Stay Safe
I am in love with the wind that whips against my face, stinging the exposed skin of my fingertips. My red motorcycle glints in the frosted sunshine and I grin beneath my helmet. My dad always laughed when I told him I didn’t think I’d love anyone more than I love the wind, but when he died he left me his baby, his cherry red BSA Rocket 3 and told “Go get her.”
Now, every free weekend, I come up here, riding the curving mountain roads that drop down into steep shrouded cliffs. I come here to be alone with the wind because she makes me forget why I own this motorcycle. Why I’m alone every time I open the door to the house I used to share with my father.
The playlist skips to Paul Simon’s “Graceland” as I roll away from a battered stop sign halfway up the mountain. A few hundred yards from the stop, I pass another motorcycle, a BMW R75 like the ones I’ve seen in WWII movies. Above the edge of the sidecar, I catch a glimpse of something curiously furry and black. I’m almost past the rider when I see his arm extend toward the ground in a peace sign and I mimic the gesture: “Stay Safe. Two wheels on the ground.” My dad taught me the gesture and let me do it when we rode together. A secret signal between the two of us and the world.
**********************************************************************************************************
I was watching. Watching as the signal came a moment later than it should. Watching the glance at my sidecar. I smile under my helmet. Left arm pointed at the ground, right reaching for the black bundle beside me. The other rider’s form shifts with a gracefulness that makes my chest pound harder. The peace sign pointed at the ground is a ritual, but today there’s something more earnest behind it. I turn to watch the red machine streak away before I head farther up the mountain, mouth full of frozen air.
I watch for the red rocket every time I’m out now, a subconscious searching that always follows me. It's a thought that makes me feel the wind more than the shadows in my mind. I ride these roads over and over again, running my tires bald every two weeks. The ghosts of my past are always right behind me, pressing me forward. It’s all I know, this frantic race against the tangles of memories that threaten to wrap their tentacles around me. Threaten to hold me down, break me down. So I ride harder against the wind.
**********************************************************************************************************
I see the R75 and a glimpse of black fur more often after that. Passing at gas stations, startling me around a mountain bend, a roar on the road ahead. I think they call it the frequency illusion. At first, I only recognize his bike, but soon I know his form, the navy jacket and reflective gloves. Maybe I’m a better storyteller than I am a rider, because I start to imagine it’s fate. That we’re both trying to run into each other. Not that I know who he is. It’s just something I do to entertain myself when it’s just me and the wind.
Two months later, the mountain begins to thaw and crocuses bloom along the guardrail and I’ve come to expect him giving that signal: stay safe. When I reply, I mean it with all my heart. I apologize to the wind.
I breathe in the tender air of spring, letting my anxiety tumble over the craggy edge. And then he's there. I grin beneath my helmet, fingers pointing a peace sign at the ground. Stay Safe. I wish he knew how much I mean it. How much it means to me. He imitates me then lifts those two fingers to his forehead in a salute. I almost steer off the mountain. He recognizes me too.
Mindlessly, I head back down toward my dad's old favorite, a bar called Cat’s Cradle. Cat still works his bar with every angry bone in his body. I pull into the gravel parking lot choked with jacked-up pickups. I smile as I push the shiny wood door into a dimly lit room that smells of wet tobacco and stale beer.
“Hey Cat!” I slide onto a cracked vinyl stool.
“Good to see the old man’s kid.” His smile is missing one too many teeth.
“Good to be here!” I nod toward the tap.
“I forget you kids are old enough.” Glasses clink as Cat pulls one from the rack.
“How long do you think it’s been?”
He smiles and shakes his head, “Too long darlin’.”
I cringe. The crowd around the corner pool table gets louder and I glance over at the men who are as old as my dad would have been. The door dings and Cat glances over my shoulder, his eyes going cold at the sight of a navy jacket and a black ball of fur.
“Is that a cat?” Cat hurtles from behind the counter as fast as his leg brace will let him. “I said, is that a cat?” He’s close to the dark figure now, shoving a wrinkled finger in his face.
I watch the other man, waiting for his reaction. He holds up his hands as if calling for a truce. Reflective gloves glint in the lowlight. The stranger catches me watching. My eyes widen. It’s too late to look away as the recognition dawns.
“Yes, I thought-”
Cat cuts the R27 rider short, “You thought what huh? That you could bring in a cat to Cat’s? Huh?”
“Well, yes?”
“Out!” Cat points to the dark parking lot.
The other man doesn’t move. Cat puts a finger to the navy jacket and pushes him toward the door.
I watch the leather clad arm flex as if it's an automatic reaction, then form a fist, but it stays at his side. “I’m leaving.” He darts his eyes toward me.
“These new boys act like they can bring pets in here. Well the rules ain’t changed in forty-five years,” Cat finally thunks a glass of foaming beer in front of me.
“Thanks Cat. I’m gonna step outside a sec.”
He grumbles to himself as I hop off the seat and head to the door, heart racing.
He's there. Helmet on. His bike's chrome shining in a single flickering light. His legs hug the wide girth of the 4 stroke engine. He revs it once. He sees me. The parking lot goes silent. I raise a hand, and he beckons me over. The parking lot seems to stretch on forever.
“Hey,” he speaks quietly, voice low and gravelly.
“Hi,” I can’t hide my smile.
“It’s you.” He motions toward my Beeza parked next to his.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “It’s a cat?” I ask, nodding toward the black fur cuddled in the side car.
He laughs. “Yup. Meet Lucy.” He leans over the side and comes back up with a fluffy ball of snarls.
“Doesn’t seem too happy,” I dangle a finger and jerk it away from a clawed paw.
“She doesn’t like being woken up.”
I stare at her. “So you had the gall to think you could bring a cat into Cat’s Cradle?”
“Guess so,” he chuckles.
“I didn’t think anyone could be so stupid,” I successfully avoid Lucy’s fury and scratch behind her ears.
He smiles. “Oh I’d only be stupid if I left here without talking to you.”
I stop petting Lucy and she lashes out on my hand.
“Don’t stop petting her unless you want that to happen again.”
“Got it.”
His hand goes up to his helmet, carefully pulling it off. Finally I see him. Wishing-well eyes. Raspberry lips. Woodchip hair.
“You good?” He asks me.
“Huh?” I jerk back to consciousness. “Yeah.”
“Uh huh.” He stares at me until I drop my eyes to his black shin guards. “She likes you.”
I feel my fingers still combing the cat’s back. A gloved hand lifts my chin. I keep my eyes focused on the cat, afraid of what will happen if I meet his eyes.
“Look at me.” It’s not a question, but still, it’s gentle.
Slowly I lift my gaze. His eyes. Again. Blue like the first time I saw the ocean. Blue like a robin’s egg. Blue, blue, blue.
“I knew you were captivating the first moment I saw you.” His eyes almost glow.
I bite my lip. My breath quickens. His lips brush mine and I lean forward, chasing him as he shifts to place Lucy back in the sidecar. Then there is no air, just this man. I push him farther back against the bike and feel his smile on my lips.
"You want to do this here?" He holds me away from him and nods toward the door only a few hundred feet away.
"Yes, I've waited too long." I strain against his hold, but he’s even stronger than I expected.
"You don't even know my name."
"And?"
"I want to know you. I've waited too long." There’s a slight crinkle around his eyes.
"My name is Rosie Wilson." I stick out my hand.
He takes it, holding my gaze, "Landon Lawson."
"I like the alliteration."
He sucks his teeth then chuckles, "You're something else."
"Oh I know."
We grin stupidly at each other. Then the world is him again. But this time, the world has a name.
I pull away, catching his eyes and holding him there. He is beautiful. With a quick movement he picks me up off my feet and sets me on the motorcycle seat. I reach for him, wrapping my arms around his chest, lifting my face to his. He kisses me like it’s the last time we’ll see each other and I try not to think that it might be.
I take his chin in my hands and stare deep into those glistening eyes, imagining all that might happen.
He tips his chin, eyebrows raised in a question, “Do you want this?”
I nod.
He moves his hands to my shoulder, holding me as he holds my gaze. I watch him pull out the foil wrapper from a zippered pocket. I watch him. And with the pressure of him inside me, my head falls to his shoulder. His heart beats into my temple. We gasp in time, sucking mountain air deep into our lungs.
Tremors course through me and I hold him tighter. I can’t breathe. My vision narrows and darkens. It is only him and I drowning in silky dark pleasure together. He slows. I feel him shake beneath me. We collapse together. Arms tangled. Clamoring for air through the earthquake of pleasure. Blood pounds in my eardrums. His heartbeat thrums through my fingertips.
“Rosie.” He whispers and my name has never sounded so sweet and so defiled.
“Landon.” I look into his eyes and brush wisps of sweat-stuck hair across his temple.
“Will I ever see you again?” He takes my hand, kissing each fingertip.
“The mountains are a wild place.” I press my lips against his, gentle and slow. A promise. A wish. A hope that I will scream to the wind.
We button and buckle ourselves back up in comfortable silence. The pines rustle in the midnight breeze.
He finishes first, “I’ll keep an eye out for that red Beeza.”
“Can’t miss it,” I attempt a wink.
“Gotta give you some winking lessons,” he calls to me.
I rev my engine. “Hot shot,” I yell back.
He chuckles. I pull down my visor and point a peace sign at the ground, “Stay safe.”