by M. Robinson
Why?
I tried to shake off her calm, pretty face, her crystal blue eyes, though it was her haunting voice that caged in my mind the most.
“Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya all the days and nights of tomorrow!”
There was so much feeling, so much emotion, so much depth in just a few simple words. A song I never cared about until I overheard her belting it out of her small frame.
How could she sing like that?
I hit the brakes on my dirt bike, letting it fall on the grass in our front yard, and rushed inside. Stopping dead in my tracks when I saw my momma dancing around the living room with music blaring from the speakers.
“Noah, baby!” she exclaimed with a smile on her face that was quickly replaced with nothing but concern. “Noah, not again,” she griped, hurrying over to me after she lowered the volume on the stereo. She grabbed onto my chin to get a good look at my busted lip and swollen eye.
I jerked my face away. “I’m fine.”
She sighed in defeat, knowing I hated when she tried to baby me. “Honey, that nasty gash on your lip and those broken blood vessels in your eye tells me otherwise. Not to mention, the blood on yet another shirt. Baby, what happened? How many times do I have to tell you to use your words, Noah. There is no need to provoke any more violence.”
“Tell that to the Prez, you married him,” I spewed, instantly wanting to take it back. Momma didn’t deserve my smartass remark, she was as much of a victim of his bullshit as we were.
She winced, her face frowning. Tearing into my heart a little more.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.” She grinned, wanting to make light of the reality of our world, like she always did. If it wasn’t for her, my brothers and I would be completely shit out of luck. She was the only saving grace in our lives, the only good mixed in with all the bad, and I for one wouldn’t know what to do without her.
I hissed when I tried to smile, causing her more distress. “Momma, I’m fine. You should see the other boys.”
“Boys?”
I spun, not answering, and made my way over to the stereo.
“Noah, there was more than one? Baby, what—”
Turning the song up, I looked over at her with my hands out in front of me. “Do ya wanna dance?”
She reluctantly sighed again, shaking her head. She’d been making me dance with her since before I could walk. Teaching me all the moves she claimed my old lady would be forever grateful for one day. Mostly, I just did it to shut her up and make her smile. She didn’t do enough of that either.
None of us did.
I spun her around in a slow circle, tugging her back to me, and we swayed to the soft beat of the music.
“Noah baby, you know I’m always here for you. No matter what. Your momma is always here.”
I nodded. “I know.”
And the worst part was…
I truly believed her.
TWO
NOAH
An hour later, I was riding shotgun while Momma drove to the clubhouse, lost in the singing voice that wouldn’t leave my mind as if she was right in front of me.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about over there?”
“Nothin’ important,” I lied. “Pops know we headin’ to the clubhouse?”
I wasn’t surprised in the least when she silently shook her head no. Women’s place in the MC was always in the background. They didn’t have an opinion or a voice to be heard. The club brothers came first, no matter what. The ol’ ladies like her weren’t even allowed on the property unless invited. Usually during big parties when they were needed in the kitchen, where Pops said they belonged, cooking for the club members.
On those days, it was a free for all. The golden rule allowed the brothers freedom, not having to worry about catfights breaking out from sticking their dicks into whores, instead of their wives. Club whores ran rampant in the MC, itching to spread their legs, screwing any brother at any given time. They'd bounce around from one guy to the next, hoping one of the brothers would be stupid enough to make them their ol’ lady one day. They were all the same—slutty, fake tits, wearing barely any clothes and too much makeup.
Even my father regularly bit into the forbidden fruit. I couldn't remember a time when he didn't have a side piece, and Ma always knew about it. Everyone did. He didn’t even try to hide it, throwing it in her face often with one slut or several. Not giving a shit how it made her feel, he already owned her. He knew she had too much to lose if she ever left him. Having three mouths to feed with no education will do that to a woman. She stuck right by his side, proving her loyalty to him and the club, which was the only thing he ever truly loved. It was all that mattered to the bastard.
I think she would purposely come to the clubhouse unannounced because she wanted his attention in one way or another. Deep down she still loved him, making me realize early in life that love could kill you.
“Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya all the days and nights of tomorrow!”
“Stay in the car, baby, I’ll be right back,” I overheard her say, closing the door behind her. Not paying her any mind, thinking about the girl who made me feel things I couldn’t even begin to explain or understand.
Why?
The sound of bikes rumbling from behind the car tore me away from my thoughts. My eyes followed the group of bikers who were officers of the MC, all holding titles from Vice Prez to Secretary and Treasurer, just to name a few. They were part of the executive committee and the only members who were permitted to attend when spur-of-the-moment meetings were called. Where they discussed anything and everything that needed to be addressed immediately.
However, the scheduled monthly meetings were less formal, and the patched-in brothers were able to attend those. I knew all of these men too well. They weren’t just family, but more like corrupt uncles who taught me entirely too much shit I shouldn’t know at my age. Playing a huge part in me feeling, thinking, and acting older than I was. I’d been to titty clubs, drank beer, and even tried pot a few times. By the time I was five, I knew how to shoot a gun. Glocks, rifles, pistols—you name it, I shot it.
Diesel, who was the Sergeant of Arms and the closet friend to Creed, would often go out back to the woods with me and fire off rounds, seeing if I could hit the target at various distances, and he was impressed every time I did. Pops already had my very own Glock waiting for me, and if it were up to him, he’d have given it to me by now, but he knew the risk was far greater than the reward of seeing yet another one of his sons strapped with the lethal metal. Ready to take bitches out, or anyone else who crossed me or the MC. Exactly like the brothers.
Though Ma did almost shit a brick when the Treasurer, Phoenix, tatted “Zion” and “Road” on my knuckles for my eleventh birthday, which meant finding my path in life. I had always been intrigued by different cultures and their ways of living in the world. Knowing I’d never get to see it, I started tatting their scriptures in hopes that they would spiritually become part of me.
The tattoo was my present from Phoenix and Pops, saying I was already a year behind since Creed and Luke got their first tattoos from Phoenix when they were ten. You’d think Ma would be used to it by now, but she still gave me shit every time I came home with a new one, and I only had four so far. Creed was covered in them by the time he was fifteen, Luke was halfway there, and I was sure I would be too.
Although we were brothers, we all looked different. The only features we had in common were our light eyes and our tall, bulky frames that we inherited from our old man. My deep-set eyes changed from blue to green and vice versa, depending on what mood I was in. My skin was darker than either of my brothers from hanging outside so much, being a dare devil and getting myself into trouble. It only emphasized my chiseled, square jawline, masculine chin, and long face. I was also almost six-feet-tall, making me look much older, at least that’s what Momma said. She loved that I got her brown wavy hair and slender nose, expressing that it was one of her
favorite things about me. I was her baby boy.
I watched as the brothers walked inside the clubhouse, an old machine factory that was transformed into this hangout decades ago. The run-down building was in the middle of nowhere, just outside of town with nothing but acres of open fields surrounding it. A privately-owned organization governed by its own laws. The exterior was painted black with a massive mural of the club’s logo out front. The club’s colors, black and red, with a badass-looking tattooed pin-up girl with huge tits sporting devil ears and a tail. Straddling a custom chopper, holding a skull with flames beating out of its eyes in one hand and an AK-47 rifle in the other.
Over the large steel door was the club’s plaque that read Devil’s Rejects MC, Southport, NC. The building also housed several small loft apartments where club members would stay when they got too fucked up or to screw whores, who, like I said, were always hanging around. Some members even used them as their homes.
Once they were inside, my eyes landed on Creed and Luke. They were sitting on top of the old, wooden picnic table toward the back of the compound. Creed was resting his elbows on his knees, flicking the ashes off his cigarette into the grass as Luke fumbled with something in his hands. They looked like they were having some sort of private conversation, enjoying each other’s company. Luke had always looked up to Creed, who was almost eighteen, probably because he was more of a father figure than our own dad.
I guess in my own way, I did too. He was a good older brother, they both were, which suddenly had me feeling like shit for giving Luke hell for defending me earlier. He was only doing what I would have done for him if the roles were reversed. It was just the way things were between us. Brothers first, regardless of all the other bullshit surrounding our lives. Out of all of us, Creed was definitely the son who got the shit end of the stick. Destined to be President of this hellhole one day, whether he wanted to or not, and he sure as shit didn’t want it.
None of us wanted to be part of this lifestyle, and if our father was aware of that fact, he’d probably put us to ground himself. I reached for the handle to get out of the car and walk over to them, but the sound of our old man’s voice bellowed from afar, holding me back.
“There you are, you piece of shit!” he hollered, loud and proud. Standing at the back screen door, staring straight at them. Completely interrupting their conversation. I couldn’t tell who he was yelling at.
At first, I thought he was shouting at me, and I was still not entirely convinced he wasn’t. Each of us were “pieces of shit” at any given point of the day, it was hard to keep track of who his anger was geared toward. It changed as much as his whores did.
“You fuckin’ deaf? You not hear the bikes pullin’ up? Get your ass inside right now, before I think twice ’bout lettin’ you attend,” he added, only looking at Creed.
“Pops, it was my fault,” Luke interfered.
“Don’t,” Creed voiced to Luke, putting his hand up to silence him.
“Did I tell ya to speak? You’re just like your fuckin’ Ma, always speaking when not spoken to. You’re weak and worthless like her too.” He came through the door like a bat out of Hell, storming down the three steps, grabbing Luke by his shirt, and yanking him off the table, knocking whatever was in his hand to the ground. “Do I need to teach you another lesson, boy?”
My hands worked into fists the second I saw Luke’s do the same. His face flushed and his jaw clenched like he was about to say something he’d surely regret. I reached for the handle again, but this time it was Momma opening the driver’s side door that stopped me from going to help him out.
“Noah, don’t,” she ordered in a stern tone. “You stay right here, ya hear me? Creed can handle it, he won’t hurt Luke in front of him.”
She was right, he wouldn’t. I think part of Pops knew not to cross that line with Creed. Not that it mattered. Sometimes it felt like his verbal abuse was far worse than anything his fists ever inflicted. The bruises eventually faded away, his mental and emotional abuse stayed with us forever, and I constantly found myself thinking I was exactly like him. It was always worse when Ma tried to defend us too, his anger would just turn to her. Furious she was trying to raise us into a bunch of pussies, claiming all he was trying to do was make us into men.
I snapped back the rubber band on my wrist as far as it would go, feeling the sharp sting on my skin. I did it three more times, snap, snap, snap, needing to feel the bite from the elastic so I would stay put and listen to Ma. I never took it off, it was the only thing that calmed the rage running deep in my blood. Fighting the internal battle to hurt the son of a bitch. I hated him. There wasn’t one ounce of love in my body for my father, and as I sat there helpless, an emotion I recognized all too well, I visualized it was his face I was kneeing repeatedly this afternoon, not Billy’s.
What I would do to my father given the chance was something I had never shared with anyone. Stirring an endless stream of feelings I knew were wrong but felt so right. When Creed got up, he stubbed out his cigarette on the wood, instantly grabbing ahold of Luke’s arm, and firmly tugged him out of Pops’ grasp. I finally let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He placed Luke securely behind him, shielding him from Pops’ wrath, and my rapidly beating heart slowed down. The craze in my mind subsided, and I could feel my core unlocking, already gearing up for the next time my hatred would want to take control.
Take over.
Me.
They exchanged more heated words that ended with Pops mockingly jeering, “Now run along, the real men have important business to take care of. When you grow a pair of fuckin’ balls, you’ll be able to play too,” he provoked Luke, wanting to have the last word.
I somberly gazed at Luke as he walked toward our car and over to where Ma was standing with so much pain and regret in her eyes, and it hurt me to once again just sit there, unable to do a damn thing about it.
“Get your ass inside,” Pops demanded to Creed before he turned and went inside the clubhouse. More concerned about starting church on time than his own family.
“Thanks, baby,” Ma called out to Creed, bringing his attention to her and then to me.
Our eyes locked for what felt like the millionth time in my short life. Both of us searching for the answers to the questions that hounded us since the day we were born.
Were we just like him?
Did people see him when they looked at us?
Was this all there was to life?
I was the first to break eye contact, shaking my head and looking out the window instead. I casually blinked and there she was, a figment of my imagination belting out, “The sun’ll come out tomorrow, bet all those dollars that tomorrow. There'll be sun shining bright and happiness. Just thinkin’ about tomorrow,” instantly making me feel her presence through the lyrics of the song, as though she was singing them only to me.
As her voice replayed over and over in my mind, it brought me to another place in time, causing shivers to run down my spine and back up to my neck. “Just thinkin’ about tomorrow. Clears away the sadness, the rain, and the emptiness. ‘Til it’s not there,” triggering my scalp to tingle and my face to flush. Goose bumps rose on my arms, and more chills coursed through my entire body. My nerves felt like they were on fire, engulfed in flames.
The physical ache in my chest connected with me on a much deeper level, in a way I’d never experienced before. “So just hang on ‘til tomorrow and work through the pain. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya all of the days and nights of tomorrow! You’re almost there! And only a day away!” The stabbing pain in my heart only intensified with each lyric that left her lips. Each word that escaped her mouth echoed somewhere deep within me.
She wasn’t just singing that song in the river this afternoon, she was living it. She sang with all her heart, with her entire soul. Her whole world was shared and expressed in a few seconds, a few moments…
It gave her peace like my rubber band provided for me. It calmed the chaos in her mind, t
he storm in her eyes, the feeling of needing to purge the hurt and the pain. It was then I realized why I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
The depth.
The longing.
The sadness and sorrow.
She was me.
THREE
NOAH
I tried to shake her off, but it was no use. I thought about her for most of the evening, and I knew I was headed to the bridge at the same time tomorrow, silently praying and hoping she’d be there. Counting down the hours until I could talk to her, find out her name, and who she was. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her, but more than anything, I wanted to hear her sing again.
Hear her sing for me.
And only me.
I finally shook off the reminiscent thoughts, focusing on yet another attempt to apologize to Luke. After the third time of being blown off, I gave up and went into Pops’ room in the back of the clubhouse. It was the only room I was really allowed to hang out in. Ma tried to set up the private living area as a game room for Luke and me, claiming she wanted us to feel at home and comfortable. Buying us video games and whatever else we were into at the time. We knew she was full of shit, she was just trying to keep us away from the bullshit. Probably praying if we were there, she could be too, keeping a closer eye on the prez and everything he stood for.
“What’s up with you and Luke?” Creed asked, following me into Pops’ room.
“Don’t worry about it,” I replied, sitting on the couch. Turning on the TV to play Mortal Kombat.
He snatched the controller out of my grasp. “Don’t gimme that shit. I saw ya tryin’ to play ball wit’ him out back. Luke don’t turn down basketball. So what’s up? What happened? I’m guessin’ it got somethin’ to do wit’ that shiner and busted lip on your face? Luke knows better than to put his hands on you, yeah?”
