A New Ride Begins

Chapter Nine

I sit reading words penned by none other than Gemma Teller-Morrow until early morning. The journal (which is actually a long, drawn out letter to her deceased husband) was full, 200 pages of memories that I immediately get lost in. I read aloud to Ellie, the first sentence instantly capturing me:

"Jackson's all grown up now, John, struggling with his own inner demons as you once did..."

I flip through the book and notice that none of the entries hold dates. As I briefly scan its contents, I quickly realize that it is a letter written through a large expanse of time, years. I know that potentially this letter could hold all the answers I would ever need. The first entry ends with another stunning sentence, or paragraph really, words that I have to read twice before I can fully ingest them.

"I won't let him make your mistakes, John. I won't let him become swayed with idealized and unrealistic expectations on what SOA really is. It's not and will never be a glorified hippie commune, profiting on taxable and legal dealings. It's a claim for power where it matters, outside of the Law and inside of the real world. It's called anarchy for a reason. I won't let your ideas weaken him. I refuse to let him follow in your footsteps."

I look over toward Ellie, after reading the last paragraph for the third time, and notice she has fallen asleep beside me. She's curled up with her head resting on her linked arms. I notice the blanket on the back of the couch and pull it down, resting it over her sleeping form. I sigh to myself and continue to read, some entries standing out more than others.

I'd be lying if I said some of the information I'm learning isn't shocking to me. Gemma had clearly been someone who thrived on drama and chaos, but the hurt and the guilt she displayed through her writing were clear as well.

"They stole something from me, John. Even now, I can see the white masks mocking me, telling me that it would happen again if I didn't tell Clay to end the clubs dealings with the minorities. I know I can trust Wayne. I always have. And Tara...I just hope she keeps that pretty little mouth of hers shut and sealed. If Jax or Clay were to find out, there's no telling what kind of trouble they would get themselves into. That's what they wanted from me. They wanted me to run and cry to them, but I refuse to let them win. Even though they are. They're winning because when Clay tries to touch me, all I can remember is their bodies over mine..."

"He found your book, John. This is your fault. He wants to become a Nomad? This is ridiculous. Nothing I say is changing his mind. I have no choice. I'm going to tell them I was raped, and hopefully it has the result that I need..."

"A daughter, John? It really would've been nice to know before I walked in on our son with his tongue down his sister's throat. Perhaps we could've avoided the trip into the land of in breeders and Jerry Springer shows..."

"I wish Piney would just keep his trap shut. He's stirring up trouble and it's going to end up getting him killed. I tried to tell him that, but he doesn't hear me..."

"I know Clay killed him, John. I'm not stupid. I wish he would've listened to me. And now Tara has the letters. I'm trying to protect her, but she's not listening to me either. Let's just hope it doesn't end up with the same results..."

"Tara's trying to take away our boy, and now Wendy is trying to weasel her way back into our lives as well. Wendy is verifiably insane if she thinks I will let her junkie whore ass anywhere near my grandbaby. And I refuse to let Jax go..."

"Clay beat me. Badly. It's clear to me now that he has to die, but not only for this. He will die by the hand of the son. So, I told Jackson everything, all of it. Clay won't be able to hide behind his lies any longer..."

"He's staying, John. Staying and taking his place where he belongs, at the head of the table..."

"Clay's dead, and I hurt inside more than I thought I would..."

"Tara's saying I killed her baby, John. I may be a killer, but I would never hurt my family. Surely, Jax knows that. Seems that Nero is the only one on my side, the only one who believes in me. Who would've thought that I'd find true love in what was supposed to be a one night stand?"

"She's going to ruin everything. More so then she has already. She's going to talk, John. She's going to rat and take everything away from us that we had worked so hard to accomplish. She's going to take away Jacksons children, our grandchildren. I have to stop her..."

"I didn't know, John. I didn't know what she was planning, and now it's too late. I fucked up royally this time. I did something I will always regret, never be able to take back. I killed my grandchildren's mother, and the guilt of it is over taking me. What am I supposed to do now? Juice took care of Roosevelt, which bought me some time. I have to fix this, I have to cover my tracks. He would never forgive me for this..."

"I said it was the Chinese. They believe me..."

"What have I done? All of this, all of this death, because of me and my lies. Anything that happens to me after this, I deserve it..."

And then the last entry, written as a letter not to John, but to my brother and myself.

"Abel and Thomas, I have no way of knowing whether or not you will ever get this letter. I'm sure by now I am long gone, of no fault but my own. My bags are packed and I'm scribbling this note quickly, so I hope it's not too messy for you to read. But I have to hurry. You're father knows what I have done, and now I know what he has to do.

If you have learned anything through reading this unending letter to your Grandfather, I hope you've learned that every bad thing that has happened in your young lives, is my fault. My greed, my selfishness and my need to be in the center of everyone's lives is what has led us to this point. I've made so many mistakes, never fully thinking an action through before I acted on it. I've ruined lives, yours included, and for that I will forever be sorry.

Your mother was a good woman. She loved you both with all that she was, and everything she did was to create a better life for the two of you. She was kind hearted, and she never deserved the death that I had bestowed upon her in my rage.

Your father tried his best to create the lives for you that he believed you deserved. I can only hope that he is still with you, but if that's not the case, then know that he loved you both more than anything. The mistakes he made, the lives he has taken, I also hold on my own shoulders. I raised him to be an outlaw, with the hope that he could be feared and respected, all the while being a good man. And he was a good man, boys. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. He was just always a better outlaw.

I loved you. I cherished you. I hope you've had a life far away from Charming, somewhere that death wasn't expected and sadness wasn't greeted as you would greet an old friend.

Love,

Grandma.

The sun's beginning to peak through the drapes on the windows. I've just read the letter for the twentieth time. I reach up, batting away the stubborn tears that forced themselves from my eyes and down my cheeks. I have the story now, or at least the gist of it.

I'm sure there's plenty that I still didn't know, but there were three things I knew for certain. My Grandmother killed my mother. My father killed my Grandmother. And Charming, California is a toxic place to be. These are the facts.

And while I know this last fact to be true, the reality that Charming is something that my parents never wanted for me, why does it feel like it is what I want for me? The moment my bike crossed over the border and into Charming, California, I had the unrelenting feeling that I was finally home. What does that mean exactly? And what other truths about my family's past have I yet to learn?

I look down at Ellie. She's now sprawled out on the couch, having fallen to her side through the early morning and settling her feet in my lap. My eyes are burning and my head is spinning, mulling over everything that I have learned about my family in the last twenty-four hours.

Before I know it, I'm falling into a restless sleep, dreaming of BBQ forks and leather, and a borderline sociopathic grandmother at the center of it all.