Page 115 of Rough

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Can I go?”

“Sure.”

“I just. I don’t know. I feel like I know him. And, I want to pay respect to Pee Bee.”

I sighed. “Brad.”

He looked down his nose at me. “Brad to you, Pee Bee to me.”

“Fine. But yeah. You can go,” I said. “Maybe give me a ride?”

He reached for my hand.

“You know it T-Girl. I love you.”

I grinned and squeezed his hand. “I love you, too.”

THIRTY-SIX

Pee Bee

The highway leading to the graveside service shut down to allow the bikes and cars in without interruption. Tegan, Mom, and I rode in the Limo. I invited Marcus to ride, but he insisted that the Limo be limited to family.

I gazed out along the grass laden hills. Bikes lined the access road for as far as the eye could see. No less than six MC’s had members in attendance. My guess was there were 400 MC Brothers, and 300 friends and relatives paying tribute to my father’s life.

As brash as my father was, before me stood proof of the men and women he touched in living his life.

I could only hope that in living mine I could influence half as many people.

After the pastor finished speaking, he stepped aside and patted me on the shoulder. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. After clearing my throat, I read the hand-written story.

I was roughly seven years old. Maybe eight. While my father was at work, and my mother was probably cooking brownies, I snuck around the edge of the house.

With my Red Ryder BB gun at my side, I positioned myself in the alley. The garage window was my intended target, and after taking aim, I fired one shot at the pane of glass.

The impact of the BB broke the fragile glass, but it didn’t shatter it. It left a small hole, and a ‘spider web’ of misplaced glass surrounding it. After close inspection of the damage, I went on to hunt anything that was brave enough to expose itself to me.

It wasn’t that night, or even the night that followed when my father approached me. It was maybe a week or so later. He knew my friends didn’t do it, because at that time, none of them had a BB gun.

I was the only one who was ‘responsible’ enough.

He towered over me with his hands on his hips and his eyes locked on mine.

Looking down wasn’t allowed, and looking away wasn’t an option, either. Reluctantly, I met his stare.

The tone of his voice was such that there was no mistaking his disappointment in me. “Brad, did you shoot the garage window with your BB gun?”

I knew he would probably kill me, or at least ship me away to a camp somewhere for what I had done, but no punishment would be as bad as the punishment I’d receive for lying. Honesty was a part of having integrity, and as my father’s son, I was expected to be honorable over and above all things.

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He shook his head. “I work hard to pay for this house. Why would you do such a thing?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

I’d no more than responded, and I knew it wasn’t going to be sufficient. Not with my father, anyway.