by Kim Jones
Shaking her head, she holds her hands up in defense. “I don’t even want to know.” And for the first time today, I find myself agreeing with her.
“They want me to go to college!” Logan exclaims excitedly to Luke who matches his enthusiasm. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here holding back tears and fighting the urge to grab my baby and drive him far, far away from anyone who supports the idea of him leaving me.
Apparently, there are a group of students around the nation just like him, who’ve been invited to attend a camp that Yale is offering for gifted children.
Yale.
Fucking Yale.
In Connecticut.
Fucking Connecticut.
And they want him to leave in three weeks and stay gone for the remainder of the school year. Sure, he can come home at Christmas and spring break, and I can visit as often as I want. But, I can’t stomach the thought of my child being in another part of the country when he should be here … with me—his mama.
“You look like you need this,” Dallas says, handing me the glass of wine she’d been sipping. I take one look at the pity in her eyes and it’s enough to have me guzzling the entire glass. Patting my shoulder, she offers me an encouraging smile before pulling something a little stronger from the refrigerator. This is one of those rare moments she gets to shine as a big sister.
A bottle of chilled Gray Goose and two glasses in hand, she jerks her head toward the door. Hesitantly, I follow her out—not really wanting to leave Logan with a very encouraging Luke.
Since Logan’s father has always been out of the picture, he’s always looked to Luke for the things I couldn’t offer him. Like how to throw a football. Or how to wink at a girl. Not college advice. And definitely not at nine years old.
“I thought I had at least ten years left,” I tell Dallas, dropping down in one of the lawn chairs under the carport. “I shouldn’t have to worry about him going off to college now. He’s only nine!” She hands me a drink that I greedily accept. After the first gulp, I don’t let the burn settle before I finish it off and hold it out for her to refill.
Lighting a cigarette, I close my eyes and lean my head back against the chair. “I can’t let him go,” I admit. “I just can’t.”
“It’s just for a little while.” Dallas’ feeble attempt at making me feel better only adds to my frustration.
“A little while?” I open my eyes to glare at her. “Then what? I enroll him back in the fourth grade? There’s no turning back once he goes to college, Dallas. You know that. Even though this is just a camp at a college, to him it’s the real thing.”
Before she can say anything, the door opens and Logan comes barreling out. “Going to the clubhouse, Mama!” he yells, rounding the corner without even a glance in my direction. He doesn’t act or sound like a genius. He acts and sounds like a little boy—my little boy. Once again, I throw my head back and groan.
“He’s pumped,” Luke says, grinning from ear to ear as he pulls a chair up and joins the pity party. Although, I’m the only one who seems to be upset. Everyone else—especially Luke—is team Logan.
I glare at Luke in his white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his khaki pants and devilishly handsome face, looking like the CEO of everything wonderful and perfect. And I want nothing more than to smack him upside his head. I need the Luke who’s also known as Devil’s Renegades President, LLC--the fearless, alpha-male biker who would look at Logan and say, “Listen to your mama. I don’t give a shit what your IQ is. She’s smarter than you.” Instead, I have to deal with Mr. Supportive.
“He’s not going.” I try to sound firm, but my voice has a quiver to it and I feel tears stinging the back of my eyes.
Offering me an understanding smile—which doesn’t mean shit because he doesn’t understand shit—Luke puts his elbows on his knees and leans forward. “Maddie,” he starts, speaking slowly to me like I’m … slow. But I’m not. I’m the mother of a genius. That should say something. “This is a great opportunity for him. You need to be open minded about this.”
“I’m not sending my kid to a university where he’ll be all alone.”
“He won’t be alone.”
“He’ll be without me.”
“He’ll be fine.” Luke’s tone is stern but soft.
I stare at him unblinking until he becomes nothing but a blur. “Who’s gonna make him cereal?” I ask, losing the battle with my tears. “What if they don’t have what he likes? What if they only have Lucky Charms and nobody is there to take out the green marshmallows? Who’s gonna be there if he gets sick or hurt or has a bad dream?” The list is endless. There are a million things that a mama can do better than anyone else.
I don’t mind sitting here and mentioning them all to plead my case. But Luke cuts me off, kneeling between my legs and cradling my face in his hands. “Logan doesn’t need you to make his cereal. Or pick out his marshmallows. Or give him Band-Aids. And when has that kid ever had a bad dream?”
Pausing, he takes a deep breath and I know he’s searching for the right words to say. Well, I can help him out—there aren’t any. “You need all that. Not him. He’s been self-sufficient for longer than I can remember. This is a chance for him to be extraordinary. He deserves this opportunity. He deserves everything you were deprived of as a child.”
My breath catches in my throat at Luke’s words. He’s found my Achilles heel, and he’s used it to his advantage. I had a shitty childhood. My only solace came from the MC, but even then, it took me years to fully understand that family didn’t always have to be blood. My only wish for Logan is to have a happy life with a family that loves him and supports him. And now, I’m doing the exact opposite.
With a loud sigh, my shoulders slouch in defeat. Narrowing my eyes back on Luke, I fight to keep from mirroring his knowing smirk. “I hate when you’re the voice of reason.”
Winking, he gives me a cocky grin. “And I love that you hate it.”
Later that night I’m lying in bed, covered in tissues and breathing through one nostril. I’ve barely had a chance to speak to Logan since the meeting earlier. He’s been too excited for me to say anything that might put a damper on his mood.
In times like this, I miss Marty most. I’d saved him time after time when he was prospecting—offering him encouragement, food, directions and lending an ear when he needed to vent, which was quite often.
In return, he’d given me something too. I guess you can say he saved me. Just like Julia Roberts said to Richard Gere in Pretty Woman when he asked what the princess did once the prince climbed the tower to rescue her. “She rescued him right back.”
That’s what Marty did for me. When I was weak, wounded, fragile and meek, he was strong. It was the only time I didn’t mind being sheltered and cared for. Because he never made me feel weak. He made me feel like a woman—when he actually showed up. He always knew just what to say. Just how to hold me. He was my comfort from the first day he sewed that PROSPECT rocker on.
I walked away—knowing in my heart that if I ever needed him he’d be there. Then he had to go and get arrested—abandoning me completely. And I refuse to speak to him through a glass partition. Our relationship is already too complicated and confusing. I’m sure if you were to ask Julia what happened between us, she’d say, “She abandoned him right back.”
A soft tap on the door interrupts my thoughts. The door opens before I can invite whoever is on the other end inside. Wearing Spider-Man pajamas and carrying a carton of ice cream, Logan enters offering a warm smile.
“Hey Mama.” Even in the eyes of my son, I see pity. But his voice is strong and determined. He’s ready to convince me to let him go. And he’s even brought out the best ammunition he can use against me—Blue Bell Buttered Pecan ice cream. Sneaky little shit.
Shaking my head, I return his smile and pat the mattress. “Come on.”
Performing his half ninja half superhero kick, he karate chops his little butt in the bed beside me. With his hands full an
d his back against the headboard next to mine, he pushes at the covers with his bare feet. Several moments later, he’s finally comfortable.
I wait patiently for him to get settled—delighting in this moment that one day I’ll miss. Carefully placing the carton between his knees, he pulls the lid off and hands it to me. I chuck it on the bedside table, laughing at the look he gives me for being so careless. Twenty seconds later, I’m finally handed a spoon only after he’s scooped up the melted sides—the best part.
“Good thing I’m not starving.”
He ignores my comment and wastes no time turning those big, baby blues up at me. Innocence radiates off him. The love he has for me crackles through the air. Whatever he asks for, I’ll give him. I can’t resist that sweet face, those wide eyes or that little dimple in his left cheek. And he knows it.
“You okay?” he asks, surprising me with the genuine concern in his voice. How could someone like me end up with someone as perfect as him? There are no signs of his piece of shit father in him. He didn’t know the deadbeat at all. The only father he’s ever known have been the many men in the MC who taught him what love, loyalty and respect is all about.
Bumping my shoulder with his, I give him a wink. “I’m fine. But you didn’t deliver me ice cream in bed, show me your ninja kick or come cuddle with me to see if I was alright. What’s really on your mind?”
“I want to go to the camp.” Straight to the point—that’s my Logan. At just the mention of it, his excitement grows. “I’ll get to take real college classes. I won’t be the only kid in my class who knows the square root of pi. Or what the Pythagorean theorem is. Or that the mathematical knowledge we have today is accredited by a man who was born in five hundred and seventy B.C.”
I feel my face twist in confusion. Noticing, he rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Pythagoras, Mom,” he says, annoyed. Like I’m supposed to know who the hell that is.
“Is that the snake god?” In exaggerated excitement, I turn my body to face him. “The chick with all the snakes in her head that will turn you to stone if you look at her?” I freeze—holding up my hands and opening my mouth in horror. After a moment, I break the hold, laughing when I meet his eyes.
He stares at me, making me feel really, really stupid—something he does quite well and quite often. “That’s Medusa, Mom. And she wasn’t a goddess. She was a monster.”
“I know that,” I say, waving him off like I was only kidding.
“No you didn’t.” My eyes become tiny slivers as I glare at him. “See how much it bothers you when I know something you don’t? I don’t find jokes like that funny.” Dropping his head and his voice, he adds, “I don’t like not having any friends.”
My heart breaks into a million pieces. He’d always been a loner, but he seemed happy with that. More often than not, I had to remind him that just because the kids at school weren’t as smart as him, didn’t mean that he had the right to make them feel stupid or treat them differently. Never had he let on that it was him who was being treated differently.
Sometimes, you have to let your kids make their own decisions. Sometimes the best way to be a parent is to let go, and just be there to catch them if they fall. And sometimes, you have to do that sooner than you want to.
“No video games after nine.” Jerking his head up, the brightest smile I’ve ever seen lights up his face. He starts to say something, but I hold my hand up. “No vending machine food during the week. No girls, booze, drugs or cigarettes.”
“Mama, I’m nine.”
“But you’re going to college.”
His grin widens. “I promise I’ll make you proud.”
All I can do is look at him and smile. Because unbeknownst to him, there’s no greatness he can ever achieve that will make me prouder than I am in this moment.
Three weeks later, I watch my only child disappear into the crowded airport as he starts this new journey in his life. I stand crying, quickly wiping my tears so they don’t cloud my view of him. Long after he’s gone, I slowly make my way back to my car. With every step, I feel the depression I’d managed to keep at bay, start to creep back in.
Memories of all the bad things in my life come flooding back—threatening to drag me into the dark pits of hell I’d fought so hard to climb out of. I can feel my will to fight slipping. The weakness that once consumed me is now taking hold—tearing through the thick walls I’d built as if they were nothing more than paper.
For two years, I’ve managed on my own. I’ve distanced myself from the club’s watchful eye and Marty’s protection. I’ve learned to face my own fears. Handle my own problems. And it’s always been Logan who helped me push through when I felt like I couldn’t do it. Now my reason for staying strong and independent is gone.
The voices in my head tell me that what I’ve always feared, is coming. The darkness is ready to take me. The only man I’ve ever loved isn’t here to catch me when I fall. The reality is so overwhelming that I don’t wait for the impact of my past to push me over the edge. I’m already defeated, so I just close my eyes and jump.
CHAPTER SIX
Four Year Later
Marty
My eyes open to the same gray cinderblock walls I’ve woken to for four years. Sitting up, I look around at the eight by eight cell I call home. One thing is certain—I wouldn’t miss this place. My bare feet hit the cold floor, as I snatch my hoodie from the dresser and pull it over my head. In the summer, it’s blistering here. In the winter, it’s freezing. And in the month of October, it’s cold but tolerable.
Time has no meaning when you’re locked up. Not one day served was any shorter than the others. At Parchman, the inmates grow their own food, so my mornings were spent in the garden. My afternoons were spent in the yard and my evenings were spent in my cell reading. But at lights out, there was nothing to do but lay in the darkness and think. At first, all I could think about was Maddie.
She never wrote. She never came to visit. I begin to adapt to a world without her, like I adapted to my new home. By my third year away, she was just a memory. I still love her—a part of me always will. But only because she’s a part of my family, and I can’t help but wonder if I ever truly was in love with her at all.
Although Maddie didn’t come, Luke visited every Sunday, abandoning time with his family to spend it with me—keeping me up to date as much as he could, considering our conversations were recorded. Every man in my chapter came to visit at least once a month. Several members from other chapters came to see me often too. Some of the ol’ ladies came to visit, but mostly Red and Dallas. Each time they did, they left in tears. The two were there through my prospect period, and watched me grow into a brother they loved and trusted. It was always bittersweet to see them.
Last Sunday on our last visit, Luke promised me my life back when I got out. I still have a seat at the table. My patch is waiting on me. The officer position I’d more than earned is still mine. My brother is happy I’m coming home. My club is anxious for me to step back in as if nothing has changed. And some things haven’t. From what I’ve been told, the club still thrives. My love for them is still strong. The only thing that’s changed is me.
The buzzer sounds seconds before the door opens and the guard calls for count. I slip my state issued shoes on my feet and walk out, making myself visible to the man with the clipboard. He calls us out one by one, using our last names.
When he gets to me, he smiles. “Yates. This is your final count.” At the announcement, my cell block erupts into cheers. I’d made a name for myself here. I fought like hell to get it. The four cliques inside—whites, blacks, browns and guards—showed me a courtesy that a lot of men didn’t get. I was neutral, unbiased, and they treated me with the same respect.
“Get your shit, Yates. Time to go.”
I grab my few personal belongings: some letters, pictures and books. Then I follow the CO out. I nod to the men I pass, stopping to shake some of their hands as I’m led through a series o
f locked doors on my way to freedom.
I’d shut my emotions off a long time ago. I didn’t want to feel anything while I was here. The problem is, it’s not that easy to turn them back on. I try to feel something, but the closest thing I come to is anticipation.
I’m ready to see the sky without razor wire blocking my view. I’m ready to smell something other than sweat, blood, piss, vomit or rat shit. I’m ready to feel the wind in my face at a hundred and forty—if I still remember how to ride.
Just before the last door, I’m ushered into a room where I’m handed a stack of civilian clothes. Surprisingly, the jeans, boots, shirt and underwear fit. “Your friends brought them,” the CO tells me, and I smirk knowing those friends are my brothers—and they’re waiting just outside the gate.
There’s no personal property to collect, but I stop at the desk on my way out and am handed an envelope containing two one hundred dollar bills—gate money the state gives every departing prisoner. But I don’t need their fucking money.
Passing it back to the lady behind the glass window, I shoot her a wink. “For you, babe.”
Her big, red lips form a smile as she shoves the money between her breasts. “You always were my favorite.” I shake my head. The woman has never even seen me before.
I hear the click of the lock and squint at the sun as I make my way down the concrete path. The final gate is opened at the tower, and I step out into freedom. Closing my eyes, I inhale the cool, crisp air.
“Hey baby.” I smile, instantly recognizing Regg’s voice. “Let me get in that butt.” My eyes open, following the sound of my brother’s voice until they land on a row of bikes that line the parking lot.
One after the other, my family hugs me. I haven’t been able to touch my brothers in years. And with that contact, my feelings are turned back on. The anger and regret is gone, replaced with a feeling of genuine happiness. But my eyes keep scanning them all, every damn face, because there’s one I was most looking forward to seeing, and it’s not here. The realization dims my happiness, suddenly I feel her absence like a punch in the gut. I thought I was over her. I was wrong. And if there wasn’t so much distracting me, I’d be pissed at myself for even thinking of her.