.
Claire had yet to return to the bedroom, and the third girl they bunked with was still asleep. This would allow Passion a few rare moments of privacy, which she was thankful for. The waking hour, as she called it, was an intimate time for her and she hated sharing it when she could avoid it.
The sky outside the bedroom window had just started to burn a pale pink, but orange tendrils were beginning to snake their way through. Blue skies wouldn’t be far behind. Passion grabbed the lone pillow from the twin-size bed she slept in and laid it over the top of the radiator under the window. It took her a minute to find a comfortable-enough position to where the radiator’s ridges wouldn’t cut into her ass through the worn feathers and thin fabric of the pillow.
From the nook of the windowsill, Passion grabbed a loose cigarette. She generally kept one or two stashed there so as to make sure she had at least one for herself every morning. Most of the girls who lived in the house smoked, so between them bumming for cigarettes or asking for bust-downs on ones already being smoked, packs didn’t last long. Of all the smokers in the house, she was the only one who bought more than a few loose cigarettes at a time, so she often found herself as the go-to when one of the girls was out and craving nicotine. Passion didn’t mind sharing with her cousins, but with the price of Newports constantly rising in the city, their begging could at times be bothersome. Whenever she bought a pack, Passion would always set a few to the side for herself before letting it be known that she was holding.
Passion lit the cigarette with a lighter she had found on the floor. Her cousins may never have had any smokes, but they always had lights. Bics fell randomly out of their pockets and purses when the girls stripped for the night, so she could always find one abandoned or lost on the floor or under one of the beds. She sparked the cigarette and held the smoke in her lungs, letting it tickle around to the parts of her that may have still been asleep. When she exhaled the smoke, she caught a slight head rush. Nothing like smoking a blunt, but enough to pull her brain from whatever happened the day before and into the now. She was officially awake.
After taking a few good tokes from the cigarette and making sure it was burning properly, she turned her attention back to the skyline. Light poured between the tall buildings in the distance. She could feel her heart start to race. Though it was a regular morning ritual for her, it always felt like the first time. Finally, the sun came into view with all the flair of an opening scene from an Oscar-worthy film. As the light made its way through her window, she closed her eyes and let the warmth wash over her face. It was a simple thing, but to her it was like the gentle caress of a loved one and a reminder of better days.
Passion’s love of the sunrise was born on a family trip to the West Coast. Her mom had a friend who she knew through her job, who had relocated to the West Coast, where he purchased a beautiful house in Malibu. Her old coworker had invited Passion’s family out west for a visit. Her dad hadn’t been up to the trip, but her mother insisted, so he had no choice. Passion’s dad always deferred to the whims of her mother and she could never remember him having won an argument. He usually just caved to whatever it was that she wanted. Watching her walk on him all those times bothered Passion. She had always seen her father as such a strong man. He was her invincible hero … except when it came to her mother. She was the one person who could tear away the mask of invincibility and make her husband seem like less of a man. This would leave invisible scars on her daughter that would affect how she dealt with the opposite sex later in life. Passion wasn’t sure who she resented more, her mother for breaking her father or him for allowing it. What Passion couldn’t comprehend at the time was that it wasn’t that her father was a weak man, her mother just held power over him. It was a power that Passion wouldn’t fully understand until she later inherited it.
Passion and her mom wanted to fly to California, but her father didn’t. He’d had a friend who died in a plane crash, and ever since he had refused to set foot on one of the metal birds. Passion’s mother was pissed, but her father wouldn’t budge. It was the one thing that Passion could remember him finding enough of his voice to stand up to her mother on. So, as a compromise, they borrowed an RV from the church they attended and made it into a road trip. Passion, like her mother, hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of driving nearly three thousand miles over a few days when they could’ve simply flown and been there in a few hours, but by the time they had made it as far as Ohio she found that she was actually having a good time.
People who didn’t have the opportunities to travel outside of what was familiar to them had no idea how big and beautiful the rest of the world was, and therefore they would not be motivated to go and explore it. Passion was fascinated by the towns and cities they passed through and the people she saw. To her, they were so different. Leaving New York was like visiting another country. Passion made her dad stop in just about every state they crossed to grab some small trinket to remind her of their passing through. The frequent stops added an additional nine hours to their trip, which Passion’s mother complained about the whole time, but her dad didn’t care. He knew that taking this trip and showing his daughter the country would create memories that would live with her forever. That alone was worth the price of admission.
Watching the sunrise had been her mother’s idea. She had always been a night owl, which was why she worked nights at her job. Even on nights her mother didn’t have to work, Passion would sometimes wake up to use the bathroom and find her awake, sitting in the window, smoking cigarettes and staring out into the darkness. It was as if she were looking for something, though what? Passion never found out.
In every port that they would spend the night in, Passion’s mother would wake her up shortly before dawn to watch the sun come up. Some might think that one sunrise was no different than the next, but this wasn’t true. At least not for Passion. To her, each sunrise over every city was unique in its own way. From the East Coast through the Midwest, each sunrise offered Passion something uniquely beautiful, but none of them compared to the first time she had seen the sun rising on the Pacific Coast.
It had happened during the last leg of their family trip out west. It was just before dawn and her father was pushing the RV along the Pacific Coast Highway. This was one of the few mornings that Passion’s mother had slept through their sunrise ritual. She’d had a few drinks at a local bar the night before and was sleeping it off. Passion was awake, though. She was sitting in the passenger seat of the RV, holding a map and playing navigator for her dad. Not that he needed directions now that they were so close, but it made Passion feel helpful. She had gotten bored with the map and was looking out the window at the passing ocean when the first rays of the morning sun hit it. The light made the water sparkle like there were diamonds under the surface. In California the sun didn’t take its time as it had done creeping over the rooftops in New York, or having to peel through the gray skies of Ohio. No, Cali sun showed up without invitation, hesitation, or interruption to blanket the coastline, signaling the beginning of a new day. It was the first and last time she had ever seen something so beautiful, and the memory of it would be forever burned into her young mind. Ever since beholding that first sunrise on the California coast, Passion had made it a habit to wake up early enough to watch the sun rise. She had seen over one thousand sunrises since then, but none quite like the one she had seen hitting the Pacific Ocean.
