It was an exceptionally hot July evening when she crashed into my life. I was working at the local Subway and had just stepped outside for my five-fifteen smoke break. The familiar roar of a Harley Davidson filled my ears.
I finished lighting my Marlboro Red and glanced in the direction of all the commotion. No sooner had I looked her way than I stood transfixed, riveted to the spot by the sight of unbounded perfection.
To say that she was easy on the eyes would be an understatement. I let my eyes drink her in from her black leather riding boots to her flame-red fingernails. In the land of milk and honey, she was my Venus. Her raven hair framed a peaches and cream complexion that drew me right in. If sex could be personified, it would be Deborah straddling all of that hot machinery, frozen in that moment in time.
She filled me with a desire I had never known before, and haven’t known since.
The biker woman dismounted her bike and strolled up the path until she stood before me. The Holy Ghost Himself wouldn’t have had enough room to stand between us.
She plucked a Red out of my pack and put it to her lips, waiting for me to light it. I eagerly obliged her, perhaps self-consciously, for I felt myself grow warm and flushed as I attempted to meet the flame with the tip of her cigarette.
“Let me help you, kitten,” she damn near purred at me as she held my trembling hand to steady it, and leaned into the flame.
She took a drag of the cigarette and exhaled a thin tail of smoke.
She said, “My name’s Deborah and you’re just what I need.”
I gulped and shifted; no woman had ever said that to me before.
She led me over to her massive machine, all polished chrome and promises, and climbed aboard.
I left with her that day, leaving work and my whole world to enter hers. Her world was one of danger, or excitement. She made every day an adventure–from early morning rides down the highway, to our late-night drinking sessions in roadhouses and bars. I saw most of the country while clinging to the back of Lady Destiny.
I could have spent the rest of my life locked into her loving embrace, gazing into her luscious silver eyes, intoxicating myself on her heated touch. But, alas, fate had other plans. Fate knew of my lady’s love for heroin long before I ever did.
I should have said something, spoken from my heart when I first saw the tracks, but I trusted Deborah to know what she was doing.
After all, I was young. Fifteen years younger than she, to be exact, and innocent. What did I know, at the time, about drugs? Hell, the only fast life I knew was at the mercy of my goddess–and she wasn’t complaining.
The months flew by, perfect love and perfect trust blending into a mosaic of shattered dreams, drugs, and endless deception. Akin to a Shakespearean romance, my one true love sprang from my only hate. I knew that it would only be a matter of time before the dam broke, and a wellspring of tears would overpower me.
That day came with a cool November rain.
It was close to sunset. It had been three full days since I had seen Deborah. The house on Marlene Drive was quiet—so quiet that, to me, it felt like a cage of madness.
I decided to recline on the porch with a cup of hot tea and my smokes, maybe catch the sky show of the setting sun. I hadn’t stopped to watch the sunset in months, but from the looks of the rain, I knew I’d have to wait another evening for that splendor of nature. Oh well, I loved the rain too.
Anyway, I’m not quite sure how long I sat out there on our porch, barely missing the rain, when she came riding up the street. I was so shocked by the way she looked, malnourished and ragged, that I nearly dropped my cigarette onto my bare feet.
Catching hold of myself, I ran out to meet her and throw my arms around her.
She winced as I hugged her, and immediately I knew something was wrong. That feeling enveloped me completely and held tight, like an over-protective mother with her only child.
Deborah jumped off her bike, letting it fall over onto the grass, and threw her arms around me in sad desperation. She was trembling, from fear or withdrawal I’ll never know, but I struggled to hold on to her and lead her to the porch.
She leaned back against the house. I could tell she was angry, as well as intimidated. That was very unusual for Deborah, who was always cool, calm, and collected. It was about then that I heard another motorcycle approaching.
Apparently, Deborah heard it too, for she bolted from the porch and attempted to retrieve her bike.
I remember shouting for her not to leave me again, telling her how lonely I had been for the past three days, and how I needed her in my life.
I remember hearing Kirby ride up and seeing the gleam of silver in her hand as she produced a brand-new outfit, fixed and ready.
That cloud of doom sailed over my head and smashed down on top of me as Deborah slammed the needle into her arm. I watched in horror as sheer ecstasy and pain flashed, simultaneously, over her face and she tumbled to the ground.
The world seemed to move in slow motion as I raced to her side. Time stood still while Kirby ran to call an ambulance.
I held my lady’s head on my lap and attempted to shield the rain from her face. Where was her pulse and why was my heart pounding loudly in my ears?
Most of the next several hours blended into a circus of sirens, flashing lights, teardrops, and rain. The details are still a bit fuzzy and faded to this day. But I will never forget the love that redefined me, that changed my entire perspective on reality and relationships.
Deborah may have loved H so much that it took her life, but I know she loved me more. I could see it in her eyes, feel it in her kiss, and hear it in her laughter. She was my heart, my soul, my entire life.
I will never be the same.