It’s not like I had anywhere else to be or go. The Gray Reapers were never that active on a Sunday, and Ashton wasn’t exactly a town of hustle and bustle. So... even though it was still too fresh on my mind, even though I knew going back there would invoke a ton of despairing memories, even though I knew all of this would hurt...
I turned on my bike, pulled out of Will’s Wiches, and headed toward the graveyard where my father was buried—all the way back in Springsville.
* * *
When I got there, I parked my bike at the front entrance, not wanting to drive through all of the tombstones on my bike. The ride over had given me the chance to decompress more, and I knew I couldn’t approach this from a macho perspective. I had to be quiet. I had, as best as I could, to remain still and let the silence guide me.
Well, for as long as I could. I was no fucking Zen Buddhist monk. I’d lose my shit at some point. I just had to hold out as long as I could and see what happened.
I hopped off my bike, but I kept everything else that shouted “biker” on me. I kept my sunglasses on—I didn’t want anyone to see any emotion I felt right now. I kept my Gray Reapers cut on—it would keep anyone from approaching me other than other Gray Reapers, and there was no reason for any of them to be here.
In the distance, I saw a young family gathered around one tombstone, but I couldn’t make out any details. On the other far end, a young couple visited two more. It was a stark reminder that I wasn’t the only one suffering.
But was I the only one who had his belief of his only meaningful parent turned on its head? Was I the only one who was suffering from a sort of crisis of understanding, of not really knowing my father the way that I thought I knew him?
I tried to bat the thoughts away, concentrating only on the path toward my father’s grave. Every step was conscious, every breath was focused, and every thought was pushed away as much as possible. I needed the strength.
And then I got to where he would lay forever.
The good news was I didn’t lose my shit upon seeing him. I actually remained pretty calm, all things considered. Maybe keeping my head was my way of honoring my father, who was legendary for remaining calm in the face of almost every threat and every scenario.
At least, that was what my youthful side had chosen to see.
I knelt down, put my right hand on his tombstone, and sighed.
“How’s it going, Dad?” I said.
Yes, I knew graves couldn’t talk back. But yes, I needed this.
“Crazy fucking time,” I said. “I went out with Jess today, the old bartender? It...”
What the fuck are you doing? You didn’t come here to recount your life.
“Dad, did you do it?”
Silence filled the air, much more noticeable than before. It was like the gentle soundtrack that had accompanied me on this walk had gone silent, and all that remained was the brutal silence of reality. No birds. No cars. No human conversation.
Just...
Deathly silence.
“Did you betray the club?”
Again, silence.
“Did you... did you...”
Just because I had said the ugly words once didn’t mean I could say them again. They tasted worse than venom, because at least venom I could have spat out. But these words didn’t come from the outside; they had come from within, so either I had to say them out loud for the dead to hear or I had to stuff them within and suffer from their suppression.
“Did you? Did you… did you fucking do it?”
I tightened my grip on my father’s tombstone with my right hand. I closed my eyes.
And it felt like a knockout punch slammed my head.
Yes.
“No.”
