gone going

beach
Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

someone stole my bike (not shown). i walked out my front door and it was gone. before I panicked, i sat down and went over what i had done with it last (i thought my bike had been stolen before. but it turned out i had just drunkily forgotten where i left it). i ran through the previous night's events: my bike was supposed to be locked out front.

i found my boyfriend.

"pinky's gone," i announced.

his mouth dropeed open.

i nodded in confirmation. "pinky's gone."


i had that bike for ten years. pinky came with me to new york, helped me survive three car hits, one person hit (HE walked off the curb), and one 2002 world cup misfortune.

"i'm so sorry...", he said.

i felt ill thinking that pinky was sitting in some crack den, some meth hut. she deserves better than that. sure, her gears didn't change and the pedals didn't necessarily remain attached. perhaps she wasn't "road worthy" or “safe”. but if she was going to be taken off the road, i wanted to be the one to make that choice. not some methed-out crackhead.

crackhead.


the next day i was reading at my boyfriend's house. he came racing in, throwing towels and gatorades into his knapsack.

"my brother and the baby are at the pool. c'mon! let's go meet them."

i stared at him. he stared back.

"how am i going to get there? bike. stolen."

"ooh. right. sorry. forgot.” there was an awkward pause. “see ya!”

i skulked around for a week. i sighed a lot. i tried to buy some off of craigslist, but i was always one person too late.


my boyfriend interrupted me while working one day. he grabbed the pen out of my hand. he never does that.

"take a break for a second."

i shrugged due to lack of understanding.

"cover your eyes..."

"what is it? did you bring me another inchworm?"

"come with me. stand up."

it hit me. he found my bike. i excitedly broke free from his hands which were covering my eyes and ran down my hallway. i did find a bike in my kitchen, but it was not my bike. it was another bike.

"do you like it?" he asked.

i did not. i did not like nor love that bike. it had 3-gears and a basket. the seat was huge - with those big springs underneath. the handlebars were high. this bike was built for comfort. i would never ride this bike.

but his gesture was so nice. it was the nicest thing anyone had done for me in a long, long time. he was beaming at me. i did not know how i was going to handle this situation. i knew it would end somewhat diastersesque.

i looked at him and shook my head.

"what? i saw that bike and saw you on it. it's perfect!"

perfect… for my mom. i thought.

"sit on it. you'll see how comfortable it is."

i sat. "it's really cute...” i looked pleadingly. “but i'll never ride this bike."

"all right.” he motioned for me to dismount. “i have to return it right away to get my money back."

“i’m so sorry.” i was a heal.

he left with me crying out apologies after him. i apologized more than i ever apologized in my life. but he was mad. and i felt like such a shit.


there’s a new bike now – “mossy”. we found him, together, in a bike shop. before we bought it, he suggested i take it for a spin. it was fine, it worked. but i was still solemn as i pulled up to the bike shop. and he was still mad at me, two days later.

“what’s the matter? you don’t like it?” he asked.

a light went off. “yeah, it’s fine. the gears change and all. but maybe you should double check. i’m not sure if the brakes are so good…”

he hopped on an performed several man-like tests: some grabbing, twisting, some kicking of tires. his mood improved. and i got a new bike.


so much trouble for about $20 worth of crack.