Page 1 of Big Easy
1
BIG EASY
Stepping outside, I pull in a deep, cleansing breath and stretch my muscles. Like every morning, before sunrise, I cross the street toward the path along the river. My feet hit the pavement, and it doesn't take long before I find my stride, keeping a steady rhythm with the music playing in my ears.
I value my time alone. Running clears my head—gives me clarity. It's also been a critical factor in helping maintain my sobriety.
We all have our wild days. Mine just got out of hand. I started getting my first taste of party life when I hit my senior year of high school. Girls wanted me, and drugs became the norm at all the parties I attended. I was high on life, literally. You name it, I tried it. There wasn't a substance around I wouldn't get wasted on. It's also the year my life began to spiral out of control.
One night, while wasted on pills and booze, I took a joy ride with my best friend. I was so far gone I didn't realize how wasted Connor was until it was too late. I don't remember anything about that night past the point of climbing into the passenger seat and Connor laughing at something I had said. I guess I should be thankful my last memory of him was his laughter, butI'm not. The next time I had any recollection of the world around me was when I woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by the sounds of a machine breathing for me.
Nothing could have prepared me for the news that my best friend was dead. Our poor judgment that night cost Connor his life, and damn near took mine. For the longest time, I felt like it should have been his life spared that night instead of mine. Almost two weeks passed before I woke up from the coma and my dad delivered the news. I had also missed his funeral.
My parents were shocked to learn of the substances in my system the night of the accident. Instead of the harsh words I knew I deserved for my actions, my mom showered me with love and kindness the way she always has. My dad, on the other hand, had his say. Although he was grateful my life was spared, he didn't sugarcoat or mince his words. I was going to clean up my act because there was no way in hell, he was going to watch his only son fuck his life up.
The problem was, I didn't listen.
Once I was out of the hospital, I started using again, doing everything I could to drown the pain. Guilt was eating me up inside. I didn't feel worthy of the second chance I’d been given.
I was digging my own grave, and it landed me in the hospital again when I nearly overdosed on pills.
My dad couldn't take it anymore. My mom was a sobbing wreck. Together, they arranged everything while I was recovering for the second time. My dad spared no expense. He reserved a spot at a rehab facility located in the hills of California.
While I was on the mend, it gave me time to think about life and what path I wanted to travel. The closer the time came to leave the hospital, the clearer my decision became.
Once I was cleared medically, I sat my parents down and told them what I didn't need was California's upscale rehab center.Instead, I asked them to send me to Baton Rouge. I didn't need a fancy facility or the comforts their money could afford. I needed to be surrounded by hard-ass bikers and hard work.
That's just what my uncle and his men gave me.
Uncle Wyatt, or as his brothers called him, Boss, was President and founder of Hades Outlaw MC. My uncle was the black sheep of the family. He didn't give two shits about society’s standards or the law, but he was a good man in his own ways. You only needed to get past his iron exterior to notice.
Uncle Wyatt was my dad's older brother, and no matter the wrongs he did in his life, my dad never turned his back on him. There weren't many people in my uncle's life whom he cherished, but my dad and I were some of the lucky few.
Many of my summers were spent in Baton Rouge. I hung out a few weeks out of a year with my uncle, spending most of my days running around the clubhouse.
I learned a lot by hanging around a bunch of loud-mouthed bikers. Seen a lot too. The first pair of tits I saw belonged to my uncle's favorite club girl, Sunny. I was eight years old and stood there like a kid in the candy store, staring at her. I learned how to shoot hanging with my uncle and his men also. With every summer I spent in Baton Rouge, the more I felt drawn to the MC lifestyle.
Life at home wasn't bad, just different. I didn't want for anything. My family had all the things most people want to achieve in life—a big house, fancy cars, designer clothes. My parents had built a successful life for themselves, and I profited from it. Yet, no matter how busy life became, my parents always had time for me. I never lacked love or affection.
But, in the end, I knew having too much of a good thing was what got me on the wrong path. I had money—money I didn't sweat over—and I wasted every penny of it on pills and booze foralmost two years of my life. I lost my best friend along the way, and with him being gone, I started to lose myself.
My parents helped change the course of my life. Coming to Baton Rouge at what I felt was the lowest point in my life was the best decision I ever made.
My uncle dished out the tough love I needed. He and his brothers gave me the structure and bond I was looking for. With the physical labor demanded from me, I also learned to strengthen my mind and my urges to partake in other aspects of club life that were going on around me. My uncle wasn't about to shelter me from temptation. His ways were unconventional. He basically told me to man the fuck up. I could either resist the drugs and alcohol or give in to it. At the end of the day, it was my demon to slay, and he wasn't going to change his life or hold my hand in the process.
His method, though some may say was cruel or dangerous to my well-being, worked. The choice to stay clean was mine and mine alone. Each time I turned away from temptation, I felt stronger.
Breaker, one of the club members, is the one who started me on a workout regimen. He has his demons to battle and one way he does that is through sweat and exercise. The man is built like a brick house, so I started training with him, going on early morning runs and lifting weights.
Then there is Otis Fischer. The man who sparked my passion for tattooing. Otis was my uncle's go-to guy for ink. The old man was a fucking genius. Classic American was what he was known for, but the man could tattoo anything.
After almost a year of living in Baton Rouge, I chose to stay and become his apprentice. In the months that followed, I also started prospecting for Hades Outlaw MC.
Everything I wanted was right here in the capital city of Louisiana, and my parents supported my choices along the way.
I miss my hometown of New Orleans, but my life is here now, with Hades Outlaw MC.
I'm far from perfect. I've done plenty of bad things in my life, and on my final judgment day, I'll have to answer for them all, but I can say this: there isn't much in my life I would change. I miss Connor, and not a day goes by that I don't think about him. But, for now, I'm focused on my club and my career.
