I went to my garage and got on my motorbike. I pulled my helmet on and kicked it in to gear before speeding out in to the morning.
I rode to a place called Hard Riders. It was a special twenty four hour club with an open bar. You had to have a motorbike to get in to it was the only exception. I only knew one person who had one and this wasn't his kind of place.
I think everyone who knew me would say this wasn't my kind of place as well but nobody really knew me. The loud American rock music from the nineteen sixties to eighties played over the speakers and the place smelled like beer and cigarette smoke.
In my mind about half the people in here had criminal records, another quarter had committed a crime they weren't caught for and the other quarter were people like me. People who hid in the wrong crowd not to be found.
I walked up to the bar and saw the bartender and owner, a tall red headed american man who went by Rusty, looking over at me. He walked over in front of me and said "A friend of yours came in here last night."
"I only have one friend who rides and this isn't his kind of place," I told Rusty.
He laughed and said "If you ride a motorbike this is your place Suguru. You don't exactly seem the fitting kind of description here yourself."
I gave a nod and said "I hide here because most people think this isn't my kind of place. What did this supposed friend of mine look like?"
"He was the guitarist for that band of yours. He came in here, pounded down about seven shots of tequila, drank four beers, smoked a half a pack of cigarettes and then went to a back room with some tramp who walked in and said she knew him from somewhere. The whole time he was drinking he sad he would never love again," Rusty recalled.
"Shit. Is he still here," I asked?
Rusty shook his head and said "He left about two hours ago. Is there some band issues? I may be able to help."
"It's not like that," I said softly.
Rusty's dark green eyes lit up and he said, in a quiet voice, "I think it's a mutual love thing and I also think you pushed him away."
I let out a sigh and said "You've got it. I fucked myself over because of something that happened to me as a child."
He laughed softly and said "You're still a child. You may be a legal adult but a man is a boy until something happens to change him in to a man. If you have fears of something from your childhood you have to overcome them to be a man."
I glared up at him and said "Don't talk to me like you know me. You don't have an idea of what happened to me."
I stood up, left the bar and rode down the road not paying attention to my turns or directions I was going but being mindful of the traffic.
I ran out of gas and let out a sigh. I looked around and realized that I was in front of a Catholic church. I took off my helmet and walked inside.
I saw what I knew to be a confessional and walked inside, feeling that if I could tell anyone my story and have them talk to me about it to me I could be helped.
I sat down in the booth and heard the soft voice of an old man say "Hello my child. What brings you to confession on this day? What sin have you to confess before the lord?"
"Forgive me but I'm not catholic. I don't even believe in God. The truth is I was riding my motorbike in a daze and ran out of gas out front. I came in because I have something I need to tell someone but I'm not a man who can go just anywhere," I told the priest.
"God is great. He can help you through this pain. I am his ear and he will speak through my lips to you with the solution to your problems," The priest said.
I thought for a while before I said "It's something I've lived with since I was six years old. I was able to live with it until recently I did something bad to someone I love because of it."
"What happened to you in your younger years and what did you do as the result of it," The old man questioned?
"From the time I was six until my older cousin took custody of me at the age of sixteen my father raped me more times then I can count and every time he did it he would say the same thing. He would always tell me that was what love felt like and since then I've been afraid to love except for a few times and that always ended poorly," I told the priest.
"My child I can assure you that's not what love is at all. The things your father did to you were not acts of love. They were done simply out of lust. Did you reject a friend of yous when she confessed her love to you," he asked me?
"I'm in love with another man who confessed his love for me When he did I got scared and rejected him," I told the old man.
"The church says homosexuality is a sin but I believe that love is a gift from God to be shared with the most special soul to you regardless of what shell that soul is in," The priest told me in a reassuring voice.
"What do you think I should do," I asked of the unseen priest?
"Find this friend of yours and tell him the story you told me. If he really loves you he'll understand but be advised that he may take some time to calm himself from what happened and one more thing," The old man said.
"Yes," I asked him?
"There's a cafeteria down the hall. To get to it use the door next to your booth and go straight. There's a nun in the kitchen by the name of Sister Yume who keep a gas can in her truck for occasions like this. she'll know I sent you. She keeps it for just the occasion," he told me.
"Thank you," I said.
