A Bicycle Built For One

“Scoot up — I can barely fit!”

Raven turned around and addressed Harrold impatiently.

“Well, it’s only meant to seat one, you know. Do your best.”

“But my, uh, stuff needs more space,” he insisted, wincing as Raven bounced over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Gross,” Raven said, but she moved forward another inch, to the point where she almost couldn’t pedal properly.

Harrold heaved a sigh of relief, then yelped as she went over another bump.

“Geez, Ray, slow down!”

Raven didn’t acknowledge the exclamation except to pedal faster. She wasn’t in any particular hurry, but she’d show Harrold to complain about her bike-driving skills. If he felt so strongly about it, he would find the money for gas. Or beg a ride from one of the other med students heading to the hospital.

But she knew he wouldn’t — he liked her. She saw it in his blush, his fidgety eye contact, and in his nervous habit of biting his lip whenever he talked with her. (It was kind of cute, she had to admit — in a high-school way.) The fact that he subjugated himself to her, in the form of riding on the back of her one-person bike every morning, was an interesting way to show his affection, but Raven didn’t question it. She was just glad that he did that instead of doing the normal male-impressiveness routine.

Although she didn’t really like him (sorry, Harrold, but with a name like that, you shouldn’t be surprised) she was selfishly pleased to have a man(-ish) at her beck and call were she ever to need one. And he was of the personality that he’d probably still be sweet to her even if she never gave him hope of a date. He was just that kind of an all-around good person.

It was a little unsettling, if she thought about it too much, so she didn’t.

Being voraciously independent, the idea of being willing to be someone’s call girl (or boy) was unfathomable. It required far too much altruism — more, perhaps, than was actually healthy.

She wheeled into the hospital parking lot, waving at Sadie who was just locking the door of her Sedan as LeAnna, Nicole, Carolina, and Garrett scrambled to get out before she locked them in (again). Garrett started singing “A Bicycle Built For Two,” until Nicole put a hand over his mouth to stifle the off-key screeching.

“Keep your day job!” Raven shouted at him, although she and Harrold both laughed.

“How does he keep his night job with a voice like that?” Harold chuckled as they rolled up to the bike rack and dismounted.

“Either Anton is deaf or he’s not picky,” Raven replied in turn, although they both knew that Garrett had a beautiful tenor voice if he chose to use it properly. He just chose not to, most of the time.

“I can’t afford a carriage, but I can afford a marriage,” Garrett bellowed somewhere behind them, clearly having escaped Nicole’s silencing hand.

“Shut up,” Harrold shot over his shoulder.

Raven didn’t wait for the others; she pushed open the door and breathed in the familiar smell of sickness, healing, life, and death.

Inspiration: I saw two med students riding on a one-person bike.

Faith

When I was eleven, I lived in a large neighborhood in a suburb of a large city. As you might imagine, there weren’t many trees to be found in the city proper, but in the suburb of Woodbridge much care was taken to preserve a lot of the grass and trees. In my neighborhood, there was a playground four or five blocks from my house, and behind the playground was an expanse of trees that looked endless to my young eyes. When my friends came over, we would often ride bikes up to the playground with my younger sister Kim and play there for a few hours, amusing ourselves with imagination games and spinning each other around on the tire swing.

One day, someone suggested that we go into the trees and explore. That day, it was just me, Kim, and my best friend Molly. So, we left our bikes on the playground and climbed the short hill to reach the treeline and venture into the woods. As soon as we made it through the initial bunch of trees, we found ourselves on a wide, grassy walkway with trees on either side of us. The first thing I thought was that the picture in front of me looked like it could have been an illustration for Mirkwood, the way the trees were bending toward each other and filtering the light so it was a sort of golden green.

“It looks like something from The Lord Of The Rings,” I said, my voice hushed with quiet awe at the beauty.

“It does,” Molly replied, her eyes also on the trees and dappled light cast by the afternoon sun.

“Let’s see what’s down the hill!” Kim said, starting to walk forward, toward the gently sloping hill that the path was leading us toward.

We laughed and ran forward eagerly to see what was ahead of us, and my eyes noted some brightly colored pieces of plastic stuck to wires on either side of us.

“What are these?” I asked, pointing them out to Molly and Kim. They looked a little like flags, and I thought they looked familiar, though I couldn’t place the memory.

“Those are markers, for the boundaries of people’s property when they don’t have fences,” Molly said, looking left and right to see them as well. “We must be walking between two people’s property.”

“So we’re not trespassing,” I said in relief. I didn’t like to break the rules.

“We’re not going to hurt anything even if we were,” Molly said with a shrug, then we both looked up as Kim shouted.

“Here’s a creek!” she cried, jumping over the creek that was at the bottom of the path’s slope.

“Awesome!” Molly and I shouted, running toward it and jumping over too.

“I wonder where it goes,” Molly said, watching the water’s flow. “Let’s follow it.”

“I dunno,” I said nervously, seeing that it headed toward some flags that indicated someone else’s property.

Molly read my mind and rolled her eyes.

“The land in that direction probably belongs to the neighborhood -- like the playground,” she said, pointing in the direction of the water’s flow. “It’s flowing toward the neighborhood.”

“I dunno,” I repeated.

“Come on, Jessica,” Kim said.

I finally relented, and I soon forgot my anxiety. We followed the creek as it looped and climbed the hilly ground, spending the entire afternoon admiring the serene and unfamiliar beauty of the woods. I was never concerned about getting lost -- somehow I knew we were never too far from houses or the playground -- so I just relaxed and enjoyed myself. We built mini-dams that were soon washed away. We had leaf races and shouted when our “boats” sunk after going over waterfalls. We leapt from shore to shore, following the least muddy path. Soon, the creek began to get wider and wider, then it split and flowed on either side of a small island before coming back together again and disappearing into a pipe that went underground.

“I want to explore the island!” Molly said.

“I don’t know if we can jump it,” I said, biting my lip and looking at the creek. It was pretty wide now.

“We’re on higher ground here,” Molly pointed out. “We can just jump over and onto the island.”

“What about getting back?” I asked.

“Stop being such a worrywart,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “We can jump across to the other side, see?”

I was still not convinced.

“What if we land in the creek? I don’t want to go home with wet shoes. Mom’ll be mad.”

Just then, Kim tried to jump over from a lower vantage point. She cleared the creek, but just barely, getting her shoes muddy.

“I’m okay!” she shouted, smiling, then ran to find a stick to scrape the mud off with.

“I promise we can make it,” Molly said, looking at me seriously. Although she still looked a little exasperated with me, I could tell that she was being serious.

“You promise?”

“Yeah. I’ll go first, and prove it to you.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding.

She took a running start, then propelled herself from the shore, stretching her legs as far as they could reach. She was only in the air for a second before she landed on the island, several feet from the edge.

“See?” she said, waving and smiling. “Plenty of room. Come on!”

I took a deep breath, still worried that I would land in the creek. But then I breathed out and trusted that Molly wouldn’t let me do something that would get me in any serious trouble. I took a running start too and jumped as hard as I could. It felt like I was in the air for a lot longer than Molly was, but I also landed safely on the island, even further inland than Molly.

My heart, which had been in my throat, went back to its rightful place again, and I felt a rush of adrenaline. A smile spring to my face, half of pride and half of relief.

“I told you,” Molly said, helping me to my feet.

“Thanks,” I said, feeling far more thankful than was probably necessary for the situation.

It was a big deal to me; I don’t really remember why. I’m not sure I ever knew why, really. But that moment, holding Molly's hand as she told me we could make it, and flying through the air, and the swelling thrill in my chest after making it -- that moment stuck with me all these years.

--

Inspiration: A childhood memory

Birthday Party for the Prince

In a small clearing lit by hundreds of bright lanterns, there were five or six people playing various instruments, and many others were talking, laughing, and eating. Most of them were on their feet, dancing to the music. It took her several minutes to recognize faces from the conferences: fairies.

“Play us another!” someone shouted as the music dwindled down.

“You play one,” one of the violinists shouted, holding out his instrument. “I want to dance!”

There was a lighthearted tussle, then someone else took the instrument, and they began playing another song, slower this time. Ceilear felt her knees start to buckle at the pungent sorrow in the sweeping melody. What magic is this?

People began to shout as soon as it started.

“Dance for us, Prince Tobias!”

“It’s your favorite song!”

“Come on, Tobie!”

“A birthday present for us, now that we’ve given you ours!”

Whoever Tobie was must have agreed, because there was a loud cheer, and the fairies all stepped away, clearing a spot in the center of the crowd. Ceilear craned her neck to see, her head spinning with the music, but she was too far away to even see the man. Looking around carefully to be sure there was no one near, she crept through the dancing shadows of the trees until she was close enough to have a clear view of the dancer.

He moved like silk kissed by the wind, like water eddied by a smooth stone in a brook, like a song she could touch. Ceilear had to grip the tree in front of her for support, her eyes fixed on the dancer. His arms and hands bent around him in elegant curves, ever twisting this way and that; his legs propelled him in smooth circles impossible for any human to achieve.

He embodied the song currently swelling through her, his movements following every dip and turn in the music perfectly. It was a new type of music, and Ceilear couldn’t look away. She barely even breathed, for fear the soft rasping might keep her from hearing the faintest of notes. When the song stopped, she barely had the sense to turn and hide herself behind the tree as the fairies cheered. Her knees finally gave out entirely, and she slid down the trunk of the tree until she was sitting on the forest floor.

Inspiration: The Little Mermaid, Ariel watching the party.

The Importance of Hugs

Sometimes the difference between good and evil comes in the form of a simple expression of affection.

Sometimes it doesn't.

Sometimes, the villain is a person slighted his (or her) whole life, and all he (or she) ever really wanted was just proof that someone actually cared for his (or her) soul.

Sometimes, the villain is just a villain.

Sometimes, when there's a young man sitting at a table in the coffee shop, he is crying because he was just rejected by the last graduate school on his list, and his brilliant girlfriend dumped him because he was "holding her back" and his brother just committed suicide two months, three weeks, and four days ago.

Sometimes, he's crying tears of anger and frustration because his minions have left him, and his plans are falling apart. Not that he cares about the grunts, just that this makes it ten times harder to take over the world.

Sometimes, there is a person (often a mother) who puts a hand on the shoulder of the young man and offers them a handkerchief.

Often, the patrons look away uncomfortably and let the man cry.

Mostly, people try to ignore those who are most in need of attention.

And sometimes, even a handkerchief is not enough, anyway.

But, once in a very long while, there is a person who will take the young man by the shoulders and embrace him -- and she (or he) will tell the young man that everything will be okay, even if it won't.

Sometimes, that hug doesn't matter.

Sometimes, it does.

Inspiration: My friend's conversation with his girlfriend about why hugs are important.

Tobias

Music filled the room, bouncing off the walls and people until all Tobie could hear was a cacophony of instruments, each timbre indistinguishable from the overall mash of sound. He was on the dance floor with a fairy named Tabby (his friends thought that was clever), moving to what he thought was the rhythm. It was hard to hear, to be honest.

That annoyed Tobie a little — if everyone would just shut up they might be able to hear the music properly — but he let roll off his back. The important part was that he was dancing, and he was enjoying himself. Tammy—Tabby—seemed to be enjoying herself too, though she was shouting something at him that he couldn’t quite hear.

He leaned forward and mouthed, “What?”

She laughed and pulled his ear so close to her mouth that he swore she got lipstick on it.

“Do you want to get something to eat?”

He didn’t, really, but they had been dancing a while. She was probably getting tired.

“Sure,” he said into her ear.

She smiled, and her violet eyes caught the light beautifully. They twined through the crowd, clasping hands quickly after they almost got separated by the couples that were in their own little world.

“Whew,” Tabby breathed, letting go of his hand.

They had finally reached the refreshments, which were on the other side of the room. They weren’t the only people there; a decent crowd had gathered around the table. Exhausted couples taking a break from dancing, hopeful fairies standing by themselves and looking for someone to dance with, and some older fairies that had come to Mercel’s birthday party to be polite.

The music was a little quieter here, but Tobie couldn’t keep his foot from tapping anyway as Tabby leaned against the table and selected a raw vegetable to place between her shining red lips. To be polite, Tobie picked up the first thing his eyes landed on — a cracker with Sanjado cheese on it — and ate it. His eyes were still fixed on the dancing fairies, which Tabby noticed.

“I’m knackered,” she said, letting her hand run down his arm. “You go on and dance. Maybe I’ll find you later.”

He grinned at her.

“You’re a doll,” he said, kissing her hand and jogging back to the dance floor.

He found a girl lingering on the edge of the dance floor and asked her to dance. She had just been ditched by her date, so she accepted thankfully. His right hand found the small of her back with a practiced modesty, and her right hand gripped his. In seconds, they were spinning around the floor.

She was almost as good a dancer as he was, but she was much more careless. He adjusted his steps to hers, and they moved as a unit, twirling around other couples. He dipped her, and she laughed; he spun her, and she grinned. They danced for the rest of the night.

When it was over, he walked her home. She gave him a goodnight kiss on the cheek, but he didn’t ask her name. Because, he was Tobie. He would have had just as good of a time dancing by himself.

And, in fact, he did that quite a lot. It was just harder to practice some of the steps without a partner.

Inspiration: The name Tobie. Some Mozart l'Opera Rock influences. Tobie is a new, in-the-works character for a story I've got stewing around in my head.

Leaves

The sky was overcast, advertising a melancholy future with grim satisfaction. Nick glanced up, smiled cheerfully at the clouds and looked back down to the uneven sidewalk. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his light windbreaker and nudged a chunk of concrete with his foot as he walked by. A breeze picked up, lifting the small piles of dead leaves and tumbling them across the road with a scraping, rattling sound that made Nick look up again.

Homes was coming at him from the other direction, and Nick brightened, waving to his friend.

“What are you doing here, Homes?” Nick asked once they were close enough for their voices to be heard over the breeze and scattering leaves.

“Coming to check up on you,” Homes said, giving Nick a smile that wasn't nearly as exuberant as Nick's had been.

“Well, I'm doing fine,” Nick said, looking away from his friend, his smile fading.

They didn't say anything for a few minutes. Leaves dragged across the concrete and asphalt like nails on a chalkboard.

“I didn't think I'd see you again,” Nick said finally.

“I—” Homes started slowly, but couldn't seem to think of anything to finish the statement.

They walked along in silence, the cross around Homes's neck glinting dully in the faded light.

Inspiration: Leaves scraping across the road towards me.

Autumn Snapshot

Kristin leaned into the wind, letting the infectiousness of its rushing laughter in her ears bring a smile to her face. She noticed the cold, but it didn't bother her. The creek bubbled below where she was perched, audible when the wind took a moment to breathe before blowing once more. The sparkling water clashed over the rocks and splashed into divets and pools, taking its time on the journey to the larger brook downstream.

Her hands grasped the weathered rock, fitting into the worn gashes and old cracks. The rock was rough – the calloused hands of an old worker, now retired, but forever bearing the token of his youth. Fluffy moss brushed her thumb, the green carpet attempting to soften the rock's harder edges.

The smell of earth whirled about her, reminding her of the place's age. The woody smell of tree bark mingled with the sweet odor of falling leaves and the old, indefinable one of moss and dirt and slow decay. The wind that carried the fragrance to her had a scent all its own – one of cold and crisp winter's chill. The combination of these smells was the unmistakable fragrance of autumn. She could taste the sweet, cold, earthy air on her tongue.

Kristin tilted her head back and the let the frigid sprites of autumn tangle their playful fingers in her curly hair, relaxing into the rhythmic pull and tug of their play.

Inspiration: a brief moment