#imagine being a fish person and this guy just keeps throwing bombs into the river

[fatherhoodstory]

love and bikes pt:2

It had just started to rain in the north of Italy as they rode their bicycles up and over the mountains. To the south, where they had come from, it was hot and dry and there would be no rain for months. They camped in the forest between an old dirt road and the river. They bathed in the cold mountain water, changed and then made dinner in the dark. As they laid down that night on the forest floor the space between them grew. 

He awoke to what sounded like bombs exploding in the distance. The darkness was interrupted by quick flashes of light followed by deafening cracks that broke the air. The vibrations rattled him. In that place between dream and wake he was not sure where he was and the fear began to grip him. He imagined he was alone, a soldier in the Great War, high in the Italian Alps, an ocean away from all those that loved and cared for him. He thought about his little girl and cursed himself for ever leaving her, for this war, for her. There was another flash of light and the forest began to take shape around him. In that instant of light and the several that followed he saw the bikes resting against a tree where they had left them. He turned his head and saw her asleep beside him, snoring lightly. He was happy they were still together and he laid back down and watched the world ignite. 

The morning was fresh and damp from the storm. The trees were heavy, sagging from the weight of the ocean carried east and dropped here. The river made chaotic sounds that had not been there the night before. Everything was different, the world seemed to have changed while they slept, but not her, she was the same. She had never been a morning person, not even when he brought her coffee with foamed milk, scratched her back or rubbed her calloused feet. She was packing now and he knew not to bother her while she packed, it was the only time he thought she ever came close to peace. Everything had its place for her, it’s purpose, except him. He leaned against a tree and watched her, wanting only to remember the cold green forest and the shape of her against the light. She did not particularly like being watched, especially in the morning. 

They left camp on the old dirt road and she stopped at the bridge where the bike path started and waited for him. He saw her stopped ahead and hoped that she would talk to him, touch him. Since it was no longer morning, he thought maybe there was a chance. As he pulled up next to her his feet caught in the peddles and he fell to the ground in a heap. He kicked his bike in retaliation for throwing him, and then lay there with his eyes closed while the pain and humiliation washed over him.   

“Are you ok?” she asked, looking down at him. 

“Yeah, I’m alright”

“You shouldn’t kick your bike” 

“Why not? It’s my bike” 

“It’s just not cool to kick your bike” 

“Guess I am not that cool then” 

He had grown up riding skateboards in the Southern California sun, practicing his tricks years before she had ever stepped a foot in the world. He had fallen hard on the concrete more times than he had ever landed on the board. He couldn’t remember how many boards he had broken in half with a kick but he was sure his bike could take one. 

“Why don’t you go on ahead, I’ll catch up” 

She rode off, leaving him alone on the ground.

He took a deep breath, got up, brushed himself off and stood next to his bike. There was a scratch on the brown body where he had kicked it and he smiled as he thought about all the times he would see that and remember this moment. A scar that would always bring him back to her. He knew he shouldn’t have kicked the bike, but he didn’t care. 

The bags that held his things were splayed out at odd angles from the fall and he dug around for the bottle of Grappa he had purchased in Asiago. He fished it out, inspected it for damage and took a pull. As the fire burned its way down his insides he began to feel better. He felt like leaving her. He looked down the mountain, imaging himself riding away before she could do the same to him. He looked back at his bike and took another long pull from the bottle before tucking it back away. He knew he wasn’t going to leave her, not today. 

He rode slower now, lazily, and they would catch glimpses of each other when the road straightened out. She was riding slower too. He raised his hand, palm out in a sign of peace so she knew he was alright. They rode alone, neither one of them interested in closing the gap. He looked at the mountains, the river flowing next to him, the fields of wildflowers starting to open in the sun, but his eyes would always return to her as she came in and out of sight. He drank heavily in the movement of her body as it worked with the bike, a machine of muscle and toughness that with the right touch, at the right time, would soften and surround him. Every now and then the smell of her would find him and mix with the smell of cut hay and turned earth from the farms they passed and he would smile. 

She stopped in the park in the late afternoon, leaned her bike against a tree and sat down next to a small slide that he thought his daughter would love. She drank wine straight from the bottle and looked at her phone. She was always drinking wine, and always talking to someone else, making plans that did not include him. They shared the bottle but not the plans. 

“What do you want to do?”

“About what J?”

She called him J, short for Jerome, short for Jeremy. 

“About this thing between us. You obviously don’t want to be here with me, even though you spent the last few months, years, begging me to come.”

She took a pull from the bottle and looked at him with those big brown eyes, those horrendously beautiful eyes that matched her lips, and her chin, and the curve of her. 

“Fine, well, what do you want to do tonight then, right now, should we stop, get a room, keep going, do handstands, swing on the swing, slide down the slide?”

“Whatever you want J” 

“Then I say we make love in the park like dirty hobos, with our bottle of wine and our stink.”

She might have laughed, he couldn’t tell anymore. 

“Let’s just keep going” she said. 

“Alright”

She was indifferent now and he knew it was hopeless. She would stop, she would go, but she would no longer be with him. 

They stopped again outside of Mezzana or Pellizzano, he was never quite sure where they were. She looked troubled, tired, but as beautiful as ever. He wondered how she carried all that beauty. He thought that it must be heavy. She had been riding for months, sleeping outside, face always in the wind and sun, but she still looked better by far than any woman he had ever known. 

“I think I want to say goodbye” she said between bites of peanut butter and chocolate.

He nodded, still looking at the ground, his feet, the grass, anywhere but her face. 

“I don’t know why, but I just feel like I want to be alone”

“Didn’t see that coming” he lied. 

He had seen it coming the moment he saw her in Venice. He had seen it coming the day he met her in the water, when she was leaving that other guy, for him. 

“I came all this way and you are going to leave me in this park in the middle of Italy?”

Although they had both agreed in the beginning never to say they were sorry, she said it anyway. 

“I’m sorry”

There was no argument, no protest, no yelling. He had been here before with her, this was just a part of it, part of loving her. 

“It’s ok baby. If that’s what you want, just go, I’ll be alright.” he said, not entirely sure he would be. 

They stood there for a moment, eating spoonfuls of peanut butter, cheese, and cured meats. She was looking up at the mountain behind them.

“Fuck J, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry” she said again and he winced. 

“You know you don’t have to say you’re sorry, not to me. It is what it is.”

He sat down on the bench and rolled a smoke, lit it, and braced himself for the part in the story where she would leave. She had left him before, more times than he cared to remember and he knew that it didn’t hurt after a while. It was just this part, the leaving, and he turned to face it. 

“Let’s just keep going, do the climb, see how we feel on the other side.” she said after a while. 

He was convinced she was crazy, but he followed her anyway, because he was crazy too. 

They started what would be their last climb together in the heat of the late June sun. It was exactly as he had hoped it would be. To his side, moving slightly ahead and then behind him was the woman he loved. It did not matter that she no longer loved him or wanted him there. This was for him, for memory, for redemption. He had come when she asked him to come. He had done everything he could do to show her he loved her, to show her what that looked like. He was out of moves. They stopped briefly to remove their shirts and he glanced at the sweat on her wide strong shoulders. He wanted to reach out and touch her but he knew better, that fire would burn him now. They were both dark, dirty and hardened from the many miles they had come together. He took a deep breath and began to peddle, lowering a gear as the road steepened. As he peddled he began to sing. He sang for his daughter a world away. He sang for her riding behind him. He sang for his own aching and broken heart. He couldn’t remember the last time he had sang. 

“I could try

to say I’m sorry

but that won’t be quite enough

to let you know 

the pain that i feel

and it just won’t let up…”

Tears flooded his eyes and mixed with the sweat that covered his face. He wiped it all with his hands and flung it on the road to the side of him. The tears, like the sweat, were part of it. 

“…oh it feels

like the sky is falling

and the clouds

clouds are closing in

where did I lose control 

and where did it all begin…”

The words moved him, as she had moved him, as they had all moved him. As he rode and sang he felt it all from the beginning, the love, the confusion, the dancing, the little girl, the laughter, the tears, the long nights, the disappointments, the broken parts and the ones that were still whole. 

“…Please forgive my heart

It’s not that the problem lies anywhere in here

I’m a liar, I’m in a dream, going my own way, nothing to rely on.”

The song went on and he sang until is was done, coming back from wherever he had been. She was gaining on him and would soon pass him, smile, and pull ahead. He didn’t care anymore, he loved her and that was enough. He watched her go ahead as he slowed enough to be alone. He continued to sing, softer now, enjoying the road, the bike, the sun, the mountains, the air, the music, and life in all its misery and joy. After more than a week of riding, suffering, working out the kinks, he had finally arrived. 

He could tell by the way she dropped her dirty clothes on the floor of the hotel bathroom that it was all over. Like a divination, a throwing of the sticks, her pile of stinking sweaty clothes said only one thing to him, leave. After they had both showered, separately, they shared a bottle of wine and smoked cigarettes on the porch. They had said everything they were going to say to each other except goodbye, and since it was too late for goodbyes they just sat and listened to the rain. He could tell she was scared, uncomfortable in the silence, not knowing what he might do now that they had reached the end. He finished his wine, put the cigarette out and slowly got up, walked inside, and put his things together in a pile. He put the knife he had made for her on the table. He looked at it, remembering all those late nights in the forge beating on metal. It was far from perfect, but he thought that was ok. He took off his clothes, got into bed and didn’t sleep. 

He was up early, determined, and with the slight hope she was still in love with him. He opened his eyes and looked at the room which was now a pale grey color, the color death or birth, either or. He looked across the bed and saw her huddled as far from him as she could be without being on the floor. He smiled at the silliness of it all, of her. He never understood the goodbyes, why it couldn’t be like the beginning. Why couldn’t they hold one another or make love or talk about all the things they had done together, all the adventures. Then he remembered that they had done that already, the last time they had said goodbye.

He got up quietly and began to pack his things. She woke up and watched him with half opened eyes. He didn’t say goodbye. He grabbed his bags, walked quietly down the stairs and stepped out into the rain. He took a deep breath and looked up to see her standing on the balcony. There was no smile, no sign of all the love they had shared, just a woman on a balcony looking down on a man with his bike. 

Bormio was a beautiful town, especially in the rain. People were milling about, having coffee, opening shops. Even with heartbreak and loss the world somehow just carried on, so he did the same. 

The market was closed and he waited outside for it to open. He walked around the corner and bought a pouch of tobacco and rolled a smoke in the rain. He didn’t really feel like smoking but it kept him from thinking about her, so he smoked. The market opened and he bought groceries and fruit, making sure to weigh them correctly this time. He packed his bike, distributing the weight as she had taught him, heavy in the front, light in the back.

He went back to the hotel. If something happened to one them on the road, he would never forgive himself for not saying goodbye. They had loved one another, and she had loved his little girl, and his little girl loved her. He left his bike leaning against the wall, walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. He heard her grunt, throw the sheets and then the door opened. She was not pleasant in the mornings.  

“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye” 

“Goodbye” she said sleepily 

They embraced one last time in the pale light of a rainy morning in the north of Italy. The air in the room smelled stale and wet. 

“I love you” 

“I love you too J” she whispered 

She wasn’t standing on the porch as he rode away for the second time. She was back in bed and the world had already moved on…