public library that hid in rural Heath. I know Miss Maggie, the little old librarian who had been working there for the past thirty years wouldn’t mind me showing up a few hours before school was supposed to let out. I just had to figure out how to get a change of clothes. I couldn’t sit in an air conditioned room full of books smelling like I needed some sour cream and chives to go with my shirt, but going to the mall — which was in the opposite direction — wasn’t an option either.
I had only been walking for about a mile, and was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear it approach: The low rumble of a vehicle that didn’t sound like it belonged on a sidewalk, and yet was. I turned around and exclaimed, very loudly, “Oh dear bananas.”
There on the sidewalk was the gray-eyed stranger. He was on a matte, midnight-black motorcycle that looked too expensive for any average adult to own, much less a high school kid, and he wore a jacket that was just as dark. His eyes peered out at me, framed in the black window of a helmet. He looked like black flame.
With a tick of his head, he motioned for me to get on.
“Are you nuts?” I shouted, shocked and incredulous.
He again motioned for me to get on, his head jerking more determinedly.
I turned around and walked in the opposite direction, which was exactly where I did not want to go: back to school. I didn’t realize that he was right behind me again until I heard him rev the throttle. I turned and looked at him, furious that he hadn’t gotten the clue the first time. Once again, he motioned for me to get on.
“Why?” I asked. Who was I to him?
His response was another turn of the throttle.
I made an attempt to reverse my present course and head back in the direction of the library when he made that black monster beneath him growl like something I had never heard before—a shiver ran down my back, but was it out of fear or…anticipation?
“Fine!” I shouted at him, “But don’t you complain that your jacket stinks of beans and beef afterwards!” I climbed hesitantly onto the back of the bike, angry, confused. I looked down, my hands dangling clumsily at my sides. How do I hold on? The engine roared and the bike lurched forward — I realized as soon as my arms wrapped around him to keep from flying off that this was how it was done. An automatic response, I told myself. But the feeling of my arms around the waist of this person was too delicious to be automatic. It was…phenomenal. I could feel the warmth from beneath the jacket radiate outward towards my skin, causing it to prickle with goose bumps.
We were flying. That’s what it felt like. He was traveling so fast, I couldn’t make out anything recognizable. So many questions flew through my head, like the buildings and trees that whipped by, each one blending into the other.
Where were we going? What was his name? Where did he come from, and why did he follow me? Would there be any way for me to change out of my chili-infused clothing? So many questions I wanted to ask him, but over the roar of the bike and the padding of the helmet, I knew that he wouldn’t have been able to hear me, nor I his answers.
I simply rested by cheek on his back, knowing that there really wasn’t anything he could do to stop me and held on tighter, enjoying this rare and unusual moment for as long as it lasted. I accepted that whenever I returned down to earth, the harsh reality that was slowly becoming my life would swallow me up whole and all I’d be left with was this memory.
I didn’t want to move when we finally slowed down and came to a stop in a gravel filled parking lot that fronted what appeared to be a very large park. I hadn’t been here before, and surely there wasn’t much that I hadn’t seen in Heath, what with having someone like Graham Hasselbeck as your best friend —former best
I had only been walking for about a mile, and was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear it approach: The low rumble of a vehicle that didn’t sound like it belonged on a sidewalk, and yet was. I turned around and exclaimed, very loudly, “Oh dear bananas.”
There on the sidewalk was the gray-eyed stranger. He was on a matte, midnight-black motorcycle that looked too expensive for any average adult to own, much less a high school kid, and he wore a jacket that was just as dark. His eyes peered out at me, framed in the black window of a helmet. He looked like black flame.
With a tick of his head, he motioned for me to get on.
“Are you nuts?” I shouted, shocked and incredulous.
He again motioned for me to get on, his head jerking more determinedly.
I turned around and walked in the opposite direction, which was exactly where I did not want to go: back to school. I didn’t realize that he was right behind me again until I heard him rev the throttle. I turned and looked at him, furious that he hadn’t gotten the clue the first time. Once again, he motioned for me to get on.
“Why?” I asked. Who was I to him?
His response was another turn of the throttle.
I made an attempt to reverse my present course and head back in the direction of the library when he made that black monster beneath him growl like something I had never heard before—a shiver ran down my back, but was it out of fear or…anticipation?
“Fine!” I shouted at him, “But don’t you complain that your jacket stinks of beans and beef afterwards!” I climbed hesitantly onto the back of the bike, angry, confused. I looked down, my hands dangling clumsily at my sides. How do I hold on? The engine roared and the bike lurched forward — I realized as soon as my arms wrapped around him to keep from flying off that this was how it was done. An automatic response, I told myself. But the feeling of my arms around the waist of this person was too delicious to be automatic. It was…phenomenal. I could feel the warmth from beneath the jacket radiate outward towards my skin, causing it to prickle with goose bumps.
We were flying. That’s what it felt like. He was traveling so fast, I couldn’t make out anything recognizable. So many questions flew through my head, like the buildings and trees that whipped by, each one blending into the other.
Where were we going? What was his name? Where did he come from, and why did he follow me? Would there be any way for me to change out of my chili-infused clothing? So many questions I wanted to ask him, but over the roar of the bike and the padding of the helmet, I knew that he wouldn’t have been able to hear me, nor I his answers.
I simply rested by cheek on his back, knowing that there really wasn’t anything he could do to stop me and held on tighter, enjoying this rare and unusual moment for as long as it lasted. I accepted that whenever I returned down to earth, the harsh reality that was slowly becoming my life would swallow me up whole and all I’d be left with was this memory.
I didn’t want to move when we finally slowed down and came to a stop in a gravel filled parking lot that fronted what appeared to be a very large park. I hadn’t been here before, and surely there wasn’t much that I hadn’t seen in Heath, what with having someone like Graham Hasselbeck as your best friend —former best
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