The old barn was musty and dark. The smells of gasoline, oil, and hay mixed together in a strangely intoxicating perfume. The only light came from holes in the roof where weather and age had worn it thin. With only a beam of my Maglight guiding me I walked to the back of the old wooden building. The rear wall of the barn was covered in old license plates, my father's work bench stood against the far right wall and the concrete before it was stained with a multitude of automotive fluids and I'm sure some blood as well. An old unopened bottle of Jack glistened in a sunbeam, I looked at the label; 1995, almost 10 years old. I cracked the lid and pressed the bottle to my lips taking a long swig of the whiskey. I felt it warm my throat and stomach replacing the cap I put it back on the work bench.

I ran my hand along the back wall of the barn until I felt the hidden latch under my fingers; I was surprised I remembered where it was at. I pulled the lever and part of the wall gave way revealing a rear room in the old structure. It was still there…. My god, it was still right where I had parked it 13 years ago… I walked to the center of the room and ran my fingers over the old blue tarp. Years of dust fluttered into the air. I removed the shroud from its object like a child opening a gift, underneath stood my pride and joy: A 1975 Harley Ironhead Sportster. I wheeled the bike out to the work area and grabbed my father's old tool belt. I carefully pushed her out of the garage, into the sunshine and stood there mesmerized at how time had not seemed to touch her at all.

Parts were scattered everywhere in Uncle John's chaotic order style. Jax sat amid the pieces watching our dads work on the bikes. Once in a while they would ask us to hand them a part or a tool, Uncle John even let me turn a bolt or two.

"So, this one is hers?" Jax emphasized her in the sentence.

"Yes." Dad's answer was simple

"But girls don't ride."

Uncle John looked at his son and smiled laughing at his statement.

"She'll learn to ride just like you will… in this family you have to know how to handle a bike."

I had just turned 12 and dad and his brother promised me that the bike would be ready by my 16th birthday. They had already started teaching me the basics of riding, just like they taught Jax. It was already known that when we turned 16 the bikes would be ours and all the work we put into them would pay off. For now our little 50cc dirt bikes did the trick.

I opened my eyes shaking the memory from my head. It seemed like just yesterday we were sitting here with dad and John building our dream bikes. I looked at the beautiful machine in front of me. The chrome still sparkled. The paint glistened like new, the deep purple like a midnight sky. On the sides of gas tank two beautifully painted ravens soared wings spread. I hand painted them myself, and dad helped me put the clear coat on to protect them. It was beautiful.

I went to work cleaning her off. I washed every inch of the bike, rinsed and waxed the tank and tail. She looked brand new again, no one would have know that she was pieced together over four summers from left over's as members upgraded their own bikes. I tightened sprockets, cleaned the plugs, flushed the fluids, and put new in. I walked back into the old barn and pulled down the loft ladder. I climbed into the loft and was flooded with emotions… I remembered all the years of spying on our folks as they drank and worked in the shop. I climbed into the rafters, carefully removed an old cardboard box, took off the lid, and removed the newspaper. Inside the box was a leather jacket, my leather jacket. John had it made just for me… Piney had found it after he passed away and gave it to me. It looked just like the one he made for Jax except the patches. SOA Daughter adorned the right breast pocket and the Redwood Original patches sat above the left. On the back was the reaper, the anarchy symbol on its fist and scythe on his shoulder. The only difference was that on my reapers other shoulder sat a raven with gold eyes, no other jacket ever had her and no other jacket ever would. I also found my old helmet among the belongings and brushed off the dirt.

I went to the driveway and straddled the bike for the first time in 13 years, put the key in and started it up. The motor purred like a tiger released from its cage. It had been so long since I last rode that I almost forgot how, but after a shaky ride down the drive it all came back. I hit the clutch and the bike responded. I took off down the road, not entirely sure where I was going but somehow I felt free. I drove till my gut told me to stop I pulled up a long dirt road and dismounted. I walked to the edge of the ravine and sat letting my feet dangle over the edge. I closed my eyes letting the sun warm my skin and the wind take away all the worries. I lay back in the sweet grass and closed my eyes letting myself drift back in time once again.

Jax, Opie, and I stood side by side …our bikes parked on the old gravel road my father and two cops glaring at us. We knew we were in for it. This time we may have simply gone too far with our pranks… we were only trying to scare the stupid jock….we didn't actually think he was going to wreck his pretty little mustang into the ravine.

"What the hell were you two thinking?" My father spat at us, "that kid could have been killed."

"We didn't mean it dad," I tried to explain "He was…"

"I don't care what he was!" my dad roared "It was stupid, irresponsible behavior and I expect more than that from you!"

"Uncle Rick," Jax interrupted "It was my idea… Kelly was just going along with it, she tried to stop me."

"Why?" my father asked, "Why did you do it."

I gave my cousin a "don't you dare say a word look". And shuffled my feet, I knew that if dad really knew why Jax went after him, the jock would probably come up missing the next day. . .

"Because it was funny," I said voice full of contempt and attitude, "because he torments us all the damn time because we aren't like him, because we are part of this club…"

I saw my father's eyes flash with anger and regret.

"YOU are not part of this club Kelly! You are never going to be part of this club, and as far as I'm concerned your summer vacations here are done! Pack your shit; you're going back to grams in the morning."

He stomped away leaving Jax and I at the overlook. I glanced at my cousin and shook my head.

"You shouldn't have chased him Jax." I said

"What, and let him get away with what he did to you… I don't fucking think so, he better hope I don't find him again." He looked at me, "you should have stayed home like I told you too, Opie and I would have handled this."

"You sound like one of them Jax… "I responded, looking at the ground.

"That's because I am one of them Kell," he pointed to his patches, "and your dad is right, you don't belong here anymore… staying around here is poison and you are better than this."

I opened my eyes and wiped the tears off my cheeks staring into the midday sky.

"There you are." Jax voice came from behind me.

"How did you find me?"

"I went to the house; saw the barn open and your bike gone. Put two and two together."

He walked over and sat down. I felt his fingers run over the raven on the back of my jacket.

"We need you back at the club house Kell." He said quietly

"Why?" I looked at him and saw the tear marks on his face, "Jax, what's wrong?"

"It's Piney, Kell…" his voice trailed off

"Fuck." I felt my face get hot.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bottle of whisky from the shop. I took a sip and offered it to my cousin. He accepted it and took a drink. We got on our bikes and tore off down the old dirt road. I swear for a minute I heard the roar of a mustang motor behind us. We pulled into the club house and there were hundreds of bikes behind the gate. I walked into the club and felt everyone staring at me… well at my Jacket. I walked to Opie and put my arms around him, without saying a word.