VINCE
As I sat in my driveway mentally preparing my morning, I heard the unmistakable sound of Jackson’s bike coming up the block. The cams he added to the engine gave it a very distinct sound, but the way he rode it was what made the sound of it being ridden stand out as different.
He rode it like he stole it.
Within a matter of seconds, he was sitting in my driveway beside me.
“What’s shaking?” he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Trying to decide what to do. Got to meet a guy at eleven, but that’s not for three hours.”
He hopped off his bike and straightened the bottom of his cut. After going through a ritual of popping his neck, back, and shoulders, he stood and glared at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Can’t be broken, huh?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“I’m going to ask you some shit, and I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me, and with yourself,” he said.
“Always honest,” I said.
“We’ll see,” he said with a nod.
“You need to just give up,” I said as I got off my bike and lit a cigarette.
“Yeah,” he said with a laugh as he pointed to my cigarette. “Have you a smoke.”
I took a long drag, nodded my head, and blew a cloud of smoke into the still morning air.
“So, you and your pop were pretty tight?” he asked.
I nodded my head and took another long pull on the cigarette.
“You ever make New Year’s resolutions?” he asked.
“What the fuck?” I asked, coughing out smoke as I did so.
He folded his arms in front of his chest and grinned. “Just asking,” he responded.
“Yeah, make ‘em every year,” I said.
He grinned and nodded his head. “Finish that smoke and fire up another, you might need it.”
“Get on with it, Doctor Phil,” I said.
“You ever go visit your Pop’s grave? You know, go see him or anything, and before you ask, no disrespect here. I’m just saying, I know a lot of fellas whose pop has passed, and a lot of ‘em go to the grave and just sit and talk. You know, some leave notes, and stuff like that. So do you do any of that?” he asked.
I nodded my head. “Sure do.”
“Okay. Now. You said yesterday when we were at that donut place that the only reason you dropped this girl was because she agreed to meet for dinner, and she never showed up. It’s undisputed you don’t carry a phone, but she could have called your mom’s place, because she’s got her number, and she could have called your place, even though you were gone, but she didn’t until the next day. You went by that night, and you thought she was gone, but she left you a voicemail the next day explaining that she got drunk and passed out. You see all of this as a broken promise, and how can you trust her if she breaks promises, right? Sound about right?” he asked.
“Sounds about right,” I said.
He uncrossed his arms and clapped his hands together.
“When did you start smoking again?” he asked.
It shocked me that he knew I had even quit. The entire time I knew Jackson I had smoked, and was never around during the time I had quit. As far as answering the question, I didn’t even have to think about it.
“When we broke up,” I responded.
“Figures. Okay, and before that, did you smoke at all? You know, maybe an occasional cigarette?” he asked.
I nodded my head. “When I was really pissed.”
“Alright. Now, here’s a few questions I want you to either answer, or just stand and stew on for a minute. Let me ask them all,” he said. “And then you can chew on ‘em.”
I shrugged my shoulders, pulled out another cigarette, and lit it. “Okay.”
He held his clenched fist in the air and extended a finger each time he asked a question.
“Did you ever make a New Year’s resolution to quit?”
“Did you ever tell your pop you quit? When he was alive or after his death?”
“Did you ever go to his grave and talk to him about it, you know, out of pride?”
“Did you ever tell your mom you weren’t smoking when you were?”
“Did you…”
I held my hand in the air, spit my cigarette on the driveway, and stepped on it. “Stop.”
“Something wrong?” he asked.
Almost everything he had asked, I had done. I gave up cigarettes, at least initially, as a New Year’s resolution. Before and after doing so, I had gone to my father’s grave, and told him that I intended on quitting, and after having done so, that I had successfully quit.
I had also told my mother on a few occasions when she said I smelled like smoke that I wasn’t smoking.
I felt sick.
Somehow, someway, I had become exactly what I despised.
I was a hypocrite.
And there was no other way of looking at it.
I had made promises that I didn’t keep; to myself, my mother, and to my father.
“You look sick, Brother,” he said as he slapped his hand against my bicep.
“I feel sick,” I said.
“Probably that cigarette. Those things’ll kill ya,” he said. “So, you didn’t answer, you going to?”
“Don’t think I need to, you already know the answers,” I said. “How’d you know?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Most people who smoke actually smoke their cigarettes. You take a couple hits and toss it. It told me you either felt guilty or you wanted to quit. I picked the former. Asked a couple of the fellas, and Axton told me you’d gone without for about five years as far as he could remember. And almost everyone who quits makes a resolution. The rest was just a good guess.”
I felt as if my entire world had been turned upside down. My entire life had been lived under the premise that I was the one person who had never made a promise he didn’t keep, and I expected everyone who befriended me to do and be the same.
And I used my ex-wife’s shortcomings against Sienna, the only woman I truly ever loved, based on my belief that she had broken a promise.
“Think I’m going to be sick,” I said.
“You already said that. You’ll be fine. Oh, I got one more question,” he said.
I gazed down at the toes of my boots. “I don’t think I want to hear it,” I said.
“Don’t rightfully give a fuck, I’m asking anyway,” he said.
I shifted my eyes to meet his and nodded my head.
“You still love that girl?” he asked.
I nodded my head. “Sure do.”
He turned toward his bike, threw his leg over the seat, and fired the engine.
“Saddle up,” he said.
“To where?” I asked.
“Sienna’s place,” he said.
I shook my head. “I’ll go alone,” I said.
“Not an option,” he said.
I furrowed my brow and glared at him. “What’s that mean?”
“Means it’s not a fucking option. I’ve got a plan. You’ll see,” he said.
“I don’t know if I want to,” I said.
He revved the engine and grinned. “Don’t give a fuck. Get on, and believe me, you’ll be fine. I’m your friend, Brother, I won’t do anything to disrespect you.”
I reluctantly got on my bike, fired the engine, and shook my head in disbelief. After turning around, I pulled alongside his bike.
“Follow me,” I said.
As I pulled out of the drive, I felt in many respects like I was a kid again.
Starting my life from scratch again with my friend Jackson.