Uphill

I've decided to keep "doing it wrong" and continue yesterday's writing post in the direction I was heading instead of course-correcting to fit the (perceived) spirit of the assignment.

Part 1 here

Stripped, part 2

Tuesday, March 16
I got called into Bruce's office today after lunch. He said I've been distracted and not working very hard. Since I spent the hour before lunch working out transit schedules, I think he's right. Ralph's plight is getting to me. I'm determined to help him escape. Bought what I hope will be the keys to his escape after work.


Thursday, March 17
Apparently I'm not the only one trying to jailbreak the bike. Yesterday I took a wrench and a late bus down to Ralph's parking sign and the grips were peeled off the handlebars. I felt like a thief in my black sweater and stocking cap as I unbolted the seat and hefted it onto the last bus home. I guess I am one.

Is it solace to know I'm not the only one? Today I saw that someone made off with Ralph's battery and a bunch of wiring. His liver and nervous system, maybe? I don't know where this fits in the extended metaphor of this machine being slowly dismembered on the streets of the city.

The seat is currently propped up on the stumpy log that acts as an end table by my reading chair. I dubbed it the dreaming perch.


Friday, March 18
Weekends be damned, it's late and the excitement has worn me out.

When I took the long way to work today, I was shocked to find Ralph's back wheel missing. Bare metal of the chassis was scraping bright lines in the concrete. It was a struggle to concentrate at work, both before and after I confided in Toby. I don't know him well, but he's the only person in our department with a car, and he was willing to help.

Dinner was long and awkward. The movie was long, too, but distracting and therefore less awkward. After the movie he suggested coffee, but it was late enough to hurry to Ralph's curbside.

Despite owning his own car, Toby isn't great with mechanical things, so I did the prying and unbolting, but he was helpful with lugging the bike's front end into his back seat, then up the stairs to my apartment.

Handlebars, seat, front wheel, old stump. The corner of my studio looks like a bad art installation. Someone give me some looping video and I'll show at the MoMA.


Saturday AM, March 19

I woke up too early and talked to Ralph while the sun struggled to break through the clouds.

Ralph sounds haunted, all front half and top half. I don't ask him about What Happened, but when I ask him about Before, his answers are incomplete. He can tell me about the taste of the soil and the color of the light and the pulse of speeding through the woods, but names, dates, and people are gone from his memory.

Going to try to arrange him a bit more respectfully.


Saturday PM, March 19

Ralph has another name: Josie.

I took my camera and went to see the parts of the bike still locked to the sign. While I was there, taking detailed and mournful pictures of the chained convolution of metal, a man sitting on a nearby stoop asked me what I was doing. I told him about seeing the bike--and its gradual disassembly--on my commute, but didn't mention my part in the proceedings.

Turns out the bike had belonged to this guy's kid brother until that kid brother fell off, broke his collarbone, and asked his older brother to get rid of the bike. This family's version of shooting the dog that turned on its masters, I suppose. Except I don't remember those stories ending with the gun being thrown in the river, which Henry did with the keys after locking the bike up outside his building. He was angry about an insurance snafu or something. I wasn't paying attention then.

Henry (the older brother) tried to sell on craigslist to help pay his brother's medical bills, but selling locked up motorbike without the keys to the lock or the bike is a little too hinky, even for craigslist. And then parts started going missing.

After Henry got his depressing story all over me, I repaid the favor by getting my poetic story all over him, about the caged bird, the mouse missing its tail, and so on. After it seemed like he'd stopped paying attention, I slipped in an admission that I'd taken bits, then offered to buy the remaining bike.

He took a long time to answer, but soon we were knocking on doors looking for bolt cutters, then once a super loaned us an old set, we took turns jumping on the handles till the chain broke. I called Toby and promised him beer if he'd come pick me and the chassis.

While we waited Henry and I walked to the market to buy beer. He told me about his brother and road trips they took to go snowboarding. I think the tale of why the bike was named Josie was in there, but I can't remember.

Once the rest of Ralph was loaded in Toby's car, there wasn't enough room for both Henry and me, so we shook hands and wished each other luck.

A neighbor had to help Toby and me bring the chassis up. Now my studio looks... cluttered. And crowded since they both stayed for beer. My fault for asking.



Sunday, March 20
Henry came by after lunch. I asked how he found me. Turns out that even though it was an old address on the check I gave him, the new tenant there had my current address. And a large envelope of mail for me, including birthday cards.

Besides bringing mail and takeout, Henry brought a back pack filled at a hardware store. Except it was filled a long time ago at several hardware stores. All the tools were well used in contrast to the shiny wrench on my window sill.

He told me he came to say thank you, and urged me to relax while he worked. I got out a book that's been on my night stand a while, but spent most of the time watching. We only spoke a couple times, functional things, while Henry built the bike stand for Ralph.

Pipes and bolts and glue and tape were involved, but I couldn't explain how it was done, only that the seat, body, handlebars and front wheel are all back together now, standing on a platform in the middle of my room.

"Give it a try," Henry told me. I climbed gingerly on, and quickly off when it wobbled a little. Henry fiddled more, then helped me on again. This time Ralph held steady. I made motorcycle noises and imagined trees around me, instead of a painted box.

Henry took a ride, then I took one more, and we talked about fantastic places and imaginary trails until the food was gone.

I have my feet on Ralph's bare handlebars now, sitting on his back and leaning against the wall as I write. He's telling me about the fantastic travels we're going to have together. I may have to put a blanket over him tonight so I can sleep.

I feel like I'm in a Calvin and Hobbes strip turned inside out.

Another 1100 words on a 700 word prompt? Yes please....

Yay for accomplished. Now I need to start cooking, husband will be home early. :)