Becoming A Son

by David Labrava

  54

  “Fifteen Grand?”

  “Fifteen grand.” The bike was real nice but not worth fifteen grand. Mostly because I didn’t have that much. Truthfully I wanted another bike so bad I would have paid whatever price. I had only been in Miami for a few days and I still had about Seventy five thousand Barrels left. I handed out a bunch of samples and then offed one gram in two pieces for five thousand each and with the change from the first deal I went off to buy the first bike I liked. I found a beauty. The bike was clean. Rigid frame, Evolution motor, five speed, custom paint. The paint wasn’t my style but I knew I would change that quick. It looked real good and I knew I wanted it, but for my price.

  “I’ll give you twelve five.” I held up the Twelve thousand five hundred dollars. I made sure it was all in twenties so it looked like a really big stack. I saw the guys eyes bug out. Money speaks all languages and all dialects. Money closes the deal.

  “It’s all I got. Take it or leave it.” That’s the take away clause. Always works.

  This was a big deal for me. I had flown to Miami to buy a motorcycle. I hadn’t done dope in a few years and I was on the way back to what I considered being a man is again. Owning a Harley Davidson was a big part of that. Junkies don’t own things like Harley Davidsons. Owning a bike again was another symbol to me that I had a grip on my life and nothing else did.

  I was going back and forth from the East Coast to the West Coast. I was spending time in Miami moving weed in all amounts. I was working on my glass art whenever I was on the West Coast and working on making dollars on the East Coast.

  The first thing I did with the Rigid Frame bike I had bought was to take it apart and repaint it. I figured I would learn the bike better and that’s what a custom bike is all about. Customizing it to your specifications. My friends owned a bike shop so I would spend my days there wrenching as best I could on the bike. They would be in conversations about motors and I wanted to be able to take part in those conversations but I didn’t know enough so I didn’t say anything. I had help but I didn’t understand the bike like I wanted so I made a decision to go to school to learn all about it. I started looking into that. I had in the back of my mind what I wanted to do but I was still a few years a way from feeling completely whole enough to do it and I knew it.

  I got a U haul Truck and put the bike in the back and drove back out West. I made some real money on the ninety thousand barrels and I bought a second bike and left it there for whenever I went back. All my friends had two bikes. That way you had one to ride in case one was broken, which was fairly often.

  I didn’t have anyone to ride with when I got back out west. My glass teacher didn’t have a bike and neither did any of my friends. I would ride up and down the Redwood highway. It would take four hours to get to Eugene Oregon from Graham Washington and I would ride that all the time. Or ride an hour up to Seattle from my house. I would sleep on the ground all night in my bedroll next to my bike at the rest stops. I had already slept on the ground plenty in my life, but not like this, with the excitement of being alive. Sleeping on the ground next to my Harley Davidson didn’t bother me at all. This is how I thought a man should operate. His bike first above all else. Every dime I had went into riding and maintaining my motorcycles. I was logging in time, putting in the motions of what I thought it took to overcome any obstacle.

  I started formulating a plan. I rode my bike everywhere. I was making good money on glass art and I decided to pack up and go to school to learn motorcycle mechanics. I figured I could support myself doing glass art while I went to school.

  The waiting list to get in the school was a few months away so I used that time to ride my bike up and down the coast just logging time and miles.

  Hollywood reached out to me three times in my life. Which is amazing in itself. I can easily describe the first time Hollywood reached out to me and the outcome as, ‘the worst mistake of my life.’ Definitely the biggest missed opportunity.

  I think every American dreams about being in the movies. It’s an American thing. I don’t think I dreamed about it any more or less than any normal person. I wasn’t chasing that dream or anything. Kind of like a dream you know will never happen. Like fantasizing about how you would spend your lottery winnings if you won.

  The first time Hollywood called me I was way too young and reckless to understand what an incredible opportunity was being bestowed upon me. Unfortunately you can’t always see opportunity coming, even when it makes a home invasion on your life.

  I had ridden my bike from Washington to Eugene to visit some friends. I was riding the bike everywhere. Sleeping on the ground was no problem in the summer. I was accepted and planning to go to Motorcycle school. I had already been approved for a student loan for The MotorCycle Mechanics Institute in Phoenix Arizona. I had a clear plan. First I was going to learn everything about the bike then get back to Holland and ride with the Brothers that I had met. This was like my goal in life. I kind of felt that if I can complete this task then I will have for sure taken my life back. It’s good to have a plan. It makes you feel solid. Like you have some direction. Like you have something going. You do have something going, you got a plan man.

  I pulled in to Eugene early and everyone was asleep. I rode over to the bike shop and was checking out the bikes in the storefront. I figured I would smoke a joint and call my friend Judd in Miami.

  “Whats up?’

  “Same shit. What’s up with you.”

  “Just rode my bike to Eugene. Everyone’s asleep here so I figured I would call you.”

  “You should call P.J. He’s got a job for you.”

  “Doing what?”

  “In his next movie. Just call him. And don’t screw it up. I gotta get back to work. Call him now.”

  “O.K.”

  “And don’t screw it up.”

  “I won’t.”

  Something about those words, ‘Don’t screw it up”. Whenever anyone told me not to screw it up. I did. I hung up and dialed my Buddy P.J. We all grew up down the block from each other. P.J. always had it together. He graduated from New York Film Institute and was making movies ever since. One of those really talented focused people you meet at an early age. Some of us take a little longer to get the clue.

  I dialed P.J.’s number and he picked it up right away.

  “I got a job for you.”

  “Collecting?”

  “No you knucklehead. I’m going to put you in my next movie.”

  “For real?”

  “For real. And it’s in South Africa. Do you have a passport?”

  “Of course.”

  “We leave in two weeks. You gotta work while you are there.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Drawing stuff in the art department. Loading gear. Basically doing movie shit until we film. It will take a bout three months of prep until we can start filming. We have to cast the film, scout locations, all kinds of stuff. You are going to learn a lot.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. My assistant will help you get your paperwork in order. You gotta get some shots.”

  “For what.”

  “Malaria and stuff. It’s pretty volatile over there.”

  “Malaria?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s all an adventure. And David, don’t screw it up.”

  P.J. hung up and I started to feel the familiar feeling of the excitement of the unknown.

  Two weeks later I was on a trans continental jet flying from San Francisco to South Africa to work on and star in ‘From Dusk Till Dawn 3’.

  55

  I had already been planning on going to motorcycle school in Arizona, and the school started a new class every nine weeks so I just pushed off my enrollment a few months to do the movie.

  South Africa wasn’t exactly as I imagined it to be. That Apartheid vibration was still in the air. Here I am skateboarding around with my Hi Tops, baggy pants and wallet chain, and everywhere I went I would be getti
ng stared down with hate. There were a lot of people sleeping on the ground everywhere and a lot of poverty. There was a very visible separation of the classes.

  I had a cool little apartment about ten blocks away from the movie studio and I would skateboard there to and from work. From living in Holland I could speak Dutch pretty good, which is a little like Africaans which is the language they speak in South Africa it being a Dutch colony.

  The first day there P.J. introduced me to everyone. They had a little introduction and pep talk. I had never been on a movie set before, so I had no idea how cool this whole thing was. I met a guy named Marcos who worked in the South African side of the film company and he also surfed. He showed me where I could buy some weed, which I did straight away. The weed wasn’t any good but then I found another street dealer who had hash for sale and I got some Lebanese hash that was really good for cheap. I bought almost an ounce the first buy which I figured would pretty much last the rest of the trip.

  I got the malaria shots before I left and they gave me some pills to take while I was there. The pills made me depressed. I didn’t want to stop taking them because I kept hearing all these horror stories about people getting bitten and contracting malaria and almost dying.

  They put me to work in the art department drawing all kinds of spooky shit, then they had a team of people that would build whatever got drawn up. I was in the art department drawing one day when P.J. walked up and handed me a few pages from the script.

  “Learn these lines. You are Johnny Madrid.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “And get a haircut.”

  “What?”

  P.J. didn’t hear me. He was leading an entourage of producers about to go another location scout. I looked at Marcos.

  ‘Did he say, ‘Get a haircut?”

  “That’s what it sounded like to me.”

  “Aint no way I’m getting a haircut.” I said as I went back to drawing.

  “If you want the part you will.” Marcos said as he walked out.

  I thought about that for a minute as I looked at the lines. I was missing my girl and my friends in Eugene. I was depressed from the Malaria pills and I damn sure didn’t know how good I had it. It wasn’t until I saw the film a year or so later did I realize P.J. was having me read for the lead. Maybe if I knew that I might have took it more seriously. At least I had made a deal with P.J. that I would only cut my hair if I got the part. I had no idea that me reading was only a formality. I had the part. My buddy was the Director. Can you believe it? I still screwed it up.

  I didn’t really learn the lines, I just kind of glanced at them so when the day came to read for P.J., and the producers and investors, I was totally not prepared.

  I had to skate across town to an office for the casting. I got real stoned before I left my apartment. I had to smoke a ton of hash to counter act the malaria pills. That was my rationale.

  I walked into the casting office and P.J. was here with the Producers and some guy who was filming the casting. As soon as I walked in they had me stand on this X and P.J. said ‘ACTION” and I was supposed to start reading the lines. Instead of knowing the lines I would start laughing. Maybe because I was stoned or maybe because I was looking at my childhood friend and I found it funny that we were in South Africa. Every time I started laughing P.J. would jump out of his chair and run up to me and grab me.

  “This is serious.”

  “I know.”

  “ So don’t screw it up.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  We did the lines a few more times and then I was excused. I knew I didn’t get the part. At least I really thought I screwed it up.

  I skated the whole way back to my apartment only thinking about leaving South Africa. I think after time the malaria pills got stronger and stronger. It probably accumulated. Either way I was feeling worse and worse. I didn’t have the Hollywood bug yet. I was more into being home doing glass art and riding my bike. I wanted to go to motorcycle school then go ride with my friends.

  I tried to get into it but I couldn’t. I couple of people told me to just wait till they start filming but that was a month away and I felt that I was just wasting time there because this was not my real goal.

  I walked into P.J.’s office.

  “I wanna go home.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No really. I aint having fun here. I need to go home. I’ll pay you back. I just gotta go.”

  “Brother. This is a mistake. I know not a lot has happened yet.”

  “Did I get the part?”

  “No you didn’t. They are going to go with a more seasoned actor. But I’ll put you in the movie somewhere.”

  “I know you would. I just really, really wanna go home. I’m on a different path.”

  P.J. looked at me with a sad smile. Not sad for him but sad for me as he was watching me make another bad mistake. Sometime you just got to let people learn the hard way.

  “OK. Find a flight. You are going to pay me back this year.”

  I turned around and left his office. I felt like a weight was lifted off of me. The weight of responsibility was gone. I was no longer responsible to the job at hand. I was back on my path. I had no idea the weight of regret is much heavier and rests on your shoulders for much longer.

  I was walking out of the office and I ran I to Marcos carrying storyboards.

  “Howzit mate.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m not having fun.’

  “Fun’s just about to start. Stick around mate. You won’t regret it.” He turned and kept moving into the office. I looked in and saw all the people moving around, looking at white boards with writing on them, moving paper around, basically being busy. They had the bug of making a film. They were bubbling with excitement. I just wasn’t feeling it. I turned and went to pack.

  Within two days I was boarding a plane back to San Francisco. From there I would catch a plane to Seattle and get a ride to my place in Graham Washington.

  I sat in my seat and a young couple sat next to me from Los Angeles. They talked about how great South Africa was and how they hated to leave Their beloved South Africa. Beloved. I couldn’t believe they even used that word. I sat there counting the hours until I got home. Something like twenty hours. I was dreading it. But not like the feeling I was about to feel.

  As the wheels of the plane left the earth I suddenly knew it was the worst mistake I had ever made. It hit me all at once. I walked away from a great job. I missed a golden opportunity. Worst of all, I let down a friend. And I couldn’t turn the plane back either. Massive regret. Nightmare. It was a very long flight.

  56

  The twenty hour plane flight was brutal. I had plenty of time to think. I figured I better make this work. Better get back to chasing my dream. Aint no one else going to make it happen but me.

  Soon as I landed in the U.S. it was like the race had started. I had felt I wasted enough time and I had to get back into my program.

  I got back to Graham and immediately went back into motion. I packed up my life in my motorhome, which was also my mobile glass blowing shop as quick as I could. I let my glass teacher know I was leaving and he could take over the house.

  I rented a U haul to haul my motorcycle in, said my goodbyes and headed for Arizona to go to the Motorcycle Mechanics Institute. This was the first part of my plan.

  I was totally excited. There is no feeling like embarking on a big journey that you don’t know the outcome, except that you know one way or another, come hell or high water you are going to realize your dreams, and make them you’re reality.

  I pulled into Phoenix at night and found a trailer park near the school. Phoenix was brutally hot, even at night. Living in the motorhome was not going to be easy. I planned on getting settled and renting an apartment. I always grew weed and I had a complete indoor growing set up. Lights, hoods, ballast, everything I needed to have an indoor grow operation. I
figured this is how I could sustain myself while I studied. Seemed like a good plan at the time.

  I checked in and took a tour of the school the next day. It was so hot the motorcycles would be falling over in slow motion because the kick stands would be sinking into the asphalt. Most guys had a flattened beer can for their kick stand to stand on.

  I spent a week in Phoenix looking for an apartment. I finally found one that would work and put a deposit down. There was still about two weeks until the end of the month when I could move into my new apartment, then another week until school would start. So I had about three weeks to kill. I spent most of my time trying to stay cool in the daytime and riding my bike around at night. The girl I had been seeing in Eugene and Washington, Milly had moved in with her family in Tuscon, which was about one hundred and ten miles away give or take. It was a nice ride on the bike. It would take about an hour and it would clear my mind. I had a lot going on. Math was never my best subject when I did go to school So I was a little concerned about all the calculations and motor work I had coming. I still smoked a ton of weed, took an occasional pain killer. The voice in my head telling me to get dope, HEROIN was a lot quieter, but still there.

  There was a lot of alone time in Arizona. Milly’s family didn’t like me and we had a few raging battles before I wasn’t allowed over there anymore. Alone time aint good for a recovering addict. The saying, ‘Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop’ is true. Gotta keep busy. Aint no down time. Down time gets you in trouble.

  After our last big raging fight her family forbid me to come back so I rode back to Phoenix. Riding the bike in the daytime out there was like having a hair blow dryer blowing hot air on you. Which is not the best thing for an air cooled motor. There was nothing for me to do but kill time until school starts. It was about two weeks away. In a week I would get my new place. Everything seemed to be going according to plan. It’s funny how when everything is going smoothest a big monkey wrench shows up. That’s life.