Lemon Street

"Hey baby, do what you want!"

My father once told me that everything that has ever happened in the history of the universe has had some kind of purpose. Most of the bad things were to point out the follies of mankind, but not to learn from them. If we learned from our mistakes, everything in the world around us would be almost as perfect as we wish it was. But, as we know, everything is not perfect. The world is full of things we will never understand. Some things left unknown are possibly good. Things that we will possibly never know, such as the spiritual plane. Even now, as I revisit this town, recalling the memories and looking back nearly forty years ago, there are still so many parts of the story that will never fit, and the one thing I never understood more than anything was Eve.

I had never heard of Eve. It was too small to even exist on a map. But somehow, I felt like I needed to go to this town. Maybe it would be a good thing... Why was this town important? My whole world revolved around the memories made in this house. My dogs, my friends... my reputation. I hoped my reputation would follow me to this new hellhole. I was comfortable knowing I had every kid in town scared of me. But soon, that would all change. New school, new house, new bullies, new reputation. I didn't want to go to Eve, but for more than one reason, I had to go to this town. This hick-ass town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana; something was calling me there.

My history was not pleasing to the eye, nor understandable to the listener, but I will try my best to convey the beginning and present time of our story and how it all played out. For you to understand where we are, you must first understand how this all started and where it was heading. 

1987

I should have known better than to mess with the south side of town. Junkies and hookers, all of them, but one band of brothers had earned a reputation that was almost of Terminator proportions compared to my little Blue Lagoon. The MacNeil brothers, they were called. But every bystander in town knew them as the Blood Brothers. Seven brothers, all with the same urge, lust even, for blood. All they wanted and knew was hurting girls, animals, anyone. There was only one brother who didn't hurt women. His name was Wallace, but everyone called him Wally. He was the second oldest, and called most of the shots when the oldest wasn't around. Wally was really a sweet boy beneath that rough hide that he showed the world. There was something about him that could turn even the most hardened criminal to a Mormon. He had a record just like all the other boys, but if you saw his face you'd never believe it. He respected women, held doors for them, even got a girl he liked a gift once.

I was that girl. I'd hung around on the south side a few times just to see what would happen. Every one of the brothers stood around a black trans am, each smoking a cigarette and holding a half-empty bottle of beer. I tried my best to get around them, hoping they didn't notice me. There were dozens of other girls they could have looked at, but somehow their eyes always landed on me. They knew who I was, my record, even where I lived, but they rarely left the south side enough to do real damage. I saw each and every one of them in full view as I crossed the front of the alley. Rodney was the oldest, the leader of the gang. He took care of the others after their parents died. Wally was the second oldest, though he looked the youngest. Edward, Johnny and DJ were the middle brothers, they only caused trouble without fear of consequences. Boston and Warren were the twins, the blood twins. All they did was shed blood, be it their own or someone else's. They were all twisted past the point of even trying to help.

And that's when I saw Wally fully for the first time. Wally, arguably the most handsome of all the boys in the group. He offered to take me out on a date a few times, so I finally gave in. We went dancing at an underground club one night and got so drunk we couldn't even remember our names. It was one of the best memories I had of Oregon...until Rodney happened. Rodney was not one to be trifled with, his eyes could give a stare that would make hell freeze over. He didn't care about anyone or anything, including his appearance. His hair was grown over and greasy, leather jacket torn, and his jeans were covered in mud, beer, and blood. And none of it was his. The mind behind his eyes was a machine, set to destroy anything that made him mad, which was everything.