Read Online Harley and Me by Bernadette Murphy - Free Book Online
Authors: Bernadette Murphy
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an Epsom salts bath for Jarrod. Why did I let him take the bike? Why did I say he could go to the Crest?
In the coming days Iâll talk with the insurance adjuster, with Tom, the head of service at the shop, and do some serious soul-searching. My son could have been killed. Or it could have been me on the bike. And though Iâm relieved Jarrod is okay, another fact hits home.
My Izzy is destroyed.
Tom was amazed Jarrod was even able to ride her home. Her frame is bent. The brace that holds the fork in place was torn loose in the accident, thereby tweaking the fork. I choke up on the phone when the insurance adjuster gives me the news.
Realizing Iâm a friend of the owners, the insurance adjuster scrambles to fix the problem. Eventually, he offers to have Izzy repaired if Iâll make up the difference between what the insurance policy will pay and the cost to fix her. Thatâs an extra $2,800 even when Rebecca and Tom agree to charge me only wholesale.
âI know you loved her,â Rebecca says, âbut youâll always be worrying if something from this accident has made her unsafe. Motorcycling is dangerous even when your equipment is in top-notch repair. You donât want to be harboring doubt on the road.â
Everybody is agreed: I should let my Izzy go to the recycling bin.
I know that if Jarrod had been hurt, I wouldnât be concerned in the least about the bike. But Jarrod is okay and I am an experiencing a loss that cuts to the core. I feel ridiculous. Iâm this upset over a motorcycle?
Iâm aware that I sound as if Iâm oblivious to the hazards. Why would anyone do this? Iâve just recounted two deaths and a serious accident involving my son, all of which occurred within in quick succession, each in close proximity to me.
Cheryl Strayed, the Pacific Crest Trail hiker, speaks of risk taking in general. âYou say, âIâm going to do this thing,â and then everyoneis telling you the horror stories: about the person who got hurt, who got murdered or whatever. Itâs far, far more dangerous to get in our cars to drive across town to pick up the kids from school. But people arenât going to tell you about every accident theyâve ever heard about every time you get in your car.â
I try to put her words into perspective, but I know that when Iâve driven across town to pick up kids from school, Iâve done so out of necessity. There is no necessity to put my life on the line on a motorcycle. There is no reason I need to replace Izzy.
Except that I do.
I walk into the shop for the first time since the accident and Quentin enfolds me in a hug. The guys there, they get it. I mourn Izzy beyond reason and explanation. This is the grief that tips the balance. I have lost my father and am not done lamenting his passing. I have just begun to see the depths of unhappiness I have sunk to in my increasingly desolate marriage. Grief accretes. With the demise of Izzy, I feel the preciousness of all that I have lost, a sharp thrust of absence and sorrow.
I gather myself up and return home in my car, reduced to four-wheel status for the foreseeable future. Izzy, with her solo seat, with her badass matte-black self, had given me something I desperately needed: myself. But now she is gone.
⢠    CHAPTER FOUR     â¢
THE BITCH IS BACK
To love someone fiercely, to believe in something with your whole heart, to celebrate a fleeting moment in time, to fully engage in a life that doesnât come with guaranteesâthese are risks that involve vulnerability and often pain.
âBRENÃ BROWN
I sit naked in the bathtub sniffling, makeup smudged around my eyes, when J opens the door. He looks at me quizzically. âWhatâs up?â
âI need you to sign us up for coupleâs counseling,â I rasp out, reaching for a soggy tissue to blow my nose. âI canât do this any
In the coming days Iâll talk with the insurance adjuster, with Tom, the head of service at the shop, and do some serious soul-searching. My son could have been killed. Or it could have been me on the bike. And though Iâm relieved Jarrod is okay, another fact hits home.
My Izzy is destroyed.
Tom was amazed Jarrod was even able to ride her home. Her frame is bent. The brace that holds the fork in place was torn loose in the accident, thereby tweaking the fork. I choke up on the phone when the insurance adjuster gives me the news.
Realizing Iâm a friend of the owners, the insurance adjuster scrambles to fix the problem. Eventually, he offers to have Izzy repaired if Iâll make up the difference between what the insurance policy will pay and the cost to fix her. Thatâs an extra $2,800 even when Rebecca and Tom agree to charge me only wholesale.
âI know you loved her,â Rebecca says, âbut youâll always be worrying if something from this accident has made her unsafe. Motorcycling is dangerous even when your equipment is in top-notch repair. You donât want to be harboring doubt on the road.â
Everybody is agreed: I should let my Izzy go to the recycling bin.
I know that if Jarrod had been hurt, I wouldnât be concerned in the least about the bike. But Jarrod is okay and I am an experiencing a loss that cuts to the core. I feel ridiculous. Iâm this upset over a motorcycle?
Iâm aware that I sound as if Iâm oblivious to the hazards. Why would anyone do this? Iâve just recounted two deaths and a serious accident involving my son, all of which occurred within in quick succession, each in close proximity to me.
Cheryl Strayed, the Pacific Crest Trail hiker, speaks of risk taking in general. âYou say, âIâm going to do this thing,â and then everyoneis telling you the horror stories: about the person who got hurt, who got murdered or whatever. Itâs far, far more dangerous to get in our cars to drive across town to pick up the kids from school. But people arenât going to tell you about every accident theyâve ever heard about every time you get in your car.â
I try to put her words into perspective, but I know that when Iâve driven across town to pick up kids from school, Iâve done so out of necessity. There is no necessity to put my life on the line on a motorcycle. There is no reason I need to replace Izzy.
Except that I do.
I walk into the shop for the first time since the accident and Quentin enfolds me in a hug. The guys there, they get it. I mourn Izzy beyond reason and explanation. This is the grief that tips the balance. I have lost my father and am not done lamenting his passing. I have just begun to see the depths of unhappiness I have sunk to in my increasingly desolate marriage. Grief accretes. With the demise of Izzy, I feel the preciousness of all that I have lost, a sharp thrust of absence and sorrow.
I gather myself up and return home in my car, reduced to four-wheel status for the foreseeable future. Izzy, with her solo seat, with her badass matte-black self, had given me something I desperately needed: myself. But now she is gone.
⢠    CHAPTER FOUR     â¢
THE BITCH IS BACK
To love someone fiercely, to believe in something with your whole heart, to celebrate a fleeting moment in time, to fully engage in a life that doesnât come with guaranteesâthese are risks that involve vulnerability and often pain.
âBRENÃ BROWN
I sit naked in the bathtub sniffling, makeup smudged around my eyes, when J opens the door. He looks at me quizzically. âWhatâs up?â
âI need you to sign us up for coupleâs counseling,â I rasp out, reaching for a soggy tissue to blow my nose. âI canât do this any
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