6. Beth #2
I’ve been so scared and tired, afraid of losing everything we’ve ever worked for, that I’m ashamed to admit I’ve thought about just eating a bullet because I couldn’t handle the constant feeling of drowning any longer.
The thought of watching us lose everything we clawed for was too much to bear.
But I’m not a quitter, and although life kicked me down like a coked-up mule, I hit back twice as hard.
Not to mention, leaving my family behind wasn’t something that appealed to me.
It was rough at the beginning. But as broke as we were then, we are flourishing now.
Sometimes, when you look back on life’s hardships, you might just say thank you for the kicks because they make the good days that much sweeter.
I can look back and say I survived that with my middle finger held high, screaming from the depths of my soul, “We survived it.” At the end of the day, that’s what we outlaws are, survivors.
Whatever life kicked our way, we always manage to kick back twice as hard, any way we can, to survive.
All I wanted out of this life was a big family and so much love surrounding me that I could drown in it.
It was something I didn't have much of growing up.
I wanted to raise my family among people I could trust and rely on, people I knew would do anything to protect me and mine.
That was probably what led me to the momma bear role I have been given.
I have always been drawn to the damaged and wayward souls.
Caring for others fills a void in my life that I felt was otherwise missing.
I like to watch the broken bloom and grow into outstanding individuals.
More often than not, those lost babies were the fiercest, most loving, and most loyal souls in the world.
I became the person who would fight for them and love them.
I would protect those precious souls as if they were my own cubs.
I became their club mom, one of the roles I took on as the founding president's lady.
Sitting on my porch at 2 a.m., cigarette in hand, making supper after my boys' late night, I reflect on how I've created my own family. Hell, I’m expecting at least ten of the brothers back for 2 am breakfast burritos after their long run.
My breakfast burritos are talked about across the nation.
Brothers have been known to fight over the last one in the pan.
I know it would be easier to do it at the clubhouse, but sometimes the cooking tastes better at Mama's house.
The roar of motorcycles can be heard from a few miles away in this country air, and I know they are almost home.
I say a small prayer in thanks, because even after more than half my life as an old lady, the worry never goes away.
My only son fighting for his life in the ICU and my newest granddaughter fighting for a chance at life are stark proof of that dangerous lifestyle.
I had to get away from the hospital for a little while.
I needed to be alone in my shower to cry.
I put on a brave face for the world, but inside I'm screaming. When I’m not, I'm begging God to let my babies live.
“May not pull through.” It’s a sentence I heard whispered to my husband as they talked about my son lying in that fucking bed, hooked up to so many machines that I get nervous when anyone gets too close to the outlet powering them, the outlet that keeps him alive.
The boy I had housed inside me, the boy I had given life to, the boy I had raised into a force to be reckoned with.
The boy I was sure I had raised to survive anything, my only baby boy, the boy I had raised to be a good man.
No one told me that sentence. No one could look a momma in her eyes and tell her that her baby may not live through the night.
But I heard it. I heard that coward motherfucking son of a bitch tell my husband that, but not me, not his momma.
I stroke the diamond-encrusted cross that hangs around my neck and inhale another deep breath of tobacco, surviving once again on the next cigarette and the next prayer.
Was this the cross I was meant to bear for my sins?
For the sins I knowingly let my husband commit, all for the sake of our family?
Truth be told, I’m not down at the clubhouse because I can’t bear one more person looking at me and thanking God it isn’t their son this time.
They don’t say it, but as a mother who may lose her son, you can feel it.
So I sit here stoically, with a better poker face than any of those men down at the club ever thought possible, smoking a cigarette and cooking for the brothers at two o’clock in the morning, drinking a cup of coffee from the fresh pot I just brewed. Just for something to do with my hands.
The bikes grow louder, and one by one they file into my yard.
My man roars to a stop in front of my porch, a mischievous grin on his face.
He’s parked so close I could probably flick the ash from my cigarette onto him if I tried hard enough.
Damn, he still gives me butterflies after all these years.
What he says shocks me, but not by much. I’ve always had my suspicions.
“I guess we are great-grandparents,” he says with a broad smile, one I haven’t seen since DJ was shot.
A slow smile crosses my face as my eyes well with tears.
A great-grandbaby. “I know you’re hurting, Beth.
” He clears his throat, fighting back emotion, then continues.
“But give them a day or two to settle into this before going over there. I was at the clubhouse, finishing my beer. Emma, you know the one Gator thought he was sneaking around with that summer before he got pinched. Beaver’s daughter from Arkansas. ”
“I know her. I thought for sure she was going to be the one, the way they giggled like two kids getting away with grabbing a cookie from the jar. The kids always think they have the wool pulled over everyone’s eyes, but wisdom comes with age and experience.
” A small chuckle escapes me as I remember the last time I saw my baby boy so happy.
“Right, so you know how she had a kid, right? We always had our suspicions, but no evidence. Well, she walked in with the evidence in tow. The boy is a spitting image of an Anderson boy, no doubt about it,” he says, arms crossed over his chest, still sitting on the Harley, a beaming smile like he just solved the world’s greatest mystery.
“To be honest, the way Beaver’s face looked, he had his suspicions, too.
He ain’t stupid. You can tell the truth, smacked Trey over the head, though.
I saw the moment he looked at the kid. The color drained from his face and everything.
” Tank laughs out loud. “We are probably going to have Church over it in the morning. Trey will have to come clean, and Beaver will need to set up how he wants it handled.”
“Ahhh,” I cluck, clicking my tongue against my teeth and rolling my eyes. “Beaver and DJ have been best friends since they were babies. He’s going to be too excited to share a grandkid with Stud. Two days, Tank. I’ll give them two days to set my eyes on that baby.” I negotiate.
“Whatever you say, honey.” He chuckles in amusement as he swings off the bike, groaning and grunting as he goes.
I’ve been with this man since before he could grow a beard.
I’ve been with the big ass through every stage of my life, and to be honest, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.
With each passing day, I grow closer to the end.
That’s not me being cynical; those are the facts.
We will all die one day. My son being in a coma reaffirms that.
I’d choose this life with Tank in every life we have after this.
I huff in mock annoyance. “At least you’ve grown wiser in your old age. Come on, old man, and get something to eat.” I turn to walk inside.
"Oh, I’ll be eating something, all right.” Still the same dirty bastard he was the day I met him. It’s going to be okay. It has to be.