When the Suburbs went dark, it was oddly peaceful. Prisoners looked up assuming there was an electrical short and the lights would flicker back on at any moment. Most everyone took it as an invitation to try and get a nap in before the harsh fluorescent glow returned.
A few prisoners shrieked or swore, if they were in the middle of doing something important like making a shiv out of a pencil sharpener. So too did residents of the Ghetto, who were busy braiding hair or just reaching the really good part of a novel.
But when the lights went out in Spanish Harlem, everything broke. A piercing scream that could tear the paint from the walls ripped through the bunks. It didn't sound human. And it felt like a solid eternity before anyone realized it was Flaca.
A lump stuck in Maritza's throat as she rushed to find her friend, convinced that she had been stabbed, blinded, or both. Instead she found Flaca balled in a heap on the floor, wailing like the world was coming to an end. Maritza stooped down beside her just as the guards came in barking demands to know what the hell was going on. Maritza couldn't see much of them in the dark, but she didn't have an answer anyway. As Flaca screamed and struggled in Maritza's arms, she only knew one thing – at that moment, her friend was gone.
Flaca's mind wasn't at the Litch anymore. The darkness had triggered a switch in her head and she was now miles away, years away, seeing a black bag swiped over her head for initiation. The last thing she remembered looking at was her tías' face, expressionless, as the world went dark.
They told Flaca it would hurt, but she still wasn't prepared. There was no way to really be ready for that kind of beating. Not when there was an army of people against you and you were on the ground and you couldn't see. All she could do was ball herself up and wait for it to be finished, and even that was no good. The pain was all over.
Shoving and punching. Jagged rings and fingernails getting caught in her hair as they pulled it. She was bleeding but couldn't tell where the blood was coming from. Worst of all, somebody was kicking into her side, directly into a bruise that was already there. That part hurt the most. If it had been a fair fight, Flaca would have found this woman and killed her for kicking that bruise.
"Trece, doce, once…!"
They were counting down now, which was good because it meant she wasn't locked in some dark, distant hell that would last forever. It had to end sometime.
"Diez, nueve, ocho…!"
Flaca thought of Ian. Did he have any idea of the sacrifice she was making? Would he appreciate it? He'd better, she thought. He better kiss the ground I walk on.
"Siete, seis…!"
She tried to picture the babies they would have as somebody stomped her abdomen. Flaca never cared about kids before, but suddenly with all these bitches crowded around beating the life out of her like some kind of brutal ancient ritual, bringing new life into the world seemed important. There had to be more than this.
"Cinco… Cuaaatroooo…!"
The girls punched and kicked harder, desperate to land a few more blows as time ran out.
"Tres…!"
The one thing that Flaca had asked was that they didn't hit her in the face, and they swore they wouldn't. Years later everyone would still swear it was an accident.
But Flaca felt it coming from miles away, a fist flying like lightning. Oscar De La Hoya shit. It cracked her upside the head and in an instant, she was out cold.
She didn't recall anything else from initiation, except that when she awoke a few days later her eye was still swollen all the way shut. And now, she was part of the family.
YOU ARE READING
How Soon Is Now?
Fanfiction"Freak" was the one word that always set Flaca off, and the other kids knew it. Ever since she fell in love with goth and black became her signature color, there had been fights every day. She was a black sheep in a flock of, well, sheep.
