Start your home. I wheel past her into the apartment, but I don't go to my room. I stop just inside the door listening. What do you want with my son? Mom asked.
Her voice is tired. Nothing. Hawk says we want to protect him. That's all. Why?
Why would the hell angels care about one kid in a wheelchair? The silence stretches between them. Because no one else does, Hawk says finally. And I can't abide that. I do, Mom says fiercely.
I care. I know you do, ma'am. But you're just one person, and they won't listen to you any more than they listen to him. Another silent. What are you suggesting?
Mom asks, "Let us help. We can watch out for him. Make sure he gets to and from school safely. You want to what? Be his bodyguards.
If that's what it takes. Mom's laugh is without humor. And what's in it for you? Hawk doesn't answer right away. When he does, his voice is different.
Rougher. My brother was in a wheelchair after Vietnam. Nobody stood up for him either. I'm sorry, Mom says. But Eli is my son.
My responsibility. With respect, Mrs. Barnes. You can't be with him every minute. You have to work.
We have men. We have time. I wheel back from the door as mom's footsteps approach. She enters, looks at me sharply. Were you listening?
I nod. No point in lying. She sigh, sits on the couch. Eli, these men are dangerous. They're criminals.
They helped me, I say again. It's the only argument I have, the only one that matters. I know, she rubs her forehead. I know they did. She looks out the window.
Hawk and the others are still there waiting. Let me think about it, she says finally. Now go do your homework for real this time. I will to my room, but I don't open my books. I stare out the window at the bikers below.
Hawk stands by his motorcycle talking to Patch. They look up at my window. Hawk raises a hand in silent greet. I raise mine back. For the first time in forever, I don't feel alone.
That night, I dream of motorcycles, of leather and chrome, of strong hands lifting me from the cold ground, of safety. Mom caves 3 days later. "Just to and from school," she tells the bikers. "That's it. " Hawk nods, respectfully. "Yes, ma'am.
And not all of you. Just one or two. We're not having a motorcycle parade. " "Of course," Hawk says. They stand in our tiny living room. Hawk and Patch look too big for the space.
Their leather vests and tattoos clash with mom's flowered couch and discount store curtains. And Eli stays away from your clubhouse. Mom at Hawk and Patch exchange a glance. Actually, Mrs. Barn Patch says, "We were hoping you'd both come by just once.
Meet everyone. " Mom's eyes widen. Why would we do that? So, you know who's looking out for your boy? Hog says, "So you can see we're not the monsters people say. " Mom shakes her head. I don't think.