Page 2 of Praying for Thunder

Anita, attempting to hide pity, sweetly said, “You were right.” She smiled. “It is the gringo’s.”

Rosa’s bottom lip quivered as her spirit beamed. “Then he will be strong enough to survive.”

Rain drops dripped from Anita’s long dark eyelashes like the hope she could no longer cling to, but still tried to ease all the anguish by teasing, “We don’t know he’s a boy yet.”

Bearing down, Rosa swore, “If this child—” she groaned through the pain, “—is anything like his father—” she exhaled as the contraction faded and her head fell back, dripping beautiful hair into the mud, “—he will be all boy.” Lightning cracked, filling the sky as if in confirmation… and a warning. Rosa understood what she was to do. “It is time. Catch my son, Anita.” Their eyes locked. “Then run with him.”

Anita opened her mouth, ready to swear she would never do such a thing, but Rosa was immersed in a contraction, and the baby was gliding out into her terrified palms.

Choices. Life is full of choices.

People pray to make the right ones.

Some even pray for forgiveness after making the wrong ones.

Tonight, Anita would make a choice that would change everything for many years to come.

Rosa’s body went lax and lay in blood mixed with rain and muck. With her last bit of strength, she lifted her hand to touch her son. Long, beautiful fingers reached…

Feeling the effects of shock, Anita leaned forward, bringing her cradled arms closer to the mother who lay dying.

Gently touching the blond strands on top of her infant’s head, a weak smile appeared, along with a promise. “I will pray for thunder.”

Tears slid past Anita’s gaping mouth. “Rosa—” But there was nothing left to say. Her dearest friend’s eyes had closed, and the only touch this child would ever know of his mother fell to the ground to rest with the body that had taken its last breath.

Ears ringing and her body feeling faint, Anita finished separating the babe from his mother’s still body, then pulled her full arms to her chest.

Not sure what was giving her the strength to move, she fumbled to her feet.

Doubting her ability to even walk, Anita collected the duffle bag, turned from the woman she treasured, and ran…

TWO

MONEY, THIEVERY, AND SWEETNESS

Being days old, and Anita not willing to tell a soul, I don’t know of all the details she went through for the next couple of weeks, but I was told that we were found by an employee of a Nevada strip club, Sexy Myths. He was closing an umbrella after walking a dancer to her car in the almost empty dirt parking lot. As soon as she drove away safely, the thunderstorm ended. That’s why he could hear my cries as I lay in unconscious arms near a side of the freestanding building, propped against a propane tank. He said Anita had been terribly beaten. According to security cameras he had viewed, the abuse came from a truck driver who Anita had been riding with to get us as far from North Carolina as possible.

Even though Anita had traded her body for the ‘free’ ride, within days, the trucker grew tired of me, the crying infant. She caught him trying to sell me at a truck stop while she used the restroom. She went ballistic, snatching me from him, then went back into the truck to retrieve our only belongings. He didn’t appreciate her gumption—or her loyalty to me—and proceeded to beat her in the sleeping area of his truck.

After the attack, the driver simply drove to his next destination.

Anita had no recollection of that drive or him stopping at a strip club to quench the needs she could no longer provide due to the horrific beating. Nor did she remember him dumping us like trash. Yet, somehow, she was able to keep me safe in her arms until Stew found us.

Stew, the bouncer, AKA Chucker-Outer, had been keeping a vigilant eye on Sexy Myths’ dancers for over a decade. He was now in his thirties and took his job very seriously, treating each dancer with a loyal fatherly vibe.

Finding another young woman so compromised, he instantly felt the need to assist Anita. It was so early in the morning that the sun hadn’t risen, yet the facility had only recently shut down. There were no more customers, only a manager, a cook, and several dancers. They all rushed to assist when Stew came racing inside, calling for help, his arms full of the nightmare Anita had survived. The women were in robes and slippers for their ‘tired’ feet, and the cook had still been cleaning his kitchen.

As soon as Anita was laid on a table, I was scooped up by a stripper named Candy. “Oh, my goodness! He’s so little!” She affectionately pressed her head to mine. “Shh, I got ya, Little Guy.”

The manager, Harry, was examining Anita. “Jesus. Her eyes are swollen shut.”

Stew searched her clothing. “No ID of any sort. Only a picture of some other woman.” He set the wet folded picture on a nearby table to dry.

Harry observed the silver necklace around her neck. “Only a lightning bolt being a part of a cross.”

“Hopefully, God is with her now.” Stew held her wrist for a pulse. “She’s alive.”

Gesturing to her full arms, Candy looked to another dancer, Moola. “He’s gotta be, what, a couple weeks old maybe?”