My brother came to visit me one night.
I don’t remember why or how he even got there. I just remember him there.
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So he was visiting me and his nephew. Bruce was nowhere to be found, although he was supposed to be there. We were talking, playing with Josh who was maybe 9 months old at the time. There was movement and noise on the metal stairs leading up to my apartment. We thought it was Bruce coming home. I did not have a phone at this time, it had been shut off due to the access of 900 number calls. There was a studio like apartment at the back of the property that the bikers frequented. My front door was an eight pained glass door with a bolt lock.
This huge biker that I did not recognize started pounding on the door and would not take NO, or WRONG house for an answer. He was kicking and pounding on the glass. I had never been so terrified in my life. I didn’t care at all about me or my brother, but I had a baby in the house. My brother was so brave, so protective. We both grabbed huge kitchen knives, stashed Josh in the closet under a pile of clothes and prepared for battle. We stood on either side of the door, knives ready. The pounding seemed to go on for hours. In truth it was probably minutes. We had no way to call for police. We were teenagers. I was 18, he was 16 and we were prepared to fight to the death for my son.
We decided that if any part of this man’s body broke the plane i.e. through the glass that we would stab blindly to discourage any further entry into the house. After what seemed like forever, he simply stopped pounding and screaming and stormed back down the metal stairs. We both collapsed at the door, relieved.
I retrieved Joshua from the closet and cried for what seemed like days. Bruce came home a short while later, he had no idea, nor did he care the danger we were in. I don’t recall how my brother left, if he spent the night or we drove him home. I’m sure even he doesn’t remember.
That is how our memories work for both of us. We’ve discussed it numerous times. It’s all fragments, pieced together in no particular order.
My whole life seems to be pieced together with violence and deliverance.
Violence and deliverance.