Page 73 of Nuts

“Wait. What?”

“It’s for you.”

“Who’s it from?”

“Can’t tell. Has some letters and an address. It had my name on it, but it’s not mine.”

I rolled off the edge of the bed and tossed my phone onto the comforter. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to see it.”

Excited, I rushed past him and toward the living room. The package was on top of the kitchen table. Now covered with a few random pieces of cardboard and wrapped with duct tape, it was clear that Percy had opened it and then tried to rewrap it.

I laughed. “Why didn’t you just leave it opened?”

“Element of surprise, or whatever,” he said.

I sat down at the table and then looked at him. “You sure it’s for me?”

“That’s my guess.” He sat down across from me. “Damned sure not for me.”

I took a deep breath, and then slipped my finger beneath the seam of the original brown paper packaging. After carefully peeling away the tape, I opened the package.

A sheet of protective Styrofoam covered the object entirely. I scrunched my nose, slid it off to the side, and stared at what appeared to be the back of a very large picture.

“It looks like a framed picture,” I said. “A big one.”

“Looks like some dumb fucker laid it on the table upside down,” he said.

“Help me flip it over?” I asked.

He grabbed one side of the picture, and I grabbed the other. He tilted his head toward the hallway. “That way.”

Together, we lifted the heavy frame and flipped it over.

An emotional freight train plowed into me and all but bowled me over.

I stared at the black and white photo for some time. Somehow sucked into the moment in time that the picture was taken, I drifted off completely. It took quite some time, but I eventually returned.

Embarrassed by the tears that welled in my eyes, but aware I could do nothing to stop them from flowing, I looked up.

I wagged my finger toward the photo. “That’s uhhm. It’s…”

I began to cry.

He cleared his throat. “Newsweek did a write up on Hells Angels in ’96. They were with them for almost a month, interviewing members and stuff. This was taken by their photographer on a poker run, just outside of Temecula. I uhhm. I bought the rights to it. Thought you might like it.”

I wiped my eyes with the heel of my palm, but it did nothing to stop the tears.

The photo, obviously taken by a professional with a high-speed lens, was captured while the MC was traveling down the highway.

The camera’s focus was on one couple; a man and a woman on a Heritage Softail. The man’s right hand was draped over his ape hanger handlebars. His left arm was extended straight, directly toward the lens of the camera.

With his eyes fixed on the photographer, his contempt was made clear by position of his upright middle finger.

The woman’s left hand rested on the man’s hip. Her right arm was resting atop her very pregnant stomach.

The look on her face was one of sheer content.