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As I take off, her arms tighten around me and it’s fucking everything. When the Prospect at the gate opens it for us before we get there, I turn onto the road and then open up my bike. I swear the moon giggles above us as the stars urge us on.
The ride isn’t nearly long enough, again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy every moment. There is something like freedom to be found on the back of a bike with the open road laid out before you.
That’s what led me to the DSMC in the first place. Well, I suppose I could have landed anywhere and sought out almost any other motorcycle club, but I believe that fate brought me right where I was supposed to be.
When I left Magnolia Point, a small town in the low country of South Carolina, I didn’t know where I would end up. I just knew I needed to get out and try and find the place I belonged. The open road was my solace, and I learned a lot about myself as I rode my first bike through the South.
Sometimes I would stop in smaller towns and other times big cities. I was strong, even back then, and found short term work on construction crews to make ends meet as I traveled. Even though I was hoping something would click into place and I would know where I belonged, it wasn’t happening.
When I was working with a commercial build crew in Biloxi Mississippi, wondering if the water was calling me home, I met an old timer who took me under his wing. Amos was probably too old to be working on a construction crew on paper, but he could run circles around most of the younger guys building some unnecessary strip mall.
To this day I have no idea what he saw in me or why he felt compelled to impart as much of his wisdom to me as he did. But I was grateful for it.
Building made sense to me and since I left home at 18, not even considering college, I was more than thankful for everything I learned.
We were eating lunch one day and my mind was a million miles away. Amos made a humming sound that caught my attention, and I abandoned thoughts of whether it was time to move on or throw in the towel and go back home.
“I can see the wheels in your head turning.” There was a knowing in his eyes as I looked over at him. “The road is calling to you, huh?”
I shrugged one shoulder, hating the uncertainty that seemed to grow inside of me every day. “Or maybe home.”
“No,” his voice wasn’t harsh, but firm, “you haven’t found where you’re supposed to be. That is the home calling to you.”
“Maybe it’s not out there,” I mused, feeling defeated even knowing I hadn’t given myself nearly enough time to explore and hadn’t gone far enough.
I was just feeling sorry for myself. My foolish younger self thought it would be so easy. I would get on my bike, drive, and then—bam—I’d be right where I was supposed to be.
“You young people are always so impatient,” Amos grumbled, his forehead marred with wrinkles as he frowned at me. “While sometimes it’s not the destination that is important, it’s the journey, I think the opposite might be true for you. You want roots.”
“I had them back home, but,” I scrunched up my face, not liking talking about my feelings, “it was too small.”
Amos’ bark of laughter startled me, but instead of showing it, I glared at the man. He reached over and patted my shoulder, reminding me of my father so much that my heart ached with a homesickness I didn’t want to recognize. Because then it would be real, and I really would think I could find happiness in Magnolia Point.
But I knew that wasn’t true.
“I had a buddy call me last night,” Amos tells me, his voice holding so much wisdom that I was hanging on to his every word. “He told me about a crew in New Orleans looking for someone. Thought I might be interested,” Amos shrugged like him giving me a tip on a job wasn’t a big deal. I knew it really was. “I’m not leaving Biloxi any time soon. I’m good here, but you,” his eyes bored into mine, “you’re looking for something and maybe my buddy letting me know about this job is a lead on where you should go next.”
We sat quietly, side-by-side, for a long time as we ate. His words bounced around in my head the entire time.
The question slipped free before I even knew I was going to ask it, “Where’s the job?”
“New Orleans,” Amos’ eyes sparkled as he answered me.
I figured I had nothing to lose and got the information on who was looking to hire good guys for their crew. From the moment I decided to move on, the restless inside of me wouldn’t ease.
I was back on the road less than a week later with my only regret having to say goodbye to Amos. He kept my head on straight while teaching me about more than building.
If I had known I would find my place when I stepped into Saint’s Construction, I probably would have hugged the man. As it was, I was able to tell him about how I had found a place that spoke to me, and I thought it might be where I could see myself living.
Then I found out Saint’s Construction was owned by the DSMC. While I wasn’t familiar with clubs or how they worked, I learned quickly when I was asked if I wanted to become a Prospect. I did and I never looked back.
We kept in touch after I left Biloxi. He became a voice on the other end of a phone for years until he died. Even though I never saw him again, he came in and changed my life right when I needed him there.
I’ll forever be grateful for meeting Amos and coming to New Orleans. I found what I was looking for eleven years ago when I left home.
The only thing I wish was different is that I would like to have my sister in my life again. It’s something I need to put some effort into.
I’ve been thinking about Tallulah for a while, but with Sioux recovering, I knew I needed to stay put. Now with The RRMC popping up again, I’m afraid that it could be a while before I can focus on reconnecting with my sister in the way she deserves.
