Tony drives fast in a way that’s a bit scary, yet somehow the chaos is controlled. Until this moment I've only ever been in a car that's driven around seventy-five miles per hour. He's going ninety-something. The number of red lights that he runs? I can't even count.
Thankfully the streets are empty, the sidewalks having been rolled up a long time ago by this late hour. In the rare instance we do pass someone or come to an intersection where there are any cars, Tony does slow down although I’m not one hundred percent sure if it’s because of the two passengers in his car or the fact that his eyes show a man who’s a bit paranoid, and most definitely protective. He looks like a man who knows he’s being followed, but not exactly by who. Maybe protective isn’t the right way to describe him…defensive being a better adjective.
As I soothe Luca, Tony's frightening essence is a double-edged sword. On one hand, I'm scared of him crashing the car and killing all three of us. On the other hand, I feel protected because I know that he would never let anything happen to either of us just because we're in his presence. I’m annoyed that my mind keeps likening him to a lion, but if a lion is your father you know the sheer brutality that the animal is capable of. You also know that the lion would do anything to protect you.
Tony is an interesting person nonetheless. Within those feelings, I'm also battling the sadness that Luca fell down the stairs. He's shaken. He's a little woozy. But nothing looks life-threatening, at least in my eyes.
"How could I be so stupid? I take my eyes off him for three seconds and he falls down the stairs. I'm a shit father."
Crossroads. That's where I am right now. I don't know whether to console the angry man or keep my mouth shut because I know that nothing can calm him down.
Bravery, that's what I'm choosing.
I feel like I'll get more respect from him if I don't fear him. Maybe that's a crazy way to go about it, but I'm the one with his son in the backseat. He has to trust me, at least somewhat right?
"I was in the room too,” I console, taking responsibility along with him. “We can't beat ourselves up over the past right now."
"Yeah…if you only knew. When you make as many mistakes as I have in my life, all the new ones are like getting whipped after already having third-degree burns."
I can't help but wonder what he means by that. Mistakes as in killing people? Mistakes such as money laundering? There's no doubt in my mind that there's going to be a million more of these questions If I hang around him long enough. How do I calm down a man who's like a volcano? Why am I so gung-ho on trying as well? I shouldn't even care about such a thing yet it's like having a puzzle that I just have to finish, right there in the front seat tempting me to pick up that first place and start working towards snapping in the last one.
We remain in silence as he continues to drive. To my surprise, he's the one who breaks that stillness. "So what…are you beyond your years in wisdom? You turned nineteen and you're sitting back there giving me advice. What do you know about parenting?"
I sit there remembering how my mother would react whenever my father would get a little angry. She always remained very stoic and monotone in her words in times like these until she eventually succumbed to cancer. It was as though she knew not to react with a heavy hand and harsh words, not about to fight fire with fire. I'm going to take that page out of her playbook.
"I'm just giving you the logical response. Getting angry about things isn’t going to help the situation one bit. Everything that's happened in the past you can't change. Am I wrong?"
Silence from the front seat. I'm not surprised. I feel accomplished because I've said something that he can't disagree with. I may be nineteen but I'm not stupid. Maybe I am wise beyond my years after all. That's something to be proud of in my book. He seems immature for his years, ruled by his impulsive emotions. From what I've seen in mafia movies, that's not surprising either. The question still lingers over my head about whether he's actually in the mafia or not, even though I’m about seventy-five percent certain it’s the affirmative.
"Why'd you take so long to decide to work for me?"
Now I'm scared. I don't know why. But now I feel like I have to say the right answer or else he's going to pull the car over and shoot me at the worst, verbally chew me out at the best. Bravery. I must remember bravery. "You scare me."
"I scare you? How the fuck do I scare you?"
Bravery.
"Your language for one. Your temper for two. The gun in your home for three. The way that you yelled at the men who spilled champagne on me. I can keep going. You're not the easiest person to talk to. And I'm giving you an exception today because of what's going on in your backseat right now. I understand that you're stressed because of Luca, but I'm only trying to help."
Tony stops at the red light, cars sliding in behind us. "I appreciate you helping,” he blurts out. "You got a good heart or however people make that expression."
A smirk grows on my face.
We arrive at the hospital and walk through the doors with Tony holding Luca over his shoulder. Luca is burying his face in a little bit of a hug. It's rather cute. What's not cute is Tony's aggression towards the front desk clerk of the emergency room.
"What do you mean we have to wait? My son hit his head and he could have a concussion for all I know. Get your fuckin doctors down here."
Another clerk walks behind the one who Tony is berating and whispers something in their ear causing an immediate sense of recognition to grow on the primary attendant’s face as they slide down in their chair, making themselves physically smaller as they more or less cower in his presence.
Is Tony a bigger deal than I understand? Because the next thing I know a doctor is coming through the door to get Luca. The moment is like spring or fall when it’s possible to experience all four seasons compacted into one day.
Tony comes in like a lion and then when he gets what he wants he morphs into a lamb, or as close to it as a lion can, clearly a considerable distance between the two. With his son now in the doctor’s hands, I can see the slightest crack in his armor, the vulnerability of wanting his boy to be all right as Tony displays a more human side of himself.
"There's head trauma here,” one of the doctors says as they're wheeling his son through the halls.
My heart's racing because I'm putting myself in Tony's shoes. I can't imagine what he's feeling. I only have a sliver of assumptions based on the car ride, knowing he's blaming himself.
As we're walking down the hall, there's a man who appears out of nowhere and begins to walk beside us before abruptly flashing a badge. "Tony, what happened to your son?" he says feigning consideration in an almost mocking gesture.