(Dedicated to the memory of Dino Murphone)
This Friday night, like hundreds before it consisted of the ritual bar hopping. The streets had dried out after a week of unrelenting rain. The bar was thick with smoke; civilians, want-a-be's and bikers looked much the same as any Valley bar somewhere west of home. Wearing his usual club night persona, Dino appraised the crowed as blues wailed in the background. Standing there a formidable figure, hot coffee filling one hand. Coffee had long ago replaced the booze. Stubbing out a smoke with the other. His booming voice and lightening quick wit, cracking wise at the expense of some poor fool that happened to be caught in his sights.
Yea you could say he stood out in a crowd. Maybe due to his ZZ Top like beard or maybe it was his long gray flecked hair that hung well past his granite shoulders, it’s hard to say. He was a big man and his appearance made him a fierce presence wrapped in denim and leather cautioning most to tread lightly. His steely eyes continued appraising the crowd in the smoky barroom.
Tough yea, he was tough ask anyone on the receiving end of his wrath, his fists or his gun. If they were still around to be asked. Few would ever know more about him than what they saw. They would never know or understand that he had lived his live on his own terms. Win or lose and he had done both. Most would never see past the image or the armor that he wore as proudly as his colors. There are some who got close enough to penetrate his thick outer shell. They would refer to him as a Teddy-bear, full of jokes, a man-child that loved to cook and wrote poetry for his own comfort.
Like always on cold nights, he wore his plaid flannel shirt over his club t-shirt under his leather jacket and his patch. He blew his hot breath onto his cold hand as he started his bike as the pack headed for the next stop. It was past midnight I was told, when a moment of madness, laced with liquor and rage, in the hands of a fool, violently and permanently changed the ebb and flow of life as we knew it forever….
Grown men held their breath as Pete held his hand. There wasn’t time for regrets or apologies, not even good-bye. Time moved as if in slow motion indelibly tattooed on the memories of those standing on the burnt stretch of asphalt known as Reseda Boulevard.
Seemingly without warning, the slowing Harleys were rammed from behind with such force. Sending one bike careening sideways across the blacktop. The other erupted into a fireball, rocketing threw the chilled night air. It’s engine crying out against the indignity. The shrill wail of twisting steel mixed with the pungent stench of burning gasoline. Smoke and panic filled the night. The two iron sleds lay silent, smoldering and lifeless.
That was the scene the rest of the pack rode up on, fear slapped cold and hard. Mortality up close and personal drives an icy chill into the hearts and souls of Brothers bound by trust. They all knew that it could have been any one of them, but it wasn’t…
It was Dino laying there, his life slipping away on the burnt asphalt. While his Brothers watched in stunned disbelief, as paramedics worked in vain. Dino lost his life that Friday night somewhere west of home.
It is said, “That the essence of life is in the living of it”. On February 25th, 2000. Dino was doing what he loved most.
By,
Six Shooter Sally
02/26/00
Friday, August 7, 2009
In Loving Memory
Raymond (Bubba) Leiser
January 25th, 1943 to September 27th, 2006
Ashes to ashes dust to dust.
Rolling down the last highway, blowing in the wind
Free now to whisper on each new breeze, always in the wind
There will never be a highway I ride, when you won’t cross my heart or mind.
I have tried writing this many times now, however today I know I must find the words to write you.
Where should I start Ray? How do I put into words thirty years of memories? What should I say? You weren’t perfect you didn’t live a grand life nor did you do grand deeds. You were however my very best friend. You were the person I could always confide in. You never judged me and were always there for me. You’ve stood up for me, fought for me and tried to protect me, sometimes from myself. So to me you lived a grand life and to me you did amazing deeds.
You were very much your own person. You called your own shot's right or wrong good or bad and you were both. You were stubborn to the bone. You made your share of mistakes and paid dearly for them. You told by far, the greatest stories ever. I could sit an listen to you weave those tales for hours. They always became greater with each telling and I will forever miss that.
It was difficult figuring out exactly what I should say today, you were no saint. So I wondered should I talk about that time, in that bar, with that guy that made you so mad. No, I guess not because that would only be funny to us. Maybe I should talk about how stiff you were in that all black blues club you were not a happy camper, but again that would only be funny to me. Because you weren’t laughing! Should I mention how you loved to sing Karaoke, yet you always made us force you to get up. You really sounded good; you loved singing that nineteen-fifty’s do-wop stuff. There were only a handful of us that knew you’re secret over the top love of Disco music. Your secret is out now; everyone knows you were a closet Donna Summer fan! Good thing you’re not here because you’d throttle me for telling.
Through the years you always checked in. There were times you made your life so hard, hurt your self and messed things up, it was hard to watch. Although being the man you were you never denied it and I was so proud of you when you finally faced your demons. I know how hard that was for you. After rehab you looked me in the eye and said “that is over forever” and you stayed true to your word. You were a better man, kinder, well most of the time, softer and stronger too. I admired your strength. I know too how hard it was the day you got out starting over with absolutely nothing.
You came a long way leaving that past behind. You smiled more laughed louder and more often. Explaining that you were comfortable now and life felt right. Riding your bike made you happy, it was then when you seemed most at peace. I was sorry when you stopped riding, I know you missed it. We sure missed you being with us.
I can’t count the miles we road together over the years. I know some of the guys never really understood when you introduced me as your best friend. I admired the fact that you never cared what anyone thought and neither did I. Fortunately, the people the closest to us understood friendships like ours are few and far between. I was so fortunate to have had you in my life.
I remember all the times you had to drop out of the pack because I had fallen asleep; I remember how that always cracked you up. I just trusted you and always felt safe, but you knew that! One of my favorite things was seeing the reaction of other bikers at a bar or at a party; some seemed so shocked watching you dance all the girls’ feet off. “Real biker’s dance” you’d bellow at the top of your lungs to no one in particular. Not caring in the least what anyone thought. I loved that about you too. You will remain forever my all time favorite dance partner. No you certainly didn’t fit into any traditional mold, always dancing to your own beat.
As I think back I remember how excited you were when you bought your mobile home in Chatsworth. You were so proud and all of us were so happy for you. Having a place all your own in those later years had become so important to you. I’m certain it was because of the years spent sleeping in your van or on everyone’s couch or renting a room that never worked out. You stood taller when the Realtor handed you that key! Man we had some good times at your place great laughs.
Remember when the skunk sprayed Missy in the middle of the night and I thought the house was on fire because the smell was so over powering? Then Cameron buried his face into Missy’s fur sniffing her. Wow, did he make a horrific face. I thought you were going to wet yourself you were laughing so hard. God that was funny!
The other day, I was standing on the wild side of the property. The wind was howling as it raced through the open spaces. It was the woeful sound of my heart breaking, the tears rained down, damn I miss you. You had been so many things in my life. From my beat friend to my surrogate Dad, it’s hard to let go of that. The dogs were running around as the sunset played out bright orange and red. I thought of all the sunsets we had seen. I thought about you and how much I miss you. That selfishly I was unprepared and unwilling to let you go. In fact as I sorted and packed up your treasures I found that I was actually mad at you. I feel guilty for those feelings, but damn it, you promised me a very long time ago, that you would bounce my grand kids on your knee and now I know that won’t happen.
If you were right you are with your Mom, Brother, Sister, Buddy and Dino. Just know my friend that you are truly missed. I will always tip my glass to you out of love and respect. You asked me to make sure you and Buddy would always be together I did as you asked. God, that dog loved you and I know how much you loved him. Today I am keeping the promises I made to you. I have ridden you here to this place on a Harley as you asked and here I will spread your ashes to the wind. Here is also where I will say I love you and good-bye dear friend.
Ashes to ashes dust to dust.
Rolling down the last highway blowing in the wind
Free now to whisper on each new breeze.
Forever in the wind!
With Love,
Six Shooter Sally
10/06
January 25th, 1943 to September 27th, 2006
Ashes to ashes dust to dust.
Rolling down the last highway, blowing in the wind
Free now to whisper on each new breeze, always in the wind
There will never be a highway I ride, when you won’t cross my heart or mind.
I have tried writing this many times now, however today I know I must find the words to write you.
Where should I start Ray? How do I put into words thirty years of memories? What should I say? You weren’t perfect you didn’t live a grand life nor did you do grand deeds. You were however my very best friend. You were the person I could always confide in. You never judged me and were always there for me. You’ve stood up for me, fought for me and tried to protect me, sometimes from myself. So to me you lived a grand life and to me you did amazing deeds.
You were very much your own person. You called your own shot's right or wrong good or bad and you were both. You were stubborn to the bone. You made your share of mistakes and paid dearly for them. You told by far, the greatest stories ever. I could sit an listen to you weave those tales for hours. They always became greater with each telling and I will forever miss that.
It was difficult figuring out exactly what I should say today, you were no saint. So I wondered should I talk about that time, in that bar, with that guy that made you so mad. No, I guess not because that would only be funny to us. Maybe I should talk about how stiff you were in that all black blues club you were not a happy camper, but again that would only be funny to me. Because you weren’t laughing! Should I mention how you loved to sing Karaoke, yet you always made us force you to get up. You really sounded good; you loved singing that nineteen-fifty’s do-wop stuff. There were only a handful of us that knew you’re secret over the top love of Disco music. Your secret is out now; everyone knows you were a closet Donna Summer fan! Good thing you’re not here because you’d throttle me for telling.
Through the years you always checked in. There were times you made your life so hard, hurt your self and messed things up, it was hard to watch. Although being the man you were you never denied it and I was so proud of you when you finally faced your demons. I know how hard that was for you. After rehab you looked me in the eye and said “that is over forever” and you stayed true to your word. You were a better man, kinder, well most of the time, softer and stronger too. I admired your strength. I know too how hard it was the day you got out starting over with absolutely nothing.
You came a long way leaving that past behind. You smiled more laughed louder and more often. Explaining that you were comfortable now and life felt right. Riding your bike made you happy, it was then when you seemed most at peace. I was sorry when you stopped riding, I know you missed it. We sure missed you being with us.
I can’t count the miles we road together over the years. I know some of the guys never really understood when you introduced me as your best friend. I admired the fact that you never cared what anyone thought and neither did I. Fortunately, the people the closest to us understood friendships like ours are few and far between. I was so fortunate to have had you in my life.
I remember all the times you had to drop out of the pack because I had fallen asleep; I remember how that always cracked you up. I just trusted you and always felt safe, but you knew that! One of my favorite things was seeing the reaction of other bikers at a bar or at a party; some seemed so shocked watching you dance all the girls’ feet off. “Real biker’s dance” you’d bellow at the top of your lungs to no one in particular. Not caring in the least what anyone thought. I loved that about you too. You will remain forever my all time favorite dance partner. No you certainly didn’t fit into any traditional mold, always dancing to your own beat.
As I think back I remember how excited you were when you bought your mobile home in Chatsworth. You were so proud and all of us were so happy for you. Having a place all your own in those later years had become so important to you. I’m certain it was because of the years spent sleeping in your van or on everyone’s couch or renting a room that never worked out. You stood taller when the Realtor handed you that key! Man we had some good times at your place great laughs.
Remember when the skunk sprayed Missy in the middle of the night and I thought the house was on fire because the smell was so over powering? Then Cameron buried his face into Missy’s fur sniffing her. Wow, did he make a horrific face. I thought you were going to wet yourself you were laughing so hard. God that was funny!
The other day, I was standing on the wild side of the property. The wind was howling as it raced through the open spaces. It was the woeful sound of my heart breaking, the tears rained down, damn I miss you. You had been so many things in my life. From my beat friend to my surrogate Dad, it’s hard to let go of that. The dogs were running around as the sunset played out bright orange and red. I thought of all the sunsets we had seen. I thought about you and how much I miss you. That selfishly I was unprepared and unwilling to let you go. In fact as I sorted and packed up your treasures I found that I was actually mad at you. I feel guilty for those feelings, but damn it, you promised me a very long time ago, that you would bounce my grand kids on your knee and now I know that won’t happen.
If you were right you are with your Mom, Brother, Sister, Buddy and Dino. Just know my friend that you are truly missed. I will always tip my glass to you out of love and respect. You asked me to make sure you and Buddy would always be together I did as you asked. God, that dog loved you and I know how much you loved him. Today I am keeping the promises I made to you. I have ridden you here to this place on a Harley as you asked and here I will spread your ashes to the wind. Here is also where I will say I love you and good-bye dear friend.
Ashes to ashes dust to dust.
Rolling down the last highway blowing in the wind
Free now to whisper on each new breeze.
Forever in the wind!
With Love,
Six Shooter Sally
10/06
In Memory of Terry Love
Terry Love
October 11th, 1943- August 1st, 2009
Broken and ravaged by this illness that has taken him from us, we are sad and he will be missed. In thinking about who Terry was like most of us he was different things to different people. He was a man who’d worn many hats, walked different paths as he became the man we knew and loved.
Proudly he served his country in Vietnam and it left its mark. He loved a woman so different from himself he all but destroyed what they had; not believing he deserved her.
He wasn’t proud of the failed marriage or failed friendships that vanished along the way. Like most of us he wasn’t perfect. Good or bad right or wrong friend or foe you knew exactly where you stood with him. He could be generous to a fault, no friend ever went thirsty; yet had a hair trigger temper that could ignite in an instant. And of course there was his softer side that he reserved for the special few.
There are two events that will forever stand out in my mind about Terry. The first was shortly after we first met at the little Mexican restaurant in Chatsworth. That evening we swapped stories and laughter for hours, becoming fast friends. Then a week or so later we met once again at the same little spot enjoying our share of margaritas and good food. Later we followed Terry and Jenny to one of their watering holes in Simi Valley. Our moods were festive we were all having a great time. That ended abruptly when a thirty something kick boxer disrespectfully put his hands on Jenny in plain view of Terry.
In disbelief I watched hardly believing that this less than svelte, out of shape, fifty-five year old could move that damn fast. I watched stunned as he lunged for the taller younger man crushing him onto the dirty barroom floor. With the heart of a lion protecting his pride and the precision of a boxer he landed a solid left and a very winning right. Wow I thought this guy’s a real badass. However that thought passed quickly as youth, raw strength and ego ended our evening at the emergency room filling Terry’s mouth with well deserved stitches. In that moment I was sold on the old bastard in my eyes he was the real deal.
The second event that I will long remember was the night we stayed in Ventura longer than planned. The temperature dropped and we would need to put on some layers. It’s odd to watch someone’s ritual knowing they had done this countless times over the years. From the cowboy boots to his well worn jeans there was a style to him. I watched him as he carefully tied the dark bandanna around his face. From deep inside his leather jacket he produced a scarf which he wrapped strategically around his neck tucking it neatly in a practiced motion.
The zipper of his leather jacket strained from the added girth. I couldn’t help but notice that his cutoff would no longer snap closed and was now held together by chains. Like I said he had a style. Finally he pulled on his ratty old gloves then straddled his bike, righting her before hitting the button bringing them both to life. It was in that almost intimate moment that I saw him differently. He was not just the patched outlaw that a passer by might see, in that moment I saw the essence of the man.
We roared out of Ventura that cold damp winter night blazing down the 101 freeway heading for home. That beautiful blue and chrome Softail lowered perfectly for Terry’s stature seemed to have melted into one perfect entity. As the chrome glistened and his engine roared beside me I could see the confidence, the steady control and the peace he found becoming one with the road. He'd look over now and then to check on me I’d nod my head and he’d do the same. He raced through the cold spots hitting ninety as I struggled to keep up. He was in his element this was his Shangri-la!
Terry was a regular guy with one true passion and that was riding his bike. It was the one place where the demons were silenced, the insecurity fell away and pain turned to joy with the push of the start button. Today I will nod my head to you one last time. I will keep the memories of our times spent together in my heart. Today I raise my glass to a Brother, Good-bye my friend, ride on, ride on! With love from Al & Donna
By, Six Shooter Sally
October 11th, 1943- August 1st, 2009
Broken and ravaged by this illness that has taken him from us, we are sad and he will be missed. In thinking about who Terry was like most of us he was different things to different people. He was a man who’d worn many hats, walked different paths as he became the man we knew and loved.
Proudly he served his country in Vietnam and it left its mark. He loved a woman so different from himself he all but destroyed what they had; not believing he deserved her.
He wasn’t proud of the failed marriage or failed friendships that vanished along the way. Like most of us he wasn’t perfect. Good or bad right or wrong friend or foe you knew exactly where you stood with him. He could be generous to a fault, no friend ever went thirsty; yet had a hair trigger temper that could ignite in an instant. And of course there was his softer side that he reserved for the special few.
There are two events that will forever stand out in my mind about Terry. The first was shortly after we first met at the little Mexican restaurant in Chatsworth. That evening we swapped stories and laughter for hours, becoming fast friends. Then a week or so later we met once again at the same little spot enjoying our share of margaritas and good food. Later we followed Terry and Jenny to one of their watering holes in Simi Valley. Our moods were festive we were all having a great time. That ended abruptly when a thirty something kick boxer disrespectfully put his hands on Jenny in plain view of Terry.
In disbelief I watched hardly believing that this less than svelte, out of shape, fifty-five year old could move that damn fast. I watched stunned as he lunged for the taller younger man crushing him onto the dirty barroom floor. With the heart of a lion protecting his pride and the precision of a boxer he landed a solid left and a very winning right. Wow I thought this guy’s a real badass. However that thought passed quickly as youth, raw strength and ego ended our evening at the emergency room filling Terry’s mouth with well deserved stitches. In that moment I was sold on the old bastard in my eyes he was the real deal.
The second event that I will long remember was the night we stayed in Ventura longer than planned. The temperature dropped and we would need to put on some layers. It’s odd to watch someone’s ritual knowing they had done this countless times over the years. From the cowboy boots to his well worn jeans there was a style to him. I watched him as he carefully tied the dark bandanna around his face. From deep inside his leather jacket he produced a scarf which he wrapped strategically around his neck tucking it neatly in a practiced motion.
The zipper of his leather jacket strained from the added girth. I couldn’t help but notice that his cutoff would no longer snap closed and was now held together by chains. Like I said he had a style. Finally he pulled on his ratty old gloves then straddled his bike, righting her before hitting the button bringing them both to life. It was in that almost intimate moment that I saw him differently. He was not just the patched outlaw that a passer by might see, in that moment I saw the essence of the man.
We roared out of Ventura that cold damp winter night blazing down the 101 freeway heading for home. That beautiful blue and chrome Softail lowered perfectly for Terry’s stature seemed to have melted into one perfect entity. As the chrome glistened and his engine roared beside me I could see the confidence, the steady control and the peace he found becoming one with the road. He'd look over now and then to check on me I’d nod my head and he’d do the same. He raced through the cold spots hitting ninety as I struggled to keep up. He was in his element this was his Shangri-la!
Terry was a regular guy with one true passion and that was riding his bike. It was the one place where the demons were silenced, the insecurity fell away and pain turned to joy with the push of the start button. Today I will nod my head to you one last time. I will keep the memories of our times spent together in my heart. Today I raise my glass to a Brother, Good-bye my friend, ride on, ride on! With love from Al & Donna
By, Six Shooter Sally
For Ruben with Love and Respect
For Ruben with Love and Respect
It was like any other rainy night in my bar, slow very slow.
I was glad to see Ruben when he walked in dripping water all over the carpet.
We’d met before, I'd figured him for just another scooter tramp down on his luck.
I had the feeling he’d bounced around a lot, trying hard not to look back.
He was an easy guy to like kinda quiet and proud, I liked that he always stood up straight.
I felt certain he’d seen better days, truer friends and more money in his pockets.
It was his eyes, there was a sparkle and a certainty to his words, yet all of it was draped with a painful edge. I poured him a coffee and asked if he’d like to play a game of pool. He nodded fishing quarters from his damp pockets.
I was curious now and since I wasn’t expecting a rush with the storm ragging outside. I wondered if there was a woman at the heart of this man. He let me break carefully watching where the balls came to rest. It was open, as he chalked his stick, walking the length of the table. “What?” he asked. Looking at me over his shot. “I was just wondering what your story was? I’ve known you a few years now and I’ve never heard you utter a single word about your life, I’m just curious. You don’t need to answer” I said feeling a bit self conscious. With that said he quickly sunk three balls with intense precision.
When he missed the fourth ball, he picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. With his back to me, as I searched for an easy shot. He said, “She was the one, the good and bad of her.
When I fell for her I never got up. I loved her more than I could ever love anyone. But we were young and wild, and after a while drugs ruled our world. The drugs became more important than the kids, the bills more import than anything. I knew it was time to go when I realized they were more important than her”.
He didn’t have to tell me I already knew. I could read it in his eyes, which clearly was a place that pain lived. It made a shiver crawl up my spine. It made me sad for him but I knew my pity was the last thing he wanted. Chalking his cue he said, “No lie ever equals the truth. I’ve done everything wrong and very little right. Now she and I are nothing more than bad company and bad news. So I packed my shit and ran. No good-bye, just gone”.
“Now it’s been five years. I’m sober two now. I tried drinking her memory to death but that didn’t happen. I tried beating her memory out of anyone that looked in my direction. I got beat up a lot, won some, the scares didn’t help my looks any” he said, laughing at his own joke. "Never was no movie star, so I gave that up too. Fighting wasn’t making me feel any better”.
He took a breath and lit another Marlboro drawing the smoke down deep. “Next I just went numb, didn’t talk much, didn’t have nothing worth saying. I stayed away from old friends and family cause I knew they’d ask questions or give advice that I’d never take. Doin what’s right was never my way or I wouldn’t be me; my family knows that all too well”.
It was his shot and after sinking two more balls he finally missed. He stroked the cue stick, then stood with his back to the wall again. Seemed like he was waiting for me to ask something but I didn’t. I missed my shot, no real surprise there, I wasn’t nearly the pool player that he was but he was patient. He told me I needed to concentrate, but I was more interested in hearing the rest of his story. As he chalked his stick walking the length of the green felt appraising the table, he quietly began talking again.
“Yea, numb beat the hell out of the drugged haze, or the tequila hangovers and it sure as hell was better than black eyes and swollen lips. It takes a while to shut it all out, the kids and her face. They kinda haunt you. Guilt cuts like a very dull knife. You beat the hell outta yourself with coulda, woulda, shoulda. I danced that one to death. Now I don't think about it, well not often anyway, I’m reconciled it’s just over plain and simple. My kids know where I am for the most part. But their not rushing to visit Daddy, can’t blame um, wouldn’t know what to say if they did show up. Sorry won’t cut it. I don’t have answers for um, it just was what it was. Cold but true, can’t lie to um. I lied to myself enough over the years. I won’t go there again. Fact is their Dad’s a loser. I couldn’t handle it but they already know that. So there would be no point in looking me up”.
He’d put three balls in and never missed a beat. He lined up on the eight ball. It slowly rolled into the side pocket with very little effort. “Good game” he said “You’ll get better if you practice enough”. I nodded knowing he was right; knowing also that I’d never spend the time. He finished his coffee then clamped the stick back into the rack. He asked “o.k. if I hang out with you a while"? I nodded refilling his cup. The coffee smelled especially good so I poured myself one sliding onto the stool next to his. I raised my cup as in a toast “to you Ruben may life be kinder and the road you travel be smooth”.
After that night Ruben stopped by most every night I worked. He’d show up right about last call. I’d pour him a coffee and he’d sit while I did my closing chores. Then he’d walk me to my truck and wait while I got her started. Then he’d fire up that custom silver bike of his and ride away.
Over the years Ruben slept on my couch a few times when he had no where else to go. He was always gone before my son and I got up. Never leaving a mess or wearing out his welcome. I loaned him twenty bucks once not ever really expecting to see it again. However, in Ruben fashion about a year later he tracked me down one Friday night bought me a drink and handed me a twenty. “I owe you” he said noting the surprised look on my face. “Your one of the few friends I’ve got, I needed to pay it back” was all he said.
Last time I saw him I picked him up for lunch. He was working at some bike shop in San Fernando. He looked good, happy actually; the sadness in his eyes seemed to have lessened. He was sporting a new tattoo on his, neck it was his girl’s name. A bit much in my opinion but he seemed happy about it and her; which made me very happy for them both. It was a good lunch, he talked a lot for him and with my usual interest I listened. His road had turned; he’d finally given himself the permission he so obviously deserved, to be happy again!
Sadly, it was just a few short years later when I heard via the rumor mill, that Ruben had passed away. I was sad to lose him, in an odd way that ole scooter tramp and I had made a real connection, although we were very different we had become friends. So now when I think of how happy he seemed the last time I saw him, it gives me a warm feeling. Happiness even for the shortest time is better than none at all. Ride on my friend, ride on.
Six Shooter Sally
05/2005
It was like any other rainy night in my bar, slow very slow.
I was glad to see Ruben when he walked in dripping water all over the carpet.
We’d met before, I'd figured him for just another scooter tramp down on his luck.
I had the feeling he’d bounced around a lot, trying hard not to look back.
He was an easy guy to like kinda quiet and proud, I liked that he always stood up straight.
I felt certain he’d seen better days, truer friends and more money in his pockets.
It was his eyes, there was a sparkle and a certainty to his words, yet all of it was draped with a painful edge. I poured him a coffee and asked if he’d like to play a game of pool. He nodded fishing quarters from his damp pockets.
I was curious now and since I wasn’t expecting a rush with the storm ragging outside. I wondered if there was a woman at the heart of this man. He let me break carefully watching where the balls came to rest. It was open, as he chalked his stick, walking the length of the table. “What?” he asked. Looking at me over his shot. “I was just wondering what your story was? I’ve known you a few years now and I’ve never heard you utter a single word about your life, I’m just curious. You don’t need to answer” I said feeling a bit self conscious. With that said he quickly sunk three balls with intense precision.
When he missed the fourth ball, he picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. With his back to me, as I searched for an easy shot. He said, “She was the one, the good and bad of her.
When I fell for her I never got up. I loved her more than I could ever love anyone. But we were young and wild, and after a while drugs ruled our world. The drugs became more important than the kids, the bills more import than anything. I knew it was time to go when I realized they were more important than her”.
He didn’t have to tell me I already knew. I could read it in his eyes, which clearly was a place that pain lived. It made a shiver crawl up my spine. It made me sad for him but I knew my pity was the last thing he wanted. Chalking his cue he said, “No lie ever equals the truth. I’ve done everything wrong and very little right. Now she and I are nothing more than bad company and bad news. So I packed my shit and ran. No good-bye, just gone”.
“Now it’s been five years. I’m sober two now. I tried drinking her memory to death but that didn’t happen. I tried beating her memory out of anyone that looked in my direction. I got beat up a lot, won some, the scares didn’t help my looks any” he said, laughing at his own joke. "Never was no movie star, so I gave that up too. Fighting wasn’t making me feel any better”.
He took a breath and lit another Marlboro drawing the smoke down deep. “Next I just went numb, didn’t talk much, didn’t have nothing worth saying. I stayed away from old friends and family cause I knew they’d ask questions or give advice that I’d never take. Doin what’s right was never my way or I wouldn’t be me; my family knows that all too well”.
It was his shot and after sinking two more balls he finally missed. He stroked the cue stick, then stood with his back to the wall again. Seemed like he was waiting for me to ask something but I didn’t. I missed my shot, no real surprise there, I wasn’t nearly the pool player that he was but he was patient. He told me I needed to concentrate, but I was more interested in hearing the rest of his story. As he chalked his stick walking the length of the green felt appraising the table, he quietly began talking again.
“Yea, numb beat the hell out of the drugged haze, or the tequila hangovers and it sure as hell was better than black eyes and swollen lips. It takes a while to shut it all out, the kids and her face. They kinda haunt you. Guilt cuts like a very dull knife. You beat the hell outta yourself with coulda, woulda, shoulda. I danced that one to death. Now I don't think about it, well not often anyway, I’m reconciled it’s just over plain and simple. My kids know where I am for the most part. But their not rushing to visit Daddy, can’t blame um, wouldn’t know what to say if they did show up. Sorry won’t cut it. I don’t have answers for um, it just was what it was. Cold but true, can’t lie to um. I lied to myself enough over the years. I won’t go there again. Fact is their Dad’s a loser. I couldn’t handle it but they already know that. So there would be no point in looking me up”.
He’d put three balls in and never missed a beat. He lined up on the eight ball. It slowly rolled into the side pocket with very little effort. “Good game” he said “You’ll get better if you practice enough”. I nodded knowing he was right; knowing also that I’d never spend the time. He finished his coffee then clamped the stick back into the rack. He asked “o.k. if I hang out with you a while"? I nodded refilling his cup. The coffee smelled especially good so I poured myself one sliding onto the stool next to his. I raised my cup as in a toast “to you Ruben may life be kinder and the road you travel be smooth”.
After that night Ruben stopped by most every night I worked. He’d show up right about last call. I’d pour him a coffee and he’d sit while I did my closing chores. Then he’d walk me to my truck and wait while I got her started. Then he’d fire up that custom silver bike of his and ride away.
Over the years Ruben slept on my couch a few times when he had no where else to go. He was always gone before my son and I got up. Never leaving a mess or wearing out his welcome. I loaned him twenty bucks once not ever really expecting to see it again. However, in Ruben fashion about a year later he tracked me down one Friday night bought me a drink and handed me a twenty. “I owe you” he said noting the surprised look on my face. “Your one of the few friends I’ve got, I needed to pay it back” was all he said.
Last time I saw him I picked him up for lunch. He was working at some bike shop in San Fernando. He looked good, happy actually; the sadness in his eyes seemed to have lessened. He was sporting a new tattoo on his, neck it was his girl’s name. A bit much in my opinion but he seemed happy about it and her; which made me very happy for them both. It was a good lunch, he talked a lot for him and with my usual interest I listened. His road had turned; he’d finally given himself the permission he so obviously deserved, to be happy again!
Sadly, it was just a few short years later when I heard via the rumor mill, that Ruben had passed away. I was sad to lose him, in an odd way that ole scooter tramp and I had made a real connection, although we were very different we had become friends. So now when I think of how happy he seemed the last time I saw him, it gives me a warm feeling. Happiness even for the shortest time is better than none at all. Ride on my friend, ride on.
Six Shooter Sally
05/2005
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