Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (53 page)

After the long drive,
we were all starving. We intended on finding a restaurant but they were few and
far between.

Emma all but jerked the
wheel when she saw the only bar along the highway.

We pulled into bar that
was swarming with Harleys. I had nothing against Harleys or their owners, separately.
Put them together though and I swear something happened with their mindset and
they turn into douchebags. If you ride a Harley, don’t listen to me, I’m sure
you’re a nice person, off your bike.

“That’s a biker bar
Emma,” I pointed out. “
we
are not stopping here.”

“I’m taking Ms. Sway’s
side on this one.” Van examined the parking lot. “Let’s find somewhere else.”

“Too bad,” Emma said.
“I’m fucking hungry!”

Before Van could catch
her, she was out the door in a mad rush for the biker bar. This had bad idea
written all over it.

Once Van helped me out
of the car, we made our way inside the old dingy bar. It smelled, badly, but
that might be my over active smeller these days. As I looked around, I realized
the smell was coming from the carpet, actual fucking carpet in a bar.

There were mysterious
stains all over it and I’m sure some were from stabbings that took place by the
looks of the people surrounding us.

We found Emma sitting
at the bar with what appeared to be the ringleader of the biker clan. Long grey
black hair, plumped belly, tats, and more piercings than I thought any man
should ever have. Across the back of his worn leather jacket read the words,
“Bad Ass Bikers.”

How original.
I thought to myself.

I thought I was just
thinking this but no, what the fuck would make me think something like that? I
said it aloud.

Van,
who
was close to my side, reached around and threw his terminator-arm-of-steel
around my waist, “Ms. Sway, I think you should keep quiet in here.” His voice
was low and purposefully meant only for me.

I only nodded because
now the ringleader was giving me the death stare. “Yeah, you
otta
keep your bitch in check.” Biker Billy barked back at
me followed up with a not so intimidating stare.

Now I may only be five
foot two and weighing in at
...
well,
I’d rather not say these days but I was in no shape with a broken arm and my
baked potato shaped body to be pummeling biker dudes but my hormones controlled
me these days and I started to lunge forward toward him.

Van caught me, for good
reason.

He then convinced me to
sit next to him, which I did while he ordered a beer along with Emma.

My
drink?
Water with lemon.

Am I adventurous or
what?

Biker Billy didn’t stop
from trying to provoke me and hitting on Emma. Out of the corner of my eyes, I
could see Van getting pissed off. Over the last few weeks, he’d grown
protective of us. I knew for sure he was at his wits end when his knuckles
began to turn white as he gripped his beer.

Funny enough, it was
reassuring being around him. He reminded me of Jameson with his anger which
makes me feel close to my dirty heathen even with hundreds of miles separating
us. Not that I have
any
attraction to Van, I just felt safe with him.

When the music playing
throughout the bar changed to
The Hurricane
by Bob Dylan, I knew Biker
Billy had no idea what type of hurricane could be unleashed upon him if he
pissed Van off.

Biker Billy leaned
closer to Emma, rubbing his
foomanchu
. “So there
beautiful,” he said in an extremely gruff voice, marked by his years of smoking.
“What do say about going for a ride?”

Emma obviously didn’t
understand what type of
ride
he was referring to.

“I’d love to!” she said
to mine and Van’s horror.

“Emma!” I blurted out.

“What?”

“I think we should
leave.” Van suggested tossing a fifty on the bar and standing threateningly
beside me. “Let’s go.”

“But I want to ride on
a Harley!” Emma insisted stomping her foot.
“Just one ride.”

“Emma Riley, get in the
fucking car!” I shouted pointing toward the door.

I was hardly in the mood
for any of this but also, I was clearly not thinking when I told the entire bar
that she was Emma Riley.

“Silly Sway,” Emma
jumped in. “
it’s
Emma Gomez now.” She said
haphazardly. “I’m married.”

The entire bar took
notice.

“Wait, you’re Jameson
Riley’s sister, aren’t you?” a girl asked from behind the bar grinning like
Miss America after she’d been crowned.

“No, I was mistaken.” I
muttered pulling Emma toward the door. “They’re not related.”

Biker Billy grabbed
Emma’s hand. “The lady said she wanted a ride.”

“She doesn’t want a
ride.” Van growled standing inches from him. He pushed Emma and me protectively
behind him. “Like she said, she’s married.”

“That’s not what she
said.” Biker Billy didn’t back down either and I began to realize we were about
to be in one of those biker brawls you see on TV. You know the ones where it
ends with someone getting shanked and missing teeth and then suddenly the bar
blows up.

“Nice going asshole,” I
whispered to Emma. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“Me!” she pointed at herself
with wide-eyes as her black waves fell into her eyes. “What did I do?”

“You insisted on coming
into this shit hole.” I gestured toward Biker Billy and the clan. “You’ve
created a war!”

“It’s a little dingy
but I wouldn’t call it a shit hole.” She completely ignored my remarks about
the war.

“You’re a fucking
retard.”

More
foomanchu’s
and
schmuckstasher’s
made their way toward us.

Everything
happened
so fast that Emma and I had no idea
what
actually went down. The only thing I remember was Biker Billy screaming.

Before I knew it, Emma
and I were being placed inside the Expedition and driving away like bats out of
hell. Looking out the back window, I half expected the bar to blow up.

Emma turned toward Van.
“You have some serious aggression issues.”

Van said nothing in
reply but his glare did.

Though I wasn’t sure
this was ever possible, Emma was quiet for a good hour.

I liked Van more and
more every day.

“No more biker bars.”
Emma whispered as we pulled into a drive through Burger King. She only said
this because Van told her she couldn’t get a kids meal unless she apologized, I
found this extremely entertaining. Emma had finally met someone who refused to
put up with her bullshit.

She slapped my leg when
the guy in the drive-through handed her a paper hat. “Do you remember that
tornado we got caught in outside Kansas City?”

“How could I forget a
tornado, Emma?”

She shoved a chicken
nugget covered in barbeque sauce in her mouth. “You never know. You could have
blocked out the memory.”

“Nope, it’s still
there.”

Once we found a hotel
room that night, Emma and I still weren’t on good speaking terms. Mainly
because I had to pee every few miles and Emma just wanted a warm bed to sleep
in.

So what did she do?

While we circled the
parking lot looking for an open stall, she turned on Britney Spears to annoy
the shit out of us.

“You can’t be serious!”
Van said. “We are
not
listening to Britney Spears. I draw the line there!”
He ripped the iPod out of the stereo, tossing it in Emma’s lap.

“That’s hardly fair!”
She glared at him. “I let you listen to that country shit earlier.”

“Ms. Sway, isn’t it
your turn to sit in the front seat?” his eyes met mine in the review mirror,
pleadingly.

“No, no—you guys go
ahead. This is entertaining.”

By the time we did make
it to the hotel, Van was annoyed and so was I. Not only did Emma get her way
with the Britney Spears but she proceeded to sing along to every goddamn song.

Now Jameson could sing
like a motherfucker. Emma, she cannot, not even a little bit. She was
completely tone deaf and sounded like a coyote in heat.

When we checked in, we
were all cranky.
Extremely
cranky.

“You know what? I hope
you piss the bed!” Emma blurted out the first thing she could think of to
insult me when I told her I refused to sleep in the same bed as her.

“Yeah well, if I do,
I’m putting the sheets on you!” I barked back curling into my
Snoogle
pillow.

It was ridiculous. We
were never going to make it to Elma, alive together, like this considering we
were only in Jamestown New York and ready to kill each other.

I tried to sleep but
with Emma and her snoring I remained wide-awake. Who knew someone who was
so
tiny could snore
so
loudly. I remembered this from our summers together
traveling though. And it wasn’t about to get any better
any
time soon.

The noise eventually
became too much.

I even tried putting a
pillow over her head but that just seemed to echo the noise.

The hotel room we were
in overlooked the pool and it was calling my name, either that, or I was
hearing things now. As I
laid
there, thinking about
what happened over the course of the last six months, I couldn’t help but think
maybe if I closed my eyes, it would all be a dream. I did and when I opened
them, I was disappointed it wasn’t.

Van was sound asleep on
the couch and amazingly enough; I snuck past him and made my way to a lounge
chair near the pool. I was just outside the room, I didn’t go far but it was
the first time since the accident where I felt I was completely alone. And not
in the sense that I was alone, it was that I felt freedom.

About ten minutes into
my alone time, the skies in New York began to rumble and growl. Did I move?

No.

Me, and my little spaz,
sat there as the wind picked up slightly. The air smelled and felt humid with
the impending rain clouds approaching.

The air
adopted an overpowering humidity with the approaching storm.

One minute
it was sunny, and the next, the sky was occupied by dense, suffocating clouds,
as though fate had stepped in and unrolled a dark cotton blanket over the city.

Have you
ever observed the pattern of a rainstorm?

The rain
usually starts out light. Then, before you know it, you’re trapped in a
downpour. Where there once was dry pavement, now there are puddles. Where you
once were secure and warm, now you are vulnerable.
Dry turns
to wet, blue to black, and then, with the shifting of the wind, wet turns back
to dry, and a rainbow appears
in the sky.

You wonder
what the point is. Then, in the quiet after the storm, you notice that the
planet and animals that were previously dehydrated and dirty are now nourished
and bathed. That with each drop of rain, life was cultivated and restored.
That you, who were once weary and wilted, are rejuvenated,
stronger.
A survivor.

So drenched and maybe a
little cold, I watched the rippling of each drop spring from the pool. I’d
never felt more alive sitting there in that rain storm, cleansed of the past.

Van
appeared,
his glare obvious even through my wet lashes and blurred vision. “I’ve been
looking for you Ms. Sway.” His hand reached for mine. “Please come with me.
You’ll get sick out here.”

I shook his hand away,
“No, I’m fine.” And then I was crying.

Van shifted his weight
from one foot to the next contemplating my denial and then his sighed taking a
seat beside me. “Are you okay?” his eyes narrowed as he scrutinized things he
may have missed before when I kept telling everyone I was all right.

“No.” I admitted for the
first time. “I thought I was but I’m worried. What if everything isn’t okay?
What if Jameson can’t get past this?”

He didn’t say anything,
he too focused on the pool and
its
rippling water
drops.

“Just lie to me.”

Van finally sighed, his
t-shirt clinging to his oversized chest muscles. “I can’t tell you that because
I don’t know that it will.” He finally looked at me, rain drops dripped from
his dark hair. “I will tell you that a love like you have, with him, is
enough.”

“Will
I
be all
right?”

“Eventually yes,” Van
smiled as he stood taking my hand to lead me back inside the room when the wind
and rain started to pick up again. “
but
it takes time.
Don’t give up on him.”