The Crime of Loving

MASSIMO

One day before his fourteenth birthday.

Heavy raindrops bounced against the metal roof of the car. The silence of the eleven-hour drive was interrupted by the deafening rumbles and roars from above. My eyes flew to the clock on the dash: five minutes left.

In five minutes, we should be under the shelter of our new home. She’d promise we would be able to stay longer than the two months from the place before. “A couple of months. Who knows, figlio, maybe even a year!” I knew better. With a small smile and a nod, I had given her the peace her stress-filled eyes had grown desperate for.

Anything for Mamma.

As the car rolled slower, more broken streetlamps passed by. Darkness consumed the wet streets. The only source of light against the storm was weak headlights and fickle lightning.

“Grazie Dio.”My mother thanked God and continued, “We’re here.”

I couldn’t see anything from the passenger seat. Then, the car turned, and light shone against the structure.

I scanned the quaint one-story, two-bedroom home. Even while the windshield wipers sped against the glass and the rain obscured my vision, I couldn’t miss the state of the house. From the overgrown grass and the broken rail on the front steps to the fallen gutter that had cracked a window in its path, I understood. Mamma had lied.

We were in trouble, and we didn’t leave Wisconsin for a better place.

“It needs a lot of love, but together, we can make it ours.” Her voice broke for a split second, the same way it did when she was hiding something from me. Lately, it happened more than once a day.

“It’s perfect,” I uttered and stared into my exhausted mother’s eyes. Small wrinkles decorated the corners of her round hazels, and her dark hair rested just below her shoulders, framing her petite features. A dim smokescreen of a smile appeared, but like an hourglass, I saw right through the surface. She has been marked by the signs of a lifetime of running through life.

“Maybe even a year, huh?” I echoed her words.

She chuckled, and her eyes softened. “Maybe even more.”

In order to not break her hope, I omitted my thoughts.

“Now, stay here. I’m going to check it out and turn some lights on.”

“No, Mamma. I’m coming with you.”

Her gaze snapped toward the house, and her hand paused against the door handle. The only sound between us was the unforgiving rain.

A smile spread across her face as if she hadn't fallen silent at all. “No reason for us both to get drenched while I fumble with the lock.”

I wanted to push, but instead, I gave in to my mother’s stern glare.

“Fine, but I’m not waiting for all the lights.”

“As if you’ve ever done so.”

I almost smiled.

She fought her way through the weeds and rain until she stood underneath the poor roofline that was taking more water from the sky than preventing it from getting in. By the time she opened the door, the back of her clothes had stuck to her body.

I waited.

And waited.

It had been a few minutes since she’d entered, and the first light had never lit. Neither did the second.

Fear quickly settled, and danger knocked on my chest.

Each swipe of water I watched run down the windshield meant another wasted moment. I had hesitated, and Mamma had taught me that hesitation was our biggest enemy. Our instinct, our ally.

Running was another lesson I ignored.

It felt like that was all we had ever done, but I couldn’t run, not now. Not without her.

Shutting the door quickly without a sound, I moved toward the tree line and away from the glare of the headlights. Rain kept my eyes from fully opening, and its pour prevented me from hearing anything other than heavy drops and thunder. My shoes sank into the muddy puddles of grass as I hurried closer. Lowering my body to the front of the house, I quietly moved and ducked past the windows until the open front door creaked in the wind.

Before I took the first step, I heard it. My mother’s struggles.

Without hesitation, I slid past the front door. I didn’t make it far before my feet stumbled. My hands shot out quickly, catching my body before it could hit the floor. But I didn’t feel the solid touch of hardwood, the sticky sensation of vinyl, or the rough texture of worn carpet. It was warm against my cold hands, rigid and yet soft.

My eyesight adjusted to the dim room created by the car lights, and my eyes fell.

With eyes wide open and a knife by his left shoulder blade, a lifeless body lay beneath my palms. Bile rose as my bottom hit the floor while I scurried away from the dark puddle that continued to grow.

My soaked and soiled shoes slipped against the floor, and the more I kicked to get away from the mud-mixed blood, the more I fought to gain space.

Thump.

Mamma.

Her struggles continued, but they shortened, then weakened. Frantically, I rose from the floor, wiped the feeling of the body my hands had touched, and followed the trail of my mother’s gasps. Each step I took, messy imprints of brown and red stalked my path.

She was pinned down, thrashing against the hand that covered her face as the man reached for his back. He reached for his gun, distracted. Prickled short hair, olive skin covered in colored ink, and blaring teeth. His mass tripled the size of my almost fourteen-year-old body, and yet, he didn’t hear me until it was too late.

Surprise, adrenaline, and anger couldn’t suppress the wicked demon I’d been born with any longer. I rushed toward him. His body hit the ground in a heap. Without wasting any time, I delivered a blow to his temple. Pain shot through my hand. Burning knuckles and sin, I punched again with blinding rage, but he wasn’t any kid or man I’d brawled with before.