the sound: Elvis – Suspicious Minds, Leonard Cohen – Suzanne, the Beatles – Let it Be, Sly and the Family Stone – Thank You, the Kinks – Lola, The Band – Up On Cripple Creek, Moody Blues – Tuesday Afternoon, Grateful Dead – Dark Star, The Caprenters – We’ve only Just Begun, Blood Sweat and Tears – And When I Die.
Two weeks later, when at the cajoling of many of my friends, I tried to go back to the house that Mike had talked me into buying I found that everything we had ever owned was gone and a “for sale” sign on the lawn.
Confiscated by his gold digging stepmother who’d convinced a judge that I wasn’t Mike’s legal partner so that meant that I couldn’t have owned any part of what was in the house. Everything was gone, all my clothes, the beautiful wolf skin coat that Mike had bought me, my engagement ring and his mother’s pearls. All Mike’s stuff was gone too. Hell, she’d even taken our toothbrushes and my tampons (not that I was using them just then).
The only saving grace was that his knucklehead was at the shop so she didn’t get that. And then there was all that baby gear that the gang had given me at the shower. It was all stored in my old studio at the hotel. The studio I was now living in again. But the house was in Mike’s name cos “my future” as the father liked to call it, was tied up in “that dive”.
By the time the baby came I knew that I was in trouble. Mike was my grasp on reality and he was gone. I am still clean but I didn’t see it being the way of the future.
My father wasn’t able to cope with any portion of my life then. He told me that I was “getting what I deserved for living the life I chose”. I guess he’d had another of his talks with Jesus and some scotch and they found me lacking again. He was a cop and I am a biker, what more can I say? I’d spent my whole life apologizing to people and not being accepted by him or by the kind of people he deemed that I should be spending my time with. The only people that ever accepted me for who I am has always been the people I chose to ride with.
I’d started drinking again soon after Mike’s funeral and my mother talked like a Dutch uncle to get me to do something, anything constructive for the baby. So I went to Children’s Aid Society and worked it out so that I didn’t even see her when she was born in Sept. All I know is that two Doctors from Toronto adopted her.
Oh, and I do know that all 2 acres of Mrs. Mike Sr.’s brand spanking new high dollar prized new fangled orchid green houses mysteriously blew up one night about 4 weeks later. But I still don’t know who did it. What I do know is that all my boys were present and accounted for in the bar that night…”that’s right officers – they were all right here all night long.” And that’s that. Well except for the day that my father announced to all and sundry that I’d “sold” his only grandchild, but that’s another story.
Anyway….so here I am six months later. No man, no baby, no future…I’m coming from the school of hard knocks and I’m only 22 whole years old and I’m hung over like I’m gonna die.Allan and Suzie are hustling me into their truck and I’m really not sure that I want to live. But hell…at least it’s not a sunny day.
{another note from Wyz….look to this story being interuppted going forward…I’m finding that the format of just posting the story is messing with all the other shyte I’ve got to say!}