Exit Strategy

Pops was at the far end of the narrow hallway, frozen like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I stood by the door that Kev was taking too long to close, and waited for my father to fly across the apartment with outstretched arms to welcome me home. But Pops simply stared at me with eerie stillness. As soon as Kev came into view, Pops went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of cheap rum, and returned to his couch; his bloodshot eyes glued to our dusty television that sat on the chipped hardwood floor.

I was gone before Kev could place his expectant hand on my shoulder. I passed my parents’ bedroom and found my mother sleeping, as usual. My mother and her perpetual slumber… My chronically depressed mother slept so often that I had forgotten what her eyes looked like. When I was younger, I would sneak in and lift a finger under her nose to check for breathing. I used to be terrified that she had died in her sleep. Eventually, I just stood by the doorway and watched her sleep.

“Lilee*, you want somethin’ to eat?” Kev approached me from the kitchen, waking me from my trance. *My translated Chinese name was pronounced lee-lee.

“No, Imma shower first.” Though I was starving, I declined when I saw my brother’s obvious attempt to distract me from the bedroom. I closed the bedroom door quietly to what would become the last memory of my mother.

I was under the rush of water before the first stream of tears fell. I was guilt-ridden for not wanting to be home. I fought to bury the part of me that wished Kev hadn’t rescued me, that wished I had died while fantasizing that my loving parents sought desperately to bring me home. But, I was naked. I stood under the shower of steaming hot water until Kev knocked on the door and asked if I was alright; I had nearly fainted in the foggy bathroom.

I dressed and joined my brother by the open refrigerator. It was empty except for half a loaf of bread, a 6-pack of beer, and a bottle of Jamaican Rum. My brother was opening and reopening drawers, trying to find something to make a sandwich. I averted my eyes from the fridge but stood close, reaping the rush of cold air that chilled my steaming red skin.

The chill was gone; Kev had closed the fridge. With his empty hands on the kitchen counter, he asked: “Cup noodle?”

I wanted to ask why he posed a question that had no alternative answer, but instead, I agreed: “I’ll take shrimp.”

I ripped off the eviction notice that was taped to the front door of our apartment and stuck it to the refrigerator that was our message board. Stuck under a magnet was Kev’s messy handwriting on a used napkin, instructing me to meet him at his usual haunt. I finished the half slice of cold pizza he left for me on the kitchen counter, dumped my school bag on the floor of our shared bedroom, and headed off to see my overprotective brother that turned obsessively paranoid after my kidnapping. In fact, I didn’t understand why he wrote a new note everyday telling me to meet him at his usual haunt, when it was now routine.

Nonetheless, I complied, each and every time. My brother has an uncanny method of getting what he wants, and there was no use telling him “no”. He was expecting me in 15 minutes, and if I didn’t arrive on the 16th minute, he would be on his way to the restaurant where I worked to start a screaming match in the crowded kitchen. Since the kidnapping, Kev had widely publicized the fact that I was his little sister, and anyone messing with me will have to deal with him and his boys. I had no idea how much real protection the infamy provided, but it seemed to ease Kev’s paranoia.

My brother and his gang of loitering hoodlums could be found at the loudest house a few blocks over. “The Boys”, as I called them, were a patchwork group of misfits that idolized Kev almost as much as I did. In doing so, they each appointed themselves as my pseudo older brothers, and looked after me just like Kev did. I had no idea what they did with their time, and I had no intention of knowing why they were the rowdiest kids on this side of town. All I needed to know was that they were Kev’s boys, and they were good to me.

After all, The Boys were the squad that Kev brought to negotiate for my safety from the rival gang - tān pai, they called it. To this day, Kev refused to tell me why I was taken, what they had wanted, how he negotiated for my return, or just what happened in general. My three days of mundane captivity - locked in the basement of some random teenagers’ house and left more in boredom than in danger - was forever to be a puzzling consequence of Kev and The Boys’ street involvement.

“Hey Lil Sis!” Marky waved to me with a can of cheap beer in his hand. I returned the greeting as I stepped over the holes in the creaky floorboards of the porch. Marky blocked the doorway with a tease until I raised my fist to return a pound on his knuckles. “Score’s in the back.” He patted my shoulder as I stepped into the smoke-filled room.

In the back den, my brother was spread out on the couch with two girls sitting on either side of him. I rolled my eyes and mused over how perfect the street name Score had summarized my brother. Kev could score anything or anyone he wanted: He scored with the girls, he scored in b-ball, and sometimes he scored drugs and money. Occasionally, he learned to score “get out of jail free” cards with the cops. My brother was a natural charmer, and his scoreboard depended more on his motivation than his capabilities.

Kev must’ve caught my eye-rolling, for he swiftly dismissed the girls with a smirk. As soon as the girls stepped out of the room, my brother teased: “You know you’re the only girl for me, baby sis.”

There were a few scattered laughs from the boys. I rolled my eyes again and slumped into the seat beside him. Instantly he threw his arm over my shoulder like I was one of his trophy girls. I playfully brushed off his arms and told him curtly that I only scheduled a few minutes for him.

“Why? You got a date?” He teased again. One of the boys in the corner asked Kev if they were going to beat up my nonexistent boyfriend.

“I got work.” I sighed at my hopeless brother. “You know how Pops get if I’m late.”

Kev fell silent, all traces of playfulness disappeared from his face. He lit another cigarette, adding smoke to the foggy room. In a stark tone that silenced the boys, he told me: “I thought I said this already, I don’t like you working there.”

Some of the girls and the younger boys respectfully stepped out of the room while the remaining few slid into shadowy corners to feign oblivion. I glanced uneasily around me, but Kev had lifted his back off the couch and was glaring intently to get my attention. Hoping to sooth his agitation, I spoke in my sweetest whisper: “I know, gor-gor*. It’s not forever, but Pops needs me right now.” *an endearing way of saying “older brother” in Cantonese.

“You’ve said that for three years. I’m gonna talk to Pops tonight.” He declared dismissively.

“Wait, just wait.” I tapped my hand gently on his; it was a touch that could always take him down a notch. “We’re… We’re getting evicted again…”

Like me, Kev was hardly surprised – just agitated. He took a deep draw from his cigarette and let the ashes fall carelessly onto the stained carpet.

“I’ve got to go.” I said quietly after glancing at the tilted clock on the wall that told me the dinner rush hour was approaching fast. Kev was silent; his frustrated grimace hidden behind the smoke from his cigarette. The silence was hardly permission for me to go, but I’ll have to make do.

I leaned in and gave him a hug that he reluctantly returned. Alas, a smile returned on my brother’s charming face after I pecked him a kiss on the cheek. With a quick hand, I ruffled his hair and leaped out of reach before he could retaliate.