Thoughts creep in and cross each other in my chaotic brain.I often listen to this song because it talks about alcohol and what it does to people, what they experience when they consume it, and why it becomes an addiction. I hate alcohol, I steer clear of it because it is one of humanity’s worst enemies. It drags those who consume it to the bottom of the bottle, leaves them there, and pours some more atop until they drown.
I don’t need a drink, I need a smoke—that’s my addiction. I eat cigarettes like candies, and I fucking hate it but I just can’t stop.
I need it.
Now more than ever.
Closing in on the biker’s meetup, dozens of camping tents are already set up. Colorful caravans and dots of people roaming around and tanning under the sun as groups of bikers start to swarm the road.
I love this time of year.
Their eyes fixate on me as I pull into the enormous parking lot, park my Superleggera V4 by the end of a row, and kill the engine. Understandable. My girl is a beast, waiting to puff smoke, itching to graze the abilities she possesses.
Taking my helmet off, I shake my head to fix my tousled, jet-black hair. The smell of barbecues already envelops me as I hop off my bike.
The parking lot is surrounded by sand and some dry plants that occasionally sprout—we call itThe Garage. It’s where the main events take place. This parking lot will become so much more exciting in two weeks from now once everyone settles and morepeople arrive.
With my helmet in hand, I put my shades on and stride toward the gas station across the road. Some would say this site is a dump in the middle of nowhere. True. It serves our needs to bring the community together and provide them with a safe place to hang out. It also prevents the cops and local authorities from pissing on our bonfire—metaphorically, of course, it’s like a hundred degrees out here.
There is no one around to jinx it.
The bar by the corner—Scythe—is one of the highlights of this place. The motel a few feet away is wheresomeof the action happens. Some stay, some go, some come from afar, and some live nearby and join at some point.
A nice escape from our daily lives.
All are welcome.
If they can put up with the heat.
“Sick bike, dude.” A teenager grins at me, taking pictures on his phone.
I give him a thumbs up, “Thanks. Find me later, I’ll let you rev it.”
“I will! Thank you.”
I stride across the road, the loud buzz escorts me as I pass the gas station and then a flashback hits me.
“I’m Michael.” This kid comes out of nowhere, puts his fist in front of me, and waits.
“Meadow.” I fist-bump him.
“Want to see something cool?” He sneaks behind a parked car infront of the convenience store. “Look at this bike,” he points, “Street illegal.”
I shake it away when I reach the doors of the convenience store, Chaos and Arrow greet me at the entrance, wagging their tails and jumping to say hello. I crouch down and they both attack me by licking my face off, almost knocking my shades to the ground. I pet them thoroughly, brushing their fur back and forth.
“Good girls.”
I laugh as my lungs taste the gasoline-fueled air before I rise back up and enter inside.
“Look who it IS,” his booming voice echoes as he drags the last word like an announcer. “Come give your old man a hug.”
I slide the shades atop my head, put the helmet on the counter beside me, and embrace him tightly, “You’re not old, Dad.”
I missed them so much. The last competition was long and I barely saw them. Only through Facetime and I wouldn’t say I like those.
I squeeze Dad’s shoulder one last time, glancing at his gray appearance before Mom’s head pops behind his shoulder. I move to hug her and kiss her forehead while I scan Dad one more time.
“My summer is complete.” She subtly jumps in her spot, holding my wrist firmly—always been her way of reassuring me she’s not going anywhere. She used to do that the first couple of years I competed on the tracks.
