Adrien Kade Sdao
Gas Station
If I hadn’t pulled up to that particular gas pump, none of this would have happened. The gas light was on, though, and I didn’t see any point in waiting to fill it up. In the passenger seat, my little brother, Joey, slouched and stared at his phone, scrolling. We were bumping KROQ and heading home to meet my friends for a night of gaming.
I glided up to the pump and shut off the engine. In front of me, a U-Haul pulled up almost nose-to-nose with my beat-up old VW. The driver waved his arms at me, telling me to move. Had he been waiting for this spot? Too bad. He could wait longer.
“Dude, get off your butt and get some munchies, would you?” I said to Joey as I opened the driver’s side door. I took a ten out of my pocket and tossed it at him. He grunted and got out, trudging up to the mini mart. I wasn’t mad at his bad attitude. I’d been the exact same way when I was fourteen a few years ago.
I went around to put my debit card in the machine and pump the gas. As I put the nozzle into my car, I noticed someone getting out of the passenger seat of the big truck. He was a tough-looking guy, not much older than me, maybe in his early twenties.
“Bro, move your fucking car,” he said, menacing. He was taller than me and much more buff. In another situation, I might have found him attractive. Now, though, I was just pissed.
“Too slow, asshole,” I said.
“What did you just say?”
I turned to glare at him. It had been a shitty day.
“Fuck off!”
He laughed. “Faggot.” Steel blades of rage burst through my chest. He turned away.
I didn’t even have time to tell myself to let it go. The word dropped unbidden from my treacherous mouth, the hateful misogynistic word I eradicated from my vocabulary two years ago. The word that makes straight men go apeshit.
This dude was no exception. He moved around my car before I could blink, taking his shirt off as he came.
He grabbed my left arm, fingers crushing into the muscle. I turned my back to him as he slammed his fist into my head—once, twice—and shoulder—three, four times. Then, he turned and walked away toward the truck, as if nothing had happened.
“Motherfucker!” I screamed. “God—Goddamnit!” My voice cracked. My body trembled. Too late, I saw red. A huge, throbbing rage threatened to crack my ribcage open.
“Shit, what the hell happened?” Joey stood behind me, eyes wide, chips and soda dangling from his hands. Ignoring him, I kicked aside the gas nozzle, which had been knocked askew, and followed the guy to his truck. He slammed the passenger side door before I could get to him.
“I’ll fucking kill you.” I punched the door of the truck as hard as I could, my throat raw from screaming. “Get the fuck out of here!”
The driver didn’t wait to be told twice. I jumped back as he hit the gas, one wheel hopping the curb as he turned right onto Sepulveda Boulevard. I stood there cursing as loud as I could. At the bus stop nearby, people stared or pretended not to. I flipped them all off and got back in my car.
“Get in,” I said to Joey. He did, and as soon as his door shut, I peeled out of there, leaving the gas nozzle on the ground. The smell of gas filled up the car. I rolled down the windows.
“What happened?” Joey asked again. I didn’t answer. Wasn’t it obvious? I stared straight ahead, gripping the wheel with both hands. My teeth ground together. I began to register pain, in my arm, in my head. Tears came.
After a minute, he tried again. “Should I call Mom?”
“No,” I said. “Hell no. You can’t tell her.”
He didn’t argue, just sighed and sat back. “Are you hurt bad?”
I glanced at him. He was pale, and his phone was nowhere to be seen. His eyes were bright with held-back tears. He still cried whenever I did, which thankfully wasn’t much these days.
I pulled over to the side of the road, stopping in a red zone. I put on the hazard lights.
“My arm,” I told him. I pulled up my sleeve and looked. Red marks and torn skin would bruise and swell soon. “It’s fine.” I started to cry again.
Joey unbuckled his seatbelt and turned toward me. Shifting onto his knees, he put his arms around me and squeezed. I reached up and grabbed his thin shoulders, holding on tight so as not to fall off the face of the earth.
Bio
Adrien Kade Sdao earned their MFA in Creative Writing (Writing for Young People) from Antioch University Los Angeles, where they now teach through the Continuing Education program inspiration2publication. They are a reader and guest editor for Voyage, a young adult literary journal. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys, K’in, Lunch Ticket, Unlikely Stories, Fterota Logia, and more. They live in North Hollywood with their cat, Shelly. Find out more at aksdao.com.
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