Remember When // Wallows

Holly

My after-work-routine is disrupted by an extra stop at Blue Bloods tattoo parlor. I don't spend much time there even though it's run by my father's motorcycle club buddies. He does, however. When he's not on a long haul, Dad spends his free time loitering in the tattoo shop and talking shit with the other Bitter Reapers. The few times I was there with him were more than enough. I may be a Bitter Reapers daughter by default but that doesn't mean I'm adopting the lifestyle.

I'm not even sure what the lifestyle is. They don't do much anymore. When I was younger there would be get-togethers. I remember watching the men in their leather biker vests looking over each other's motorcycles, drinking beer and laughing. Their old ladies, including my mom before she got sick, would cook and gossip, smoke cigarettes or hang out. The kids would play ball or get each other wet with a hose. Jackson and I always ran off together to find mud or a lizard, anything other than the rowdy kids at the party.

I've heard stories of years ago when the entire club would travel as a pack, riding from city to city or town to town until someone would run them off. I never dealt with anything like that, thankfully. But I never got a good vibe around any of them.

I still don't.

A chime rings over the door as I enter. The first face I see is that of Butch. He's behind the front counter where he roosts most days from what I recall. In place of his usual stained t-shirt, he's wearing a light blue polo, not a stain to be found. His hair is styled, short on the sides and slicked back on top. I've never seen him looking this nice.

"Well, hello there, little lady. I was just talking to your ma' yesterday mornin'."

"Yes, she mentioned that." I reach into my purse for the envelope I brought. "She gave me these to bring to you." I hand him the envelope and watch his face light up.

"That was darn fast. Tell her thanks for me, will ya?" He doesn't wait to open the flap and pull out the stack of pictures. "Will you look at that." His voice turns quiet, reverent. He handles the pictures like glass as he looks from one to the next.

"I didn't get a chance," I say, not bothering to mention the one picture I did see. Those emotions are still raw. I start toward the door intending to leave when Butch stops me.

"In some ways it feels like he was here just yesterday, running around asking all the questions he used to ask. I think his favorite word was why. Wonder if that's still the case. Guess I'll be finding out any minute."

"Wh...what?"

"I should check the back room one more time, make sure everything's ready." Butch sets the pictures on the front counter and heads to the back of the shop.

My heart races as awareness peaks. He's coming here? Jackson is coming...here. Now.

I don't know why but I'm not ready to see him. Something about seeing him again for the first time in more than a decade feels huge. Monumental. We were little kids. Silly children who played in mud. Seeing him shouldn't be a big deal. It should be a welcome event, if all things were relatively normal.

But our friendship was not normal. As a five-year-old I knew it wasn't normal. He was everything to me. And when he left, I was devastated. I don't think I could handle it if he didn't remember me. Or if he didn't put the same weight on what he meant to me back then as I did. As I still do.

Without even mumbling goodbye I take two steps toward the door and am stopped once again as it opens. As the bell chimes announcing a newcomer. The newcomer. The one that's been highly anticipated.

I know before we ever exchange a single word that the man standing in the doorway is Jackson.

His dark hair still flops over his eyes, although now its styled and so damn sexy I can't take in a breath.

His dark eyes lock with mine. Is that recognition in this look or something else? I break eye contact to take in the rest of him. He's tall, taller than Butch for sure. And he's lean. Butch has put on a lot of weight over the years, but Jackson is all muscle. Biceps pushing against the sleeves of his button up shirt. Jeans fitted over his legs bursting with more muscles. His skin looks sun kissed and I wonder if he works outdoors.

I realize I've been speechless, so I begin struggling to find words.

"Um...hi. Are you looking for Butch?"

"I am. He's expecting me."

He takes a step closer to me, his eyes running the length of my body as I feel the heat of his perusal wash over me.

"Holly?"

Oh my god. He remembers.

"Yes." It comes out breathy. I can hardly say the word. But when I say his name there is no question in my voice. "Jackson."

He smiles. "You remember."

I nod but say nothing. I can't smile either. I can barely swallow.

Jackson is standing next to me, having moved closer without my noticing it. He rests his arm casually against the tall counter of the reception desk. Suddenly he glances down and reaches for the stack of pictures I brought to Butch.

"Oh dang. Is this us?" Jackson laughs, looking at the picture of the two of us covered in mud. "We were like mud gourmets. I think we made every mud concoction we could think of."

I nod, still unable to form words. Or to breathe properly.

He shuffles through the pictures one at a time, taking in the details of each before moving on to the next. He smiles. He laughs. He makes off-side comments about his memory of this or that. I hear every word he says but nothing registers. My head is pulsating with my heartrate. The blood rushing through my ears is all I can focus on.

Jackson is standing next to me. It feels like a dream.

I open my mouth to speak, not knowing what I'm about to say. Jackson speaks for me.

"It's really good to see you. I was wondering if you still lived around here."

"You were?" I'm hardly able to keep my jaw from dropping.

"Absolutely." Jackson has once again locked eyes with me. "Sixteen years is a long time."

"It is."

"Jackson, is that you?" Butch's appearance must startle both of us because we take simultaneous steps back from each other.

"Yeah." Jackson's entire demeanor changes as he acknowledges his dad. I find myself observing his reaction to seeing his dad for the first time in over a decade. His eyes narrow slightly. The warm, open smile he had for me is gone. A serious look replaces any joy he had only moments ago.

"I can't tell you how happy I am you came to visit. I know I told you I didn't have room. I really wish I did, but my place just isn't big enough for two. Grind has a back room you can use, though. Got it all ready for ya."

"Grind?"

"You remember Grind. My buddy, Grinder. Owns the shop here, and the entire building. He's the club president now. Well, what's left of the club. More of a weekend hobby nowadays."

"No," Jackson runs a hand through his hair. "I don't remember. Not much anyway." His gaze returns to me. A ghost of a smile graces his face, softening it from the looks he was giving his dad.

"Ah, well I'm sure it'll come back to ya." Suddenly Butch seems uncomfortable.

I wonder if my presence is making things more awkward between them. Reluctantly, I decide it's time for me to go. As shocked as I was to learn Jackson was not only returning but at the very moment I stopped by, I'm now intrigued. I want to know more about him. Just standing next to him, as odd as it was, has me feeling more peaceful than I have in years.

Sixteen years to be exact.

"Well, I better get home. Mom will need me to get her dinner and check up on her."

Jackson reaches out to my arm, holding it right above my elbow. Chills run across my skin at his touch.

"I'll see you again, won't I?" He looks into my eyes as he asks, and although it was a common question, he says it like a plea.

"Y-yes." My stuttered answer is all I can utter before giving Butch a smile and moving past Jackson to the door. As soon as I'm on the other side, I take the first deep breath I can since he walked in the shop.

Jackson, what have you done to me?

***

Jackson

I watch her go because I can't take my eyes off her. Holly. I can't believe she was standing right here in the tattoo parlor where my dad told me to meet him. Like a dream.

Like a fucking angel.

I almost took her in my arms. Almost held her close. Seeing her was more intense than the rush of memories I had at hearing her name. But she's here now, and I wish I could run after her.

I turn my attention back to my...father. Such a strange thing to say about an absolute stranger. This man is half of me, I am part of him. Yet I know nothing about him.

He's babbling on about the pictures I noticed, telling me a few details about the where and when's. I nod but I'm not really listening. I know I should be absorbing any detail he's willing to share but I can't help being more focused on finding similarities between us.

He's shorter than I am, by a lot. Heavier, too. He looks tired, even with the energy he's putting into telling me about the pictures, I sense the kind of exhaustion that only a tough life can bring. Mom has the same sense about her. I think I had it, too, before I moved out. Before I decided to make my own future rather than drown in her present.

"Maybe the two of us could fix up my old bike. I'd love to give it to ya."

This is the first thing my dad has said that's caught my attention.

"Your bike?"

"An old hog. Haven't ridden it in, well, a long time. Needs some work to get her purring but with Grinder's help we could get her going—or maybe Brax could lend a hand. He's got a new shop getting set up in his garage. Might be a better place to work."

"I don't ride motorcycles."

My dad's face falls a bit. "Oh. Sure. No worries. Someday I'll get that thing running again. Maybe." He turns away from me to pack up the photos. "It's early. We could get a bite. There's a nice place down the road, makes great lasagna."

I shrug. This is why I came, to get to know him. To find out what the hell happened. Maybe I should just ask, demand he give me answers. Maybe I could do it over dinner.

But something about the slump in his shoulders makes me think twice. He seems like he's trying to impress me. Like he's genuinely excited I came to see him. Not like a deadbeat who turned his back on his only kid when he was only six.

Not like anything my mom ever told me.

I'm not surprised. My mom isn't known for her honesty. Or her transparency. There's more hidden between them than I can even guess. From the look on my dad's face, he's so happy I'm here he might actually let me in on the truth.

I guess he's the best shot I've got.

"Sure. We can get some dinner together."

My dad's face lights up at my agreement. "Great. Let me just lock up. Grind will be here later. It's quiet now but the place gets cooking later at night. That's when all of the bad decisions are made, and impulsive tattoos are inked."

"Sounds sketchy."

"Got any ink, yourself?" Dad asks as he locks the door. He leads the way down the street as we talk.

"No. I spent my money on school. And now every cent goes either to bills or to savings. Nothing left for impulsively bad decisions."

"Oh, not all ink is bad, or impulsive. But I'm glad you're a responsible spender. Bodes well for your future. Much better than mine."

I look over at some of the tats peeking out from his sleeves and collar. He's got...an interesting array of designs. But something he said catches my attention at the last second.

"What do you mean? Are you an irresponsible spender?"

"Ah, no. That would take money. I don't have much of that. Went on disability a few years back so Grind let me run the front desk at the shop. No, not much disposable income for me once I send your mom her share."

Record scratch.

Tire screech.

Shattered glass.

"What share?"

"Her alimony. And before you turned 18, the child support. Of course, I kept sending that after knowing every little bit helps. I hope I was able to make some kind of dent in your schooling."

What.

The.

Fuck.

"Oh, right." My heart is racing. The fucking anger is consuming me. All this time? He was sending her money for food and bills...for me? All this time. And not once did she mention that. Not once did she let me know that my dad sent money to pay for college. I worked two jobs with a full load for four years in order to get my degree. I still have loans and only qualified for the bare minimum in scholarships because my grades in high school were shit for the same reason. I've had at least thirty hours a week on the clock since I turned 16. And before that I mowed lawns, walked dogs, had a fucking paper route. Anything I could to pitch in cause I knew my mom struggled.

And maybe what my dad sent us was a drop in the bucket but fuck. He sent it. And I had no idea. She told me he'd written us off. Dropped out of my life without a trace. I thought I was basically an orphan. No dad.

But I had one who sent what he could, more than he was legally obligated to send for the last few years.

I should pull out my phone and call my mom. Confront her. And I will. But right now, I want to finally get to know the man who gave me life. I have a feeling that everything I thought I knew is a lie and what I'm going to find out will be eye-opening.

"Here it is. Mama's." My dad waves a hand in front of the restaurant. "Little hole in the wall but the sauce is made fresh and they use real mozzarella."

"Perfect. Let's eat."

I had no idea what I was getting myself into coming back here. It's time I learned the truth.

And they meet again!! This one was on fire but even I was surprised by that ending. All I can say is poor Butch.

I know you're thinking that Jackson's mom is a mess, and this is true. But I will say that her mess has more to do with mindset and circumstances than actual crazy. Brax's mom, Maria, is still the queen of crazy and wins worst mom award hands down.

Btw, I'm currently on vacay with the family and haven't written a word in days. I'm starting to get jittery about it but I'm determined to build in some writing time.

Also, Wallows is a vibe...

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