by Jessie Cooke
“Hey guys,” she said in a whisper.
“He's asleep?” Dax asked.
“Yeah...”
“I ain't sleeping.” The voice was deep, and dry. He cleared his throat and opened his brown eyes and looked up at them. When he lifted his head, Rusty saw that a gold cross dangled from a thin chain around his neck. It looked almost identical to the one that Rusty had worn since his Mom bought it for him when he was only ten years old. “Blue, can I have some water?”
“Sure!” Blue jumped up and got a glass of water that sat on a small table next to the back door. She stuck a straw in it and held it up to the man's lips. He took a few sips and then nodded at her and she took it away.
“Saint, how you feeling, buddy?” Dax asked him.
Saint smiled and said, “Like a million fucking bucks boss. How are you?”
Dax chuckled. “You know if Angel hears Blue spreading that language around, she's gonna come looking for you.”
Saint chuckled and said, “What's she gonna do...kill me?” He laughed again and then had a coughing fit. Blue gave him a few more sips of the water and when he could speak again he looked at Rusty and said, “Quarterback, right?”
Rusty smiled. “Used to be. Now I'm just plain old Rusty Daniels.” Saint shook the thin blanket off one thin arm and held out his hand. It was shaking as Rusty took it, but that was okay, maybe it would distract from his own tremors.
“Pleased to meet you,” Saint said.
“Likewise.”
Saint dropped Rusty's hand and looked at Dax. “You gonna take Blue back up for the Easter egg hunt?” Rusty saw the two men communicate something with their eyes. Saint hadn't even asked why Rusty was there...it was as if he'd been expecting him. He was beginning to feel a little anxiety about what he was really doing there.
“Yeah, if you don't mind, Rusty? I'll run her up to the clubhouse and I'll be right back. Maybe you can visit with Saint while I'm gone?”
“Sure...yeah,” Rusty said. It wasn't like Dax really offered him another choice. Blue grabbed her backpack and gave Saint a high-five before she left. The man in the hammock waited until they were gone and then he told Rusty,
“You may as well have a seat, it'll take him a while.”
Rusty sat down and going with his theme of the day...the one where he just wanted to get everything out into the open once and for all he said, “You know why I'm here?”
Saint smiled and said, “Dax wanted you to talk to me.”
“Why? I mean, it's nice to meet you and lunch was great and everyone's been really nice...but there's more going on here, isn't there?”
Saint nodded and then started coughing again. Rusty picked up his water and held it until he finished coughing before offering it to him. Saint sipped the straw a few times and then as he had with Blue, he nodded to let Rusty know he'd had enough. “First off, I'm not sure if they reassured you before they brought you out here or not...but, I'm not contagious.”
Rusty smiled. “Good to know.”
“Yeah, it's my liver. It's shot. It sucks too because everything else still works. It's like staying in a motel where they have continental breakfast. They give you one of those big old fat bagels and a tub of cream cheese that only covers like a bite of it. So, you take that one bite and you're left with this whole other half of a perfectly good bagel...but without the cream cheese, it's worthless, right?”
Rusty laughed again, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He sobered then when he realized they were laughing about this young man getting ready to die. It made Rusty suddenly take stock of his own problems and realize that he'd been feeling sorry for himself when he had something that other people couldn't take for granted...his health.
“Anyways, I killed my liver with alcohol. I started drinking almost ten years before I was old enough to drive. Back then, it was an escape from my shitty life. After a while, it was just who I was. My body wouldn't function without it. There was a time there when I actually convinced myself that I was better at everything when I was drunk. I drove drunk, I worked drunk, hell, I even shot my gun drunk. I was a functional drunk...but I was a drunk and the alcohol was silently killing me all along.”
Rusty wasn't sure what to make of all of this. It suddenly felt like an intervention, but why would Dax Marshall give a shit enough about him to stage an intervention? “I'm sorry,” he said, unsure of what else to say. “I can't imagine what you're going through...”
“Don't feel bad for me,” Saint said. “I ain't got nobody but me to blame...and I think me and the big guy upstairs are okay. He might take umbrance at my filthy mouth, and maybe the amount of women I've fucked...and yeah, he might have a few issues with some of the jobs I've done since I joined an MC…but all in all, I think we're okay. I mean, I'm not looking forward to being dead, don't get me wrong, and if I could fight this, I would...but I can't and nothing I do is going to make me better. So, when Dax came to me and asked if I'd be willing to talk to someone else that might be on the same path of self-destruction, I figured why the hell not, you know?”
“So…this is an intervention?” Rusty asked.
“Of sorts...but, I know us alcoholics hate that word.” Rusty almost protested the word, “alcoholic,” but it took one to know one, he guessed...he'd just be wasting his breath. “I'd rather think of this as saving a life, since I can't save my own. We all drink for different reasons. For me, it was to hide the pain and the scars that I carried around with me...the guilt and shame of not being good enough for my own parents and worrying constantly that I wasn't going to be good enough for the man upstairs. I've been told more than once that could never be the case...but do you know who finally convinced me it was true, that God was going to keep loving me, no matter what?” Rusty shook his head. He was thinking about just walking out, but Dax was smart, sticking a dying man on him. That would only make it that much harder. But, he stopped drinking...sort of...yesterday. He looked down at his hands that he had folded in his lap and he watched them gently shake. Just the sight of them trembling, made him want a drink. He sighed and focused his attention back on Saint.
“It was your father. See...I grew up without love, or at least I thought I did. That messed me up in so many ways. I passed up the opportunity to be loved so many times because I was convinced that there was something about me that was inherently unlovable. I never told anyone that though. I had to be this cool, tough guy so that even if no one would ever love me...at least everyone would like me, right? I was the life of the party. I was the biggest sinner in the room, and ultimately that started to make me believe that not even God loved me. No matter how often I read that old bible I carried around with me, I couldn't find anything that convinced me that God loved me. And then along comes this preacher. I have a little chip on my shoulder about preachers because my daddy was all about the fire and brimstone. He preached up a firestorm, but he was all about the do as I say and not as I do...So anyways, I didn't take to your dad right away. I wouldn't even agree to see him...but that sneaky little Blue, she asked him to drive her up here one day to sit with me...and then, when she got here she suddenly had a bellyache, and she asked him not to leave while she was in the bathroom, supposedly throwing up. Your daddy was as onto her as I was, but he didn't seem bothered by it. He sat down next to me and picked up my bible and said,
‘It looks like this book is well-loved.’ I was in a pissy mood that day...you know, dying kind of pisses you off some days. So I looked at him and said, ‘I reckon something around here should be.’ He just smiled and he sat that bible down and said,
‘What you're going to find in there are words. Sure, they're powerful words that mean a lot to a lot of people. But, if you don't feel it,’ and he put his hand on my chest then, right over my heart, ‘Right there, none of it will ever make sense.’ I kind of laughed and said,
‘Well then I guess I'm just shit out of luck, ‘cause I don't feel it.’ He smiled again and said,
‘Let me tell you a story about a
man who has lived a lot of his life outside the law. A man that found out he was dying and was taken in by a whole group of people who have spent most of their lives outside of the law and doing things that most people consider amoral. These are people that have been shunned by their community and maybe their own families...these are people that other people cross the street to get away from. But yet...these amoral, unlawful people still have enough love in their hearts that they took this young man in...they keep him warm and comfortable. They feed him, they read to him. They take time out of their own lives for no other personal gain than the pleasure they get by spending time with him. Buddy...if that's not love, then I guess I must not know what love is. And anyone who tried to tell me that God doesn't love these sinners, would be wrong. Because even if they misinterpreted what they read in that bible, or what the preacher said in church last Sunday...the evidence that God loves these people is all around you. People without God's love in their heart have no need to help others. We all make mistakes in life. We all choose to do things sometimes that we know God is going to disapprove of. But in my opinion young man, what we do for someone else, giving no thought at all to our own personal sacrifice or gain...that's what puts that feeling of love for ourselves and those around us in our hearts, And ultimately, that's what we're going to be judged for in the end…not those silly mistakes that we made...because we're human. You can tell me a lot of things, Saint, but I won't ever believe you're unloved, because I've seen it with my own eyes.’ Blue walked back in the room about then and he said, ‘I'm looking at it right now.’
You know, I didn't say anymore to him that day, and he didn't say anymore to me...but those simple words, after all the searching I've done my whole life...they finally sunk in. I've been walking around my whole life thinking I was cursed somehow, when in reality, I've been so blessed. I was given a second shot at having a family that loved me...and look at me, I'm surrounded by it.”
Saint put his hand over his heart then and said, “Once I realized that your daddy was right, I started being able to feel it in here. God loves me, or he wouldn't have ever sent these good people into my life. And boy if he loves this sinner right here, he loves you too. You just have to believe that and once you do, you'll start loving yourself and then you'll stop trying to kill yourself...before you're like me and it's too late.”
“Well...I appreciate that,” Rusty said. “I do have a question though. Did this all come about after Dax saw the video of me at the park?”
Blue walked in just then. “Dax is here to take you back to the clubhouse,” she told Rusty. Then she looked at Saint and said, “I'll answer his question, before he goes.”
“You sure, darlin'?”
She nodded and then looked at Rusty. “I'm the one that told your dad, and he talked to Dax and that's where all this came from.”
Rusty frowned. “You called my dad, in Africa?”
She nodded. “He told me that if I ever needed to talk, I could call him. Sometimes I just need to vent about my old man, you know? Your pop is a good listener. You know why my dad's in jail, Rusty?” Rusty shook his head. “He hit a lady with his bike. She was just out taking her walk...and now she won't ever be able to walk again. He was drunk. And don't get me wrong, my old man is a good guy, at heart. He took good care of me when I was little. Everyone around here liked him a lot...but, he was always drinking. It didn't matter if it was day or night, it was like he always had something to celebrate. And he was happy too...right up until he hit that lady. He already had his license taken away and he wasn't supposed to be driving. So they threw the book at him. He won't even be eligible for parole until I'm eighteen. He missed my whole life, Randy...because he couldn't stop drinking. So yeah, I told your pop, hoping he could do something for you before you were like my pop, or Saint here, and it was too late.”
7
Rusty was left with a lot to think about by the time Dax picked him up and they got back to the clubhouse. Dax didn't say a word about any of it, he just acted like he really had left him there to watch Saint while he took Blue down to the Easter egg hunt. When they got back to the clubhouse Dax said, “Stay as long as you want and have a good time. It might take Toolie a few days to get to your bike though. You want to leave it here? I can have one of the prospects run you home when you're ready to go.”
“Sure, sounds good, thanks.”
Once they were inside the club, Dax introduced him to a few more of the guys and then left him to attend to whatever business a club president attends to on Easter Sunday. As soon as he was gone, Rusty went up to the bar. “Hey there, glad to see you're back,” Shelly said. “You want another beer?” Rusty did...he wanted it fucking bad. But everything Saint said, the yellowing of the other man's skin and eyes, and everything Blue told him, the little girl living without a father, the woman that would never walk again...all of it was swirling around in his head. Despite all of that, he was about to give in and tell Shelly he did want a beer, when something about her caught his attention. Her arms were covered in tats, he had noticed that earlier, of course...but, what he didn't notice then was right in the center of her right forearm there were words...it was a prayer, the Serenity prayer, the prayer used by twelve-step programs to ask God for strength to get through one more sober day.
“I'm a drug addict,” Shelly said. Rusty looked up at her face. “I used to be anyways. I mean, I'm still an addict of course, but I've been sober for three years.”
“Oh, good for you.” People were so raw here, so honest. Rusty wasn't used to that. Within his family, yes...but the people he was used to, the ones that made millions of dollars a year, they were a lot tighter with their personal information. It was both refreshing and unnerving at the same time. The unnerving part came when they expected him to be as open as they were.
“You working the steps?” she asked him. When he didn't answer right away she said, “Sorry, don't mean to be nosy. I just noticed you didn't touch the beer I poured you earlier and you seemed so interested in my tat. You don't have to answer though...”
“You have a room here?”
She looked slightly shocked, but she recovered quickly. “Yeah...I mean, I live in the house with a bunch of the girls, but there's a room we could use upstairs. You meant we, right?”
He smiled. She was a chatty one...but she was also a hot one and maybe satisfying his craving for sex...real, human contact, would distract him for a while from how badly he wanted a drink. “Yeah, I meant we.”
“Okay, give me a second. Hey Weasel!” She yelled across the room to a guy wearing a kutte that said, “Prospect” on the back. When he turned toward them, Rusty understood why they called him “Weasel.” His eyes sat right on top of either side of his nose, which was long and straight. “Cover for me?”
Weasel made a face, but he came toward them. When he reached the bar he glanced at Rusty and then asked Shelly, “For how long?”
Shelly looked at Rusty and with a hopeful look she said, “The rest of the night?”
Rusty chuckled, Weasel rolled his eyes and Shelly placed the towel she had in her hand on Weasel's shoulder. “I'll make it up to you.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said as she rounded the bar and held her hand out to Rusty. He took it and ignored the looks from everyone else in the room as she led him up the stairs. When they got there, she used a key to open the third door in the hallway and Rusty followed her inside. It was a simple bedroom with a bed and dresser, a closet and attached bathroom. He looked at the bed and suddenly wondered how many other guys Shelly had been there with.
“Hey,” she said. “You having second thoughts?”
“I just don't usually do this...this way,” he said. Yeah, usually I order a hooker. That's much more romantic. Shelly still had his hand in hers. She led him over to the bed and they sat down.
“We can just talk if you want to.”
Rusty smiled again. She was a sweet girl and she probably deserved much better than a quick fuck by a guy that she might n
ever see again. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Does that twelve-step stuff really work? I mean, I hear you when you say you've been sober for three years, but is that just self-determination...or...?”
“Oh hell no, honey. I still want a taste of it sometimes, even now. Hell, a lot of the time. When I do, I usually have to get myself to a meeting. Thankfully Dax doesn't allow anything stronger than weed around here and I was never big into alcohol, because if I was in a place where anything else was readily accessible, I don't know if I'd have the willpower to say no.”
“What did you use?”
“Opiates, mostly. I took a lot of pills, but I also smoked it, snorted it...everything short of putting it in my veins. Thank God I never got to that point, but I was in a bad way when I first came here.”
“Where'd you come from?”
“I was living on the streets. One of the guys picked me up and we came out here to fuck. He and I didn't work out, but I loved this place and the people here. Dax told me I couldn't stay here though if I was still using. So I left and it took me about a month and another arrest for possession before I decided I was tired of living that life. I went to a meeting in a church in Boston and some people there helped me get through the withdrawal process. When that shit was over...and I do mean shit…” She laughed. “I came back here and Dax gave me a job as a bartender. I hit at least two meetings a week and I've worked through all the steps, I even made amends with my mom who I hadn't spoken to for five years.”