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It's five o'clock on a Tuesday, my shift is over, and my bike waits for me in the parking lot ready to roll. Even so, I'm cranky as hell because once again it's happy hour at my favorite watering hole and I'm heading in the other direction.
I could cruise down the street and walk in like a man, but no, I have to head home. Like every other day in this life I have chosen, I have to sacrifice the things I want and be the adult, the provider, the dad, the husband. To be perfectly honest, it's at times like this that I find it hard to remember why I ever chose the family life.
Twenty-five minutes later, I roll my bike over the fractured, oil stained driveway to my house. Glancing down, I see the same two faded tire marks on the concrete that I roll over every morning when I leave out, and again every evening when I return.
I glance back in my rear-view and smile as I think about the day I hit the throttle and held on tight, one foot on the cement holding her steady as my new Harley and I spun around marking our territory. It was an amazing end to an incredible day when we rolled up after a long, exhilarating ride from the dealership.
Life was exceptionally good that day
Don't get me wrong, my life doesn't entirely suck now. I have a decent enough job to pay the bills, a somewhat clean house, and of course, my family. We aren't really getting anywhere, but we are surviving. Well, we have the basics anyway, and yes, I'm aware there are some who work hard and still can't say the same. And no, I'm not an ingrate.
There was a time when it was just me, and the only thing I had to do was take care of myself and ride. Back then, I could ride when and where I chose, no explanation required, no hurt feelings, no shitty attitudes, and no guilt on my part.
"Hey honey," my wife begins, as I enter the kitchen via the garage, "how was your day?"
"Survivable."
"The washer is on the fritz again."
"I'll get to it this weekend, go to the laundry-mat if you need to."
"Cost too much, I'll take a few loads to mom."
"Whatever works for you."
If only I could just come into the house, kiss the family, grab a bite, take a shower, and head back out again, maybe it wouldn't be so damn hard.
But no, I've got to push toys out of my chair, and watch the same goddamn reality shows that my ol' lady 'simply has to watch' every... fucking... night.
She sits in her chair every night of the week, glued to the tube, dreaming about becoming one of those uber famous, obscenely-rich, media whores. And I sit here, bored out of my mind, acutely aware that my buddies are a few miles away enjoying the things I used to look forward to after working all day.
Daddy's home
I sit in my old recliner, which smells like ass by the way, and my wife brings me a plate of god-knows-what and returns to the kitchen without a word. While I'm eating, the kids gather in the living room, plopping down in front of the T.V to go through boxes and boxes of games without a care in the world.
My foot is throbbing because I can't afford a decent pair of work boots, and now my kids have started an argument over a seventy-five dollar game. My wife, beauty that she once was, comes back into the room like an old women in distress, attempting to stop their arguing before I get pissed off enough to get involved.
Bobbing in and out of the waves of my own indecision, all I can think about is how the fuck can I get out of here without being an ass to my wife and a bad father to my kids. I'm about to explode... and it's not even their fault.
I do feel for her, she's had to deal with this shit all day, but then again, she was the one who didn't want to wait to start a family. Personally, I could have waited until the urge passed and been just fine. Don't get me wrong, I love my babies, but I love lots of other things, too.
"Babe, just let 'em fight it out in their bedroom, sit down and relax, watch your show. Mind if I take a ride?"
"Do what you need to do, I'm too tired to give a shit."
“Wish you could come too babe, back in a bit.”
I kiss my ol' lady and do my best not to rush out to the garage, surprised it was that fucking easy. There's been way too many nights when it wasn't.
Yes... freedom
One look at my bike reminds me to slow down. In my rush I forgot my leathers. I need to biker-up, look the part. I reach over and hit the start button, thrilling at the familiar sound of Milwaukee's best. For a brief moment, I hesitate, take a deep breath, then return to the house for my gear.
She immediately notices what I'm doing and her brows come together. Once pouty lips purse tight, but she doesn't blink and she doesn't say a word. It's too late for that and she knows it, objecting would only sound bitchy at this point. I wonder if I should just stay home to keep the peace?
Fuck it, just ride
Back in the garage, the big door opens slowly, prolonging my escape until it is clear enough to back the bike out. It takes a few awkward steps to get around my old Ford truck as I angle towards the end of the drive, but I'm all clear now, facing fresh air and freedom head- on.
At this point I throttle up two or three times, just to reinforce who I am and what I'm on. For a split second, I have the personal freedom of choosing where I want go, or which direction I want to head, and I realize this is all I ever really wanted, the freedom of being one with my Harley.
I gack it a couple of times, taking my sweet time, appreciating the multitude of possibilities beyond my driveway. It's what makes being a biker so cool, the freedom to be unpredictable and adventurous.
I can choose to head out and meet up with the guys, try someplace new, go see an old piece of ass, or I can twist the throttle and just keep going. At this moment, I have the power, the means, and the freedom. My thoughts churn wildly for that moment, and then once again, I allow my new life to get in my way and I make the decision to relegate myself to joining the boys at the local pub.
Isn't that all I wanted just a few minutes ago
Kicking it into low, I slide the clutch, give it some throttle and roll down the same street I came in on. Now I'm passing old Ms. Johnson's house, and I know how much she hates hearing my bike, so I gack it in rebellion and flip her off as the curtains close on the big plate glass window she's watching me out of. I'm certain she's dialing my ol' lady's number right now.
Twenty minutes later, sitting at the bar with my old riding buddies, I'm ordering a beer and a shot to give myself time to make up mind.
What am I missing lately
I've yet to decide just what kind of night this is going to be. As a toast is made between friends, jokes about me 'missing in action' for so long start flying, eventually, I make my way across the bar to offer tithes to a vintage neon Wurlitzer.
Absorbed in the melodic sounds coming from the machine, I press several familiar buttons before I feel a presence creeping up behind me. I glance back, and relax, sort of.
The bitch over my shoulder is hot, the kind of hot you imagine bending over your motorcycle in the moonlight. Unfortunately, I know that if I even so much as hint at making a move on this one, she'll be on the phone with my ol' lady before I can get my zipper down.
I gotta get outta here
Now I know. I know what I'm missing, and how I want this night to go down. For the moment, I settle for returning to the bar for a drink, and throw down several quarters for a quick game of pool with my friends.
I'll need to win a few bucks before I head out to the next watering hole. I'm going to have to do a bit of recon, find myself a special hide-a-way. Somewhere unfamiliar and off the beaten path.
If I'm getting the hell out of Dodge tonight, I have some plans to make, find a way to feel something different. It's so clear now. The only way I'm ever going to make this whole family thing work is to rejuvenate myself, remember who I really am.
I need to be me again, and maybe, just maybe, I'll get lucky and find myself a little something to look forward to every now and again.
Shoving my hand in my pocket, I smile to myself as I fondle the key to my new secret life.