The first time I met Donna was late November 1998 at the Evergreen Ballroom. This was before it went hip-hop. It was still straight up live rock and roll.
As usual, Jerry and I were looking for something to do on a Friday or Saturday night. About once or twice a month, or once every couple of months, we would go to “The Green.” While neither of us ever got lucky, it was always interesting. There would be a birthday or anniversary group or something that made the night fun. Sometimes the lesbians would be out, sometimes the bikers, or rockers or freaks.
This particular night Jerry looked like he usually did: tall, clean-cut, well dressed; a Marlboro looking kind of guy. And, as usual, I was in a black Harley T and my black leather jacket. As a general rule women pretty much ignored me when we went out cruising. I don’t know whether that speaks to my relative degree of attractiveness, despite the cheap attempt on my part to upgrade my image with the harley look, or the types of yuppie places we always ended up. It didn’t matter. We always had each other’s back and he rides a rice burner.
As we went to the bar, a woman came up to us and invited us to her table. Cool, we thought to ourselves, this was new. As it turned out, she had wanted to meet Jerry and her pal had wanted to meet me. It later came out that they had seen us walking in and really liked what they saw…the first time something like that had ever included me. They had another gal in their group who turned out to be an old casual acquaintance of mine. It had been awhile so we didn’t recognize each other right off. We partied with them and at the end of the evening joined them in the parking lot. Jerry never cops to much along those lines but I believe he got a little something in his car. Donna and I went to her car for a little making out. The other gal was cool and maintained a polite detachment. At the time I was involved so I figured it was a one-night thing, but as luck would have it the other chick would kick me to the curb and make me an available guy.
I called my old friend and told her to call Jerry and me the next time they were out. About once a month for the next two or three months we partied with them. In as much as we were adults, Donna and I found ourselves very attracted to each other and things progressed rapidly with regards to the physical side. But then again, in as much as we were adults, we took our time to let other aspects of the relationship grow gradually. It did progress nicely; dating once a month, then twice a month. Regular assumed time together, quasi-exclusive.
Fortunately, my bike, or old shovelhead rat bastard as I sometimes call it, was running at the time. This was good as she had a deep love and appreciation for Harleys and Harley guys. I asked her once what would have happened if I rode a jap bike but she just changed the subject. I’m thinking not a lot.
As we got to know each other, she was hesitant to tell me some stuff. I, on the other hand, found the stuff that she was hesitant to tell me fascinating. It seems she had a long-term relationship with the Hells Angels. Her X-old man and the father of her children was an HA patch holder. She knew what it was to be a biker. She was a biker at heart. Not so much some of the rougher aspects, but the positive aspects of pride and brotherhood. She certainly never violated any trust or told me any secret shit but she did share biker lifestyle stuff. Stuff like not to call ‘em “bro’s” and leave the lids with the bike; who would mess with them anyway. I was never sure that applied to a nonpatch holder loner but no one ever messed with our stuff.
She showed me that we don’t hang around the fringe of the dance floor, but walk through the dancers to the front by the band. She also taught me about courage. After about six months we were probably getting to a point of going to the next level. Maybe even use the ‘L’ words like long term and love. She never pursued it and I never initiated it. Instead, one June afternoon her cousin (my old friend) called and asked if she had talked to me yet. I said no and my friend and Donna’s cousin told me what was up. I thanked her and pretty much wrote off the rest of the afternoon.
Donna called and I met her late that evening. We went for a walk around the block and she told me that she was sick, really sick, and wouldn’t be getting any better. She was fighting a rare kind of leukemia. She said the coming weekend her family was coming to pick her up and take her back east so she could fight it with the support network she needed.
That evening we went to the casino. Spent $40 to win $20, but we were winners. We came back to my place and danced in the living room to Jeff Healy’s “Angel Eyes” many times. The next night I cooked for her. We ate, drank, made love and I held her all night as she cried.
The next night we had a going away party for her. She looked like a lady, I looked like a biker; it was great. We danced almost every dance, up front-by the band. She gave me a garter that night. I gave her an old buck ring I had bought a few months back. A red and turquoise Indian looking thing. I took her home the next morning and her family was already there with a trailer. Later, she came by and asked me to give her a last ride on a Harley to Safeway. I asked if she wanted to take the long way through Rainier and Tenino, but she said the others were going to meet her there and there was no time. I’m not sure whether she was trying to spare me or herself, but that’s what we did-we said good-bye in the Safeway parking lot, just the way she wanted it and she drove away.
Before she left I told her I hoped she met some “bros” back east and had a lot more chances to be in the wind. She just told me they weren’t bros.
That was over a year ago. I haven’t heard from her since December. My hope is that she met some folks and has been so busy in the lifestyle that she hasn’t been able to write. My fear is that she lost the battle.
The only upside is that she is now a patch holder with all these brothers and sisters on the last page of Biker. She gave me some cool stuff before she left: an old “Scooter Juice” bottle, a couple of unopened Sturgis beers, and her wings. I was going to wear the wings, but it never seemed right.
Yesterday I framed the picture “In Memory of” from Biker- the one of the guy riding in front of a cliff.
In the shadow she’s still riding with me. Her wings are mounted on the picture. I’m not the guy in the picture, but by God she made me feel like I was.
So, a shot and a beer for lost brothers and sisters. I’m drinking to Donna.

By Spode

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