NFW Short Story Contest Winners

THE BIKE CRASH LIFE

by Craig Robertson

Bob peddled along contently, confident in his self-assurance that he was a good man. Life was good and it was pleasant to be one of the good guys. A beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky, a scenic bike ride, and he was doing more aerobic exercise than most men his age could boast - so, yes indeed, all was good. As he rounded the corner to exit Golden Gate Park at 7th Avenue, he abruptly came upon the calamity just as it happened. This cheery Sunday morning what had been seconds earlier a rag-tag cluster of teens on a group-ride quickly collapsed upon itself to be a twisted heap of bicycles in the center of the street. Fortunately, at this early hour on this quiet day, there were few cars on the road, so the toppled children were not in imminent danger. Bob clamped on his brakes twenty yards short of the group and assessed if help was needed and, if so, how best to provide it. Three adults who had been at the periphery of the bunch were clear enough to avoid the collision and quickly circled back to attend the pile of moaning boys. A passer-by had already stepped into the street and was waving her arms to provide traffic control.

Four or five boys who had been slightly ahead of the pack were not initially aware of the crash and continued on oblivious to their comrades' fate. Within a few seconds, all but one heard the calls from behind and were heading back to the group. One boy, however, continued to plow stalwartly up 7th at a reasonable clip. Bob was needed! He looked dutifully both ways for oncoming vehicles and, when none were documented, pushed down hard and sallied-forth the retrieve the stray cyclist. Picking up speed deftly, - well, deftly for a middle-aged weekend-warrior on a dirt bike badly in need of a tune-up - Bob impressed himself how rapidly he was able to overtake the lad. As he pulled along side the boy, Bob called-out loudly, "Hey, son, if you're with that group back there, I think you should stop." Nothing. The boy continued to lumber forward, blank stare directed toward nowhere-in-particular. All the while the youth was putting more distance between himself and the others. Then Bob noticed the ear-buds. The boy had not heard the crash or Bob's warning because his ears were full of loud music.

With an updated plan, Bob surged slightly ahead of the boy and waved an arm directly in front of his face. After a few seconds, Bob's efforts were rewarded with a most suspicious and judgmental side-ways glance. The boy's peddling continued, only now with slightly increased vigor. This would never do. Bob shouted an admonition similar to the prior one, while matching the boys speed. He continued to flag his arm before the child. The boy's response was to now stand-up on his peddles and begin to pump with conviction. His head rotated to stare aghast at Bob, who was now beginning to worry. If this kid wasn't part of the fallen group, Bob could be looking at a long day at the police station trying to explain-away this one. Definitive action was required. Bob firmly grasped the central handle bars of the boy's bike and slowly brought the both of them to a stop.

Mouth agape, speaking the way one's supposed to when addressing the child molester your mother has trained you so well your entire life to confront, the boy asked cautiously, "What's your problem, man?"

With an ostensibly reassuring-leadership-quality smile, Bob pointed several blocks back and announced, "There's been a crash. Your classmates are way back there and you need to turn around."

Drawing his torso back and arching his neck such that he looked like a cobra preparing to strike, the boy semi-repeated, "What's wrong with you?"

The ear buds! Bob's message was still not getting though because of the music. Bob reached across and gently slapped one free of the boy's ear. While the child was readying himself to boil-up a more visceral response, Bob quickly and authoritatively stated, "Look, I'm not here to hurt you. If you're with the group of boys in that crash back there, you need to stop and go back. If you're not with them, then I'm sorry to have upset you."

Decidedly less panicked, the boy replied with a resounding, "Huh?"

Bob pointed again in the direction of the pile-up and reiterated, "The crash... back there."

The youth craned his neck around in slow-motion, studied the situation several blocks away, then slowly returned to address Bob. "There was a crash? Is anyone dead?" There was a very frightened look in the boy's eyes."

"No, I'm sure everyone is fine. Let's just you and I head back and find out for sure. Okay?"

"Uh... okay. Thanks, mister." That was better!

As they approached the group, it was apparent the adults had herded the heap of bikes and boys off to the safety of the sidewalk. As the boy Bob had run-down rejoined the pack, a woman kneeling beside a child seated on the curb raised an arm to signal Bob. She called out, "Thanks for the assist, kind stranger." Bob walked his bike to the woman's location and looked down on her and the boy. The scrap on the boy's leg was held-up for inspection by the really strikingly pretty young woman who studied it intently. She rotated the ankle back and forth, then said to her patient matter-of-factly, "Looks like I'm going to have to amputate your leg before it's too late, Matt." She tapped his chin gently with her fist and added supportively, "Sorry 'bout that, kid, tough break. It was such a nice leg too." She then ruffled his hair roughly and reassure, "Let me get the first aid kit and I'll slap a dressing on that bad boy. You'll be good as new quick as a wink!" She turned to walk away. As she did, she looked Bob down-to-up once very alluringly - at least he thought it was darn alluringly - and greeted him, "Hi. I'm Allie." She extended her hand, "Nice to met you." On her lead, they began to walk slowly.

Still shaking her soft, warm hand, he stated, "Bob, I'm Bob. Nice to meet you too, Allie."

She tucked a rebellious wisp of black hair behind an ear, and said, "I just need to retrieve the first aid kit" she pointed to her left, never taking her eye from Bob's. "It's over there."

Bob blurted out, "Could I do anything for you, Allie?"

Stooping to pull the box from a backpack on the ground, she replied ever so coyly, "Well, we'll just have to find out for certain on that one, won't we, Bob-I'm-Bob."

He blushed such a bright red that he worried planes would take him as a signal to land on 7th Avenue. He stammered, "No... I mean... the boy's leg... I..."

Allie reached-up and stroked his arm oh so keep-on-goingly, and excused, "I'm teasing you, Bob. Come on, lighten-up. I'm try at your expense, to break the tension of this near-tragic episode. Sorry."

Bob grinned like a big-dumb kid. "Oh, I get it." He squinted, looked side-to-side, and then said, "Yes, ma'am, we could'a lost a lot more good men here this fateful day." Tipping the brim of his bike helmet in her direction, he continued reverently, "Thanks to the likes of you and your nurse-lady-friends, Allie, many a solid American boy's life was spared. I'd be proud to thank you by purchasing a continent or something just as nice as my way of sayin' God bless you, little angel. That's only if you'd be kind enough to permit me to express my heart-felt gratitude in such a garish display. I am assuming, naturally, that we all get out of this nightmare in one piece."

As they neared the slightly wounded boy, Allie hooked her arm around Bob's elbow playfully, and beamed, "I would consider it my honor and duty to accept Australia from you as partial payment for my saintly-like ways, Commander Bob." She then, in a fluid motion, let-go of his arm and spun to the ground like - Bob was relatively certain on this one - like an exotic dancer who was dropping to pick-up the silk scarf she had tossed wantonly to the floor. Anyway Bob looked at Allie, she cut quite the figure as she moved under his fixed-stare. Allie opened the kit and began picking out the items she would likely employ, intermittently eying the wound to re-gauge it's gravity.

Desiring with inexplicable passion to participate in the care of this ailing young man, out of Bob's mouth unheralded jumped the words, "I know first aid."

This pronouncement drew two very distinct responses. From the injured party, Bob was dispensed a look of considerable doubt and constipated incredulity. This mature and succinct conveyance of mistrust was particularly noteworthy given the boy's tender age and the attendant lack of life-experience which would lead one anticipate that such an expression was yet possible. Bob momentarily marveled at what a competent adult the child would doubtlessly grow to be, in the fullness of his years. Bob was diverted for his speculations upon the boy's future by the other response he elicited, the one from Allie. Her's began with an ebullient crooked smile and concluded with a sassy rendition of, "Are we in the presence of greatness, or what?" Allie leaned toward the child and and with quiet, contained excitement, announced, "Aren't we ever so fortunate today?" Tommy snorted a giggle back at Allie while lowering his head. "So, seriously. Bob, are you good at this stuff?" She lifted Tommy's calf demonstrably, and said, "I mean, this isn't neurosurgery, but I am kind of out of my pay-grade here."

Falling quickly to one knee and assuming custody of the calf, Bob reassured, "Seriously, I'm a Boy Scout Leader and everything. I have two Jamborees and over twenty nights in the woods under my belt. I haven't lost a kid yet to trauma most foul." He crunched down on one eyebrow and tentatively corrected, "Eaten by wolves... that doesn't count against my medical skills, does it? There just wasn't that much left of the guys to cobble back together." All the while Bob spoke, he was cleaning the scrape with antiseptic and applying a salve.

Allie rested an empathetic hand on Bob's shoulder, and encouraged, "No way, Bob. No one can fault you for not ministering to body parts consumed by wild animals - no one."

Bob looked back partially and added for further clarity, "They were very big and very hungry wolves. I suspect a couple had rabies or the plague on top of everything else." He pretended to shiver involuntarily.

Allie reached past Bob to assuage Tommy's building horror. She stroked his already ruffled hair, and cooed, "The big bad man's just kidding, Tommy. No one got eaten by wolves, okay?" A nervous, rather unconvincing smile suggested Tommy was inclined to believe her, but, in spite of his high regard for Allie's word, was still reserving full judgement. So as not to help much at all, Bob surreptitious grimaced at Tommy, to lend support for his ongoing worry. Changing the subject, Allie queried, "Boy Scouts, eh? You one of those pre-verts you read so much about in the papers there, Bob? Grown man trapezing around in the dark with all those young men and all. Makes a body wonder." She was clearly having trouble not bursting out laughing.

Feigning indignation, Bob retorted, "No way! I'll have you know I'm a respected member of the outdoor community. Never pre-verted in my life and don't plan to start now. Re-verted, con-verted, co-verted, and always a-verted, but none of that pre-stuff."

Allie chuckled softly and place a hand on Bob's shoulder as he taped the dressing down. She began to massage his muscles as she confessed, "Well, that's certainly nice to hear. The world needs more upstanding citizens such as yourself, Bob." Oh my, she could continue doing that the rest of the week, mused Bob. He struggled not to melt from feel of her touch. After a thoughtful pause, Allie braved, "Scout master? So, that would mean you have teens at home."

Bob hoped Allie was inexpert enough at massage to not notice his muscles irrationally tense after hearing her open-ended, precisely phrased question. Why did it produce such a silly response in him, Bob pondered? Obfuscating as adeptly as a politician asked a direct question, Bob stated vaguely, "I have two son's, eleven and thirteen - both still in scouting." Allie rubbed his neck a tad more firmly. "As we're on that topic, I see you have quiet a few boys of your own, Allie. What, I count maybe a couple dozen?"

Squatting down next to Bob, Allie judiciously inspected his work. "Fine work, Bob. I do believe the boy will live." She roughed-up Tommy's hair, yet again, and instructed, "Now that you're all healed-up, go collect what's left of your bike and check-in with Clark." Tommy scudded away bearing weight normally on his injured leg. Allie turned to Bob, and began soberly, "You'll find I'm not one who goes half-the-distance, Bob. When I do a thing, I do it competitively and I do it to win. So, yes, these twenty-three boys are all mine. Some may have different fathers, but they all have the same mom." Allie thumbed her chest defiantly to reflect her pride in a job well done.

Bob reflected cooly, "Got to admire a perfectionist in this world so ready to accept to banal. Once again, I tip my hat to you, Allie." And he did. "So, they're all not Clark's sons? You diversified - nice?" Bob tapped the side of his head, and commended her, "That's using the old head, my dear. It works in finance, so why not husbandry?"

Allie fanned her hand over the expanse of teens and corrected, "No, none are Clark's - not a one." She turned to face Bob eying him squarely, and added, "Law won't let us breed no more, see'ins how Clark's my brud'er."

Bob covered his face as he guffawed. "That make good sense, Al. Better to stick with the diversity thing when it comes to genetics."

Allie began walking toward the center of the group, and Bob fell in step along side. "Since you asked in such a charming yet round-about manner, Bob, I'll tell you. Clark and I" she pointed to the third adult, attempting patiently to organize the rebellious boys, "and Leilani over there volunteer at the YMCA. These kids are raised mostly by single mother with nary two nickels to rub together. We take them on outings, ball games, over-nighters at the Y, that type of thing."

With distinct approval in his voice, Bob stated, "That's wonderful of you, Allie."

She smiled ever so endearingly at him and shrugged. "I try - we try. The boys have so little and I think it means a lot to them, I really do. It's so sad, you know, the way kids end up getting kicked in the guts repeatedly for things they have perfectly no control over." There was a profound melancholy in her voice.

Bob, this time, reached over to massage her nearest shoulder. "You're doing a good thing, Al. I know they appreciate every moment they spend with you." Bob, literally choked back the sentence "I know I would."

"Mmmm" Allie purred, as she rolled her shoulder, "that feels sooo good. You can do that forever." Though he had less trouble suppressing the words this time, "you got it" resounded in his head unsettlingly. Bob's flight-of-fancy was brought to ground when she said, "So, we know you're good at first aid and personal massage - how about battle-field bike repairs? Am I going to get that lucky for having met you?"

Bob felt an icy-burning mass form and then flip in his stomach. Why did he hear double-entendre in everything she said? "No," he quickly replied, "bike repair is out of my pay grade."

Allie winked at him, and said, "Pity. Some of the boy's really dinged-up their rides and five front tires tacoed completely." Bob groaned sympathetically for their plight. "Most of the families can't afford to eat more than once a day, let alone fix a broken bicycle."

Wide-eyed, Bob turned to Allie and offered, "I can help with some of the cost, probably all of it if it's not too much. Would that help?"

Allie thumped his forehead with her finger, and responded, "Would a man being hanged appreciate a lift?" She beamed a huge smile as she raised her palms skyward, and exclaimed, "It would be awesome, Bob. You would fill your karma-quota for two, maybe three lifetimes!"

Abashedly, Bob scuffed at the sidewalk, and replied, "I doubt I'll get that kind of milage out of the deed. But, hey, if I can help the kids I will." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and added, "How many times have I told you, Al, that I want to grow-up to be just like you? This is my big chance."

Combining a throaty laugh with her words, Allie leaned forward and parroted, "Yes, if you've said it once, you've said it a gazillion times." Suddenly irritated, she remarked, "I'm wondering if you also remember that no one calls me "Al". Allie, Alexandra, Hey-you-over-there-with-the-teeth-in-your-mouth, yes - but never what you just said." She had squinted-down one eye menacingly as she concluded her admonition.

Bob, protested affectionately, "What! I've always called you "Al". Well, at the start, when we'd first just met, maybe I didn't. But, ever since those first few moments, you've been my little "Al"."

Turning to walk again, Allie grumbled, "We'll have to see about that one, Bobbo."

As he strode along side her, Bob smiled broadly. "I always love it when you call me Bobbo." He heard a juicy raspberry coming from her direction, but would not dignify it with a look over to confirm it's composer.

They arrived to where Clark was triaging bikes and attempting to establish some modicum of control over the rambunctious boys in his immediate vicinity. He looked up to his sister, and pleaded, "Help, little sister!" He held up a twisted bike in one hand and displayed forth a rapscallion detained by his collar with the other. "Remind me once again why we do this every Sunday?"

Allie reached across and assumed custody of the child. "Because we love to help those in need of it, big brother. You work on the hard-assets and I'll grub the urchins." She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Okay, everybody who wants McDonald's come with me. Well everyone but that scary guy with the shopping cart over by the parking meter. You, buddy, are on your own."

Mildly concerned, Bob asked, "Twenty-three teenage boys at McDonald's? Are you aware what that could cost you?"

Allie traced one of the furrows on his brow with a silky finger tip, and reassured him, "Absolutely. That's why you're picking-up the tab."

Faltering at first, Bob said, "Well... yeah... okay. I got this one then."

Allie rested her oh-so-tender hand on his shoulder, and informed Bob, "You're so precious when you're flustered!" She passed a finger over his ear, then said, "Seriously, that's where we were headed when the crashed took place. Twice around the park and then breakfast at The Golden Arches was the plan all along." She wagged a finger at him schoolmarmishly, and scolded, "One sandwich and one drink each - so don't even ask. You got that?"

"Impressive. I love it when you're strict with me."

Allie spun to walk-on, adding, "You say that now."

By the time the feast was concluded and the group was back to the corner where the accident took place, Clark had sorted the bikes into "working" and "not-working" piles. He instructed the boys whose bike could be ridden to take them back to the bus. They were to use the tunnel which went under the busy street. It emerged up into the park right next to the bus. Each boy was to then hustle back the same way to help carry the remaining bikes. The assemblage disbanded as if it were blown apart by high-explosives. Boys scattered in every direction while Clark barked out disregarded orders left and right. Allie snatched Bob's elbow and pulled him well clear of the melee. "You're with me" she instructed. Bob did not struggle in the least against her summons. "Let's get Clark and Leilani some food for the bus while they do most of the heavy lifting." Allie shouted to a frazzling Clark her good intentions. He yelled back to meet them on the bus when she was done. He requested two Big Macs with a coffee and whatever Allie thought Leilani would probably like best. Clarke also instructed her not to freak-out if she were to encounter spiders in the underground sidewalk, since he would not be there "to hold her hand this time."

Allie formed a stop sign with her hand before Bob could ask, and filled-in the missing information. "Clark loves to tease me because I'm a little arachnophobic." Allie pinched her thumb and index together so they all but touch and peeped though the gap at Bob.

"Define "a little."

Allie tapped her index finger on he lower lip and catalogued, "I clean for cobwebs at least twice per day, even if none are visible. If a book mentions the "S" word I will throw it away - even if it's a library book. And once, when we were kids, I climbed the trellis to get in through my bedroom window because the was a spider above the front door."

Bob cruelly mocked, "And that defines "a little?"

She playfully punched his arm, and clarified, "In my dictionary - yes it does."

Leaning toward her conspiratorially, Bob half-whispered, "Say, Al, isn't Clark aware that Big Macs cannot be procured before 10:30 am unless we're under martial law or the world is about to end?"

Allie patted his cheeks endearingly, more a stroke actually than a pat, and informed him, "Clark's always been a log or two short of a full cord, but you come to love him for it rather than in spite of it." Seizing his hand now, she pulled Bob along quickly. "Come on. I'm not going to be the only loser seen entering the same McieD's twice in the span of one hour." Allie's hand needed, it turned out, apply no significant force to entrain him.

Within a few minutes they were sauntering slowly along the tunnel toward the park. Allie carried two large bags of food items and Bob a cardboard tray containing drinks. They bantered wittily back and forth as they advanced at an ever-slowing pace. Both travelers appearing to anticipate the journey's-end which apprehension warned to each lay-in-wait at the top of the stairs. One of Bob's hilarious quips to Allie earned him a bump with her curvaceous hip. In kind, her next clever come-back prompted Bob to wrap his free arm around her shoulder and pull her together with him, side-to-side, briefly. Allie leaned against him heavily, more so than the forces of physics alone might seem to justify.

Friends put arms around friends and pulled them in, briefly, defended Bob. Quiet desperation swirled in the privacy of his mind.

At the very end of the passage, at the foot of the stairs out, a whithered garbage can rested uncomfortably in the corner. Above it, an ancient swag-lamp hissed mightily to emit what feeble light it could. Along side this pair of insufficient sentinels, Allie stopped and faced Bob. Chance had it that when she turned, there was very little space between her face and his. "So, Bob, you bike by here often?"

He glowed. "Maybe. How 'bout you. Crash by here often?"

Allie lowered her head, and said apologetically, "Probably not as often as I should." Looking up directly into his eyes, Allie added, "But I try to when ever I can steal a spare moment."

There was before Bob's feet, on the infinite space of possibilities available to him with his next step, a line. The line was massive, the line was unmistakably well-defined, and the line was knife-edge clear to him. Bob knew well of this line's existence. He had heard legend of it. Bob had, however, never actually seen the line himself. He had never been near enough to it's source to allow this unpleasant a visual articulation of the line. It was - immense.

So it was, when Allie then lifted her heel free on the ground and pressed her soft, warm lips against his to kiss him, Bob crossed that devilish line. He kissed her back. And such a kiss! Bob had never known such a kiss. In a thousand years - in a thousand lifetimes - he could never have known such a kiss. The power of the kiss liberated, elevated, elated, and subjugated him at once and forever. Bob was, at that moment, now completely forgetful of the line which pulsed just behind him.

Allie awkwardly set her meal-bags on the garbage can so as to not lose lip-lock. There Bob also set his tray. Both were oblivious to the creaky protestations. Bob's head then banged against the lamp, so that both decrepit residents were assailed equally, as Allie pulled him toward her. She leaned back onto the moist wall and placed her newly freed hands behind Bob's head to pull him in tightly.

After a few stolen moments there in the obscure end-corner of the tunnel, while they were otherwise preoccupied with tongue-wrestling, Allie abruptly broke the seal of their lips and squeaked. She then lunged both arms toward her left hip and began to slap at it chaotically. "Was that a spider?" she sirened. Looking up at him in horror and then instantly back down at her hip, she demanded, "Do you see a spider on me?" This was not the most auspicious turn-of-events Bob could envision, but he did look down helpfully to scan the area. It was at this precise moment that it occurred to Allie, wits dimmed by her panic, that the spider or spiders might have burrowed past the waist band of her sweat pants and were having their way with her under her garment. She roughly grabbed the left front of her suit and ripped it down. In her haste, she inadvertently included her underwear in the mass of clothes heading south. Once the area was exposed to her satisfaction, Allie began swatting at her bare flesh with her left hand, dropping the right to her side to allow in whatever light was available to aid her battle.

So it was that Bob, initially impatiently looking down to inspect for invisible spiders, saw clearly, in all it's considerable glory, a mass of soft, curly, jet-black hair. Unless he sorely missed his guess, this specific asset of Allie's had not previously been demonstrated for viewing so publicly. Allie's irrational focus on offending arachnids clearly dulled her appreciation for the entirety of her action. This gave Bob a welcome pause to reflect. What had been, so far, a morning to remember eternally was taking an unprecedented turn for the better. In the history of the universe, Bob estimated quickly in his head, the set of events which had taken place were likely to happen - never. It the roughly fourteen billion year the universe had existed so far and in the fourteen billion years to come, this exact scenario was not going to occur twice.

Bob saw before him no mean line. Before him loomed a Great Wall of China. If he vaulted, or in his present context, attempted to vault, such an undeniable incontrovertible barrier, he would be crossing it unidirectionally. Bob jumped for all he was worth.

Onto the exquisite mass of soft, curly hair, Bob's hand glommed.

Not unexpectedly, though his hand remained still and it's pressure was but nominal, Bob's glomming drew Allie's attention away immediately from her spider-quest. It had been, in any case, futile up until then anyway, and may well have run it's course shortly either way. We shall never know. Allie looked toward her nether-region, now partially eclipsed by Bob's glommed hand, then up blankly to him, then back down, then back up. He could hear the whirring of the gears in her head as the seconds ticked interminably by. Allie was as adept at rapid mental gyrations as Bob had so recently demonstrated he was. She quickly reasoned through the facts as they stood. They were in the process of necking passionately in a secluded corner. Allie had initiated the necking and she, unaided, had pulled down her pants. Check - check - check. Bob was operating within, albeit at the margins of, acceptable courting parameters. Her scrutinizing glare of the rear of his eyes terminated as she closed her's and pulled his face in again. Allie glommed her lips onto his and they were off again to the races. Bob, ever the reasonable gentleman, reciprocated in spirit and in kind. His hand remained steadfastly on the beach-head it had secured at such peril, but neither did it advance or even stir noticeably in it's rest.

Just about three seconds after Allie clutched the inside of Bob's thigh and early predictions held she was hand-climbing up it, the moment, as all moments are fated to do, was ended. Clark yelled down the stairway, "Allie, are you down there yet? Hurry up. I have four boys telling me they have to go pee-pee and two others telling me they really have to go pee-pee."

Allie arched her head back and smiled a smile that threatened to melt Bob physically where he stood. With the formerly thigh holding hand, she pointed straight-up and whispered, "Clark said "go pee-pee" twice!" The joy in her words, the vitality of her giggle - it was intoxicating. Softly, Allie called back, "Okay, Clark. I'm coming. Don't get your panties in a knot." Allie then stiffly removed Bob's as yet stationary hand from her aforementioned hair-area. She laughed as she pulled up her clothing, remarking, "This said by someone with her panties in a knot." She kissed Bob quickly but convincingly. "Is that ironic or what?"

Allie stepped back from Bob and demonstratively placed either hand on either of her two spectacular hips. She drew in a deep, contemplative breath. "Well, my friend, we appear to have arrived at some form of cross-roads here, have we not?"

Sheepishly, Bob could only agree. "Yes, that does appear to be the case."

Allie's face tightened as her lips screwed shut and her brows descended ominously. "So, Bob-I'm-Bob, can I call you?" She let whatever gravity might not have been immediately appreciated in her remark settle-in as heavily as it could before continuing. "You know, maybe you're home number, in case your cell battery runs out. That way I can reach you any time, day or night."

Oh boy. Bob knew, in his defense though instinct not experience, it was presently best to come clean - allow the chips to fall where they might. He held up his left hand and wiggled his forth digit. "Noticed the ring - did ya?"

Allie scrunched her nose and nodded judgmentally. "Yeah, kind'a noticed the ring-thing" she gestured absently over a shoulder, " 'bout the time we met back there. You probably heard a rumor that we girls check that stuff out pretty much always, right?"

He bowed in concession, and concurred, "Yeah, I heard y'all made quite the assiduous habit of that somewhere."

Allie popped back, "I bet I can even guess who clued you in as to our propensity." He nodded rather than extend the pain more than necessary.

Bob began impetuously, "Allie, let me ex..."

She held forth a hand to stop him so unequivocally that it would not be denied. "You don't have to say it." She blinked rapidly suggesting a sudden flood of tears were struggling to be released. "It's not like this is "normal behavior" for me either." She stomped a foot loudly on the concrete. The sound echoed down the passage and back. "Geez, I live like a nun and I ridicule my friend like a smug bitch if they try and pull this kind of married-guy crap." She crossed her arms securely. She bit at her lower lip viciously. "Maybe you should just go now, Robert."

Bob's brain instructed that he take two steps backward, turn, and depart. Bob's heart, instead said, "Allie, listen to me. Yes I'm married - have been for twenty-plus years to a fine woman. I am not going to say we've fallen-out of love or the passion is gone to defend what I just did. I like you too much to insult you with those trite excuses. But, look... crap..." Bob fought with tears of his own. "Allie, you are the most beautiful, intelligent, passionate, human I have ever met. You are sexier than any starlet I am familiar with and suck face so well that I am at this moment having trouble forming cogent speech." This drew a giggle of approval for her in spite of the tension in the air. "May I call you?"

Clark bellowed, "Alexandra Mary Francis get up here now. I'm in no mood to swab the bus again because of your dilly-dallying."

Bob pointed in the direction of the voice, and questioned incredulously, "Do people still say "dilly-dally"?"

Allie brushed a lock of Bob's hair off his forehead. "A few eggs short of a carton, remember?" She then folded her arms back, and studied him, deeply engrossed in thought. Finally, she stood fully erect, square to him, and addressed Bob forcefully. "Look I cannot predict if this" she pointed wildly all around them, "is even going to happen - if it's even possible." Again she stomped her foot - it was really quiet the endearing little habit - and she pointed at Bob's nose. "Give me your hand." Now officially confused, Bob jerked his hand up to the position he presumed she required it in. Allie turned his hand palm-up and pulled a pen from her pocket. She pressed harder than was probably necessary and scribbled madly. "This is my cell. Call if you are going to and maybe" she looked up at him with a scowl, "maybe I'll listen." She dropped the hand, turned, and stormed three feet away. Allie then stopped abruptly, spun back to him and marched over so intently that she rammed into his chest. She kissed him, slapped the side of his head and concluded, "You're so darn cute I could just eat you." With that, she bounded up the steps two at a time. When only her feet were visible she stopped and bent way down so half her face was visible to him. "Plus, I want to make arrangements to take possession of Australia, like you promised." She ruffled her half-brow and challenged, "You did promise that. You're not going to welch on me, are you?"

"No, ma'am, I'm not that type of scoundrel." He looked down at his feet, then back to her eye, "I'm about six other kinds of scoundrel. It pains me to confess, but not one of those. I will have to make a few calls, but I'm most hopeful you will own the fair Oz within a week's time - tops." He crossed his heart.

An accusatory finger appeared along side her chin, pointing in his direction. "Tops! I am not a force to be trifled-with, Bob." He saluted and Allie vanished.

Bob stood for many a long minute, like one of the statues residing in the park above. His chaotic thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of an aging bus engine belching to life. Air-brakes in need of repair hissed a loud protest. Only then did Bob turn and walked back toward where he'd chained his bike. He crossed the backs of his hand tightly under his chin, drew his elbows to his chest, and shuttered. As he clomped up the stair, he asked himself, standing now atop the Great Wall of China, what it would be.

Was he to begin working late on important project the boss was riding him about like Bob was some rented mule? Was he about to start attending seminars in Las Vegas or in small Mid West towns few people had ever heard of? Was Bob about to take such an intense interest in a hobby, one which his wife of twenty-plus years just happened to dislike more than liver-and-onion flavored ice cream, that he simply had to attend both regional and national get-togethers? Were science fiction or comic book conventions to become his new passion? Was he about to become a Trekkie, a gun collector, a Civil War Reenactor - perchance a Renaissance courtier?

Oh my.

He dared not speak such suspect words to his prospective paramour, but the passion was gone. Maybe not the love. Well, maybe the love was lost too - or not. Bob could not tell. But they had beautiful children, financial security, and overall stability. And there was the line and the Wall and the numerous chasms of ever increasing girth which loomed close beyond. Was he even that strong? By the time the sun's light forced Bob to squint, he knew he was a fool - a heartless, cliched, and narcissistic fool. He began to loath himself with a fervor he would not have thought possible two hours earlier.

But there was that laugh... that smile... that hair...

Plenty sits, Hungry wanders.

Zulu Proverb

Two very different brothers, Plenty and Hungry. Plenty was peaceful and sat patiently, content with life and happy to watch as people passed by and life occurred around him. Hungry was a different beast altogether. He was always moving, searching, running. There was never enough in one place for Hungry, never satisfied, never full, he was always on the look out for more and for something new. But the brothers had a common bond, they had come from the same place, they loved one another. They were mutually exclusive, yes, but fond of each other and accepting of each other. They loved each other, and although not jealous of each other, they admired the freedoms the other enjoyed and lived vicariously through the others' stories when they were together.

Together, with their stories entangled and their discussion of ideals rubbing up against each other, they complimented each other to the ends of what can be complimented, together they were the best of both worlds, together they had it all. But neither Hungry or Plenty ever felt the need to be the other, to leave their own station, they simply enjoyed the indulgence of a different life for a moment and then came back to their own. In a way the brothers knew that alone they were individuals, and whole, but together they were more than just 2, that their synergy was greater than the sum of their parts, that together they could accomplish more than they could alone, but with that wisdom came the realization that to have both both their personalities in one person would be impossible, that Plenty would not be so satisfied, nor hungry be so independent if they were either of the others' parts. Together they were perfect because apart they were too.

Plenty would tell stories of the laughter and the joy in small moments and the faint hint of a smile on his life-long lover's face at a forgotten memory brought up over tea and biscuits. He spoke of the sunsets he had seen and how the shades of orange changed over time from his porch where he sat each night. He spoke of how well he knew his neighbors and of how he measured his life now in meetings and greetings rather than days for his days were all filled with love and melded gently into one another as each night he lay next to his love. Months and years could pass without Plenty noticing, he was content and happy each day, and minor bumps did not faze him and eventually ceased to come to mind or worry him. He had much love and much conversation. He had comfort everyday, in money, in life, in love, in intimacy, in family and in friends. He lacked nothing and searched for nothing.

Hungry on the other hand was full of adventure and excitement. His stories were outrageous, unbelievable and entirely creative. He ran from place to place with lightning speed and filled any room he entered with his giant presence. He told stories of places and buildings you could not dream of until you had witnessed them. He recounted adventures that began in the morning and continued into so many nights that a week had passed with no sleep. Hungry was popular but not well known, he had met so many people he scarcely remembered any of their names or faces. He had had many women, each different from the last, each with their own qualities and charms. He had loved a small piece of each of them for a small period in time and he had loved their bodies as best he could for the time he had with each. He always moved on, found new places, lived for the passing whims that struck any fancy he may have.

Today the brothers have met for lunch and to discuss their futures. They have come into some money from a late uncle and will each part with half his fortune.

Plenty stood to welcome Hungry to his home once again. Hungry smiled warmly at his brother and his wife, who’s long stand next to his brother had solidified her in his mind as part of him. They looked well to Hungry, they were plump and happy, well groomed and slightly touching, a sign that after all these years they still loved each other as teenagers do. Hungry smiled to himself at his brother’s lover and lifetime of commitment. He was happy for their being happy. Plenty looked his brother’s lean tanned frame up and down, how athletic and sinewy he was, he never changed. He was colored like some wild horse, free and dusty, with a shining coat in the sun. He had run in from some exotic land, hair streaming out behind him and feet gracefully skimming the ground. He was wild eyed and full of life, energy exuded from his every pore, he was itching to begin to move again and eager to get going on the next adventure. His brother knew he wouldn’t stay long. He would have this afternoon and then it would be eons again.

“Hungry,” said Plenty. “Plenty,” Hungry reciprocated. A momentary handshake turned into a giant and warm hug as the brothers embraced and came together. They had missed each other terribly. Each brother recognized the opposition of the other and loved the exposure and alternate viewpoint, wanting to get right down to the conversation they parted to move to the well lit kitchen table and sat.

“Same as always, same old, same old” both brothers burst out laughing, as if that explained to either of them the other’s recent existence.

Both were eager to begin a string of questioning rather than answer, both were interested in the other’s life, his realizations, his perspective. It was an escape for both of them, an alternate world in which to spend the afternoon. But most importantly it served as to remind them why they each loved their own worlds best. Plenty loved his security and frankly, Hungry’s freedom scared him to death, he thrived on routine and familiarity. Hungry, at moments, longed for the familiar touch of the same woman, the unspoken sentences such intimacy would breed but those moments, when they seldom came, scared him to death. He would panic and long for the open road and back country. He ached for isolation and freedom, the space and ability to run forever.

The brothers settled on a question by question basis rather than completely indulging one at a time. This was frustrating for both as they both wanted to completely drop themselves into the other’s life, and soon the conversation landed naturally on Hungry who’s answer to a skillful question by Plenty could not be simply answered.

“...She was beautiful, beautiful indeed, she was a lot like our Mother, she was comforting and kind, I felt immediately that I had known her forever. Our affair was passionate and intense, for it’s short life, it was my whole life. I loved every inch of her the best I could and I will remember her always. Perhaps I will visit her, if I ever pass by there again.”

“Like the two roads in that poem?”

“Yes, and being only one traveller I could only travel one, or something like that right Plenty?”

“You forget the ‘I would likely not be back again’ part, ‘way leading onto way’. Do you ever return to the scene of the crime for a second glance?”

“I have seen it all Brother, a single glance is best, no clouding of any images, clear and sharp. The first glance is truly the only honest one. Once you have looked twice there are other things to see, perspectives that have lifetimes behind them, perspectives that are not yours. That first glance shows what it is and it is best to know it cleanly and honestly, to know it without bias.”

“I cannot remember my first glance of anything here except my beautiful wife, that I will not forget.”

“Plenty, you have been smitten with that woman since before you saw her, your first glance was already determined the day she took her first breath”

“I can only hope. Our love is greater every day. We love as if there is nothing else. It is the most abundant thing and we give each other it in its entirely each time we look at each other, our baskets for each other will never be empty it seems. It is a well that refills with every bucket taken from it. I could not ask for anything more. I know, I know,” laughed Plenty, “You think it boring to be with the same woman everyday for years on end, but let me tell you, I know her better than I know me. She is my greatest success and my biggest source of pride, she is the best thing I have ever done in my life. My hands could carve her out of stone with no help from my eyes or tools. I have not missed anything more than when she is not next to me. I am the creator of an amazing life for her, and she for me. I am here because of her and I would never go where she would not. When we make love it is not a single occurrence, we have been loving each other for so long that each additional moment of pleasure is greater for all those that have come before it, it is cumulative and overwhelming. Perhaps this is also how I see the world, I can not, and perhaps have never, taken a single glance, I am always looking through my eyes or those of others, I see not a place and not a person but a relationship and a history, the first glance for me is never enough.”

Plenty, for a moment, was lost in his own love, Hungry watched his face as it twitched through a thousand memories of tender moments and love making. Hungry was intrigued and mystified with his Brother’s fascination, he had never come close to understanding it and although a few times he had wondered about wether or not any woman would ever capture his heart the way this one had wrangled his brother’s...

“Tell me again, Hungry, the fields, the prairies? How far did they really stretch?”

Snapping out of his wonderings, Hungry began to recount his experiences on the prairies. Briefly it crossed his mind that his brother had manipulated the topic of conversation back to him, that he was once again telling of his own life when what he really wanted to do was to imagine for a moment that he had a permanent place in the arms of a woman but then his story took hold of him as he remembered the freedom he was recounting, the long horizon that made him feel infinite, the endless sky that reminded him how small he was, the stalks of grains that slapped his palms as he walked for hours, walked for so long that his hands became so sensitive he had to hold them up and out of the reach of the spikey grain heads.

Plenty was lost in his brother's words. Aching somewhere deep inside of him for the bravery and courage to live entirely on his own. He marveled at his brother’s self sufficiency and confidence, the man seemed to need no one. No approval for his thoughts, no second opinion to back up his own. He walked alone and upright, no weight on his shoulders, no commitments and no where to be.

Hungry could almost see the thoughts of his brother as his story meandered through another field and over some foothills, he knew that Plenty was imagining himself striking on his own, walking because he could, traveling where he pleased. And it was all true. Hungry did all these things, but as he walked he wished his brother could know that he often recounted his stories. That Hungry thought of the importance his brother’s life held. That people depended upon him and welcomed his arrival each day. That he was expected and wanted. He thought that his brother must be able to feel their love if even he, so seldom a visitor, could see it. That his self esteem was so fully and utterly supported and defined by all the love in his life.

But both brothers never thought that they’d like to be the other. Both knew that their lives suited who they were, were carved out for them as individuals and were the perfect place for them each. Neither Brother was envious in a malicious sense, only in a whimsical and half hearted wondering sort of way. They loved the other’s successes and often saw them clearer than the one experiencing the events himself did.

Finally coming to the topic at hand, Plenty asked, “And the money, Brother, what will you do with it?”

“I will walk until I find somewhere to spend it, or give it, or use it, which ever may come first, or next or last. It will last however long it will last and then it will be gone. Money is not everything. And you, Plenty? What will you do with your share?”

“I have big plans, the community needs a new church, I will buy some building materials. There are some new foster kids in the system, some new clothes and toys might help them feel welcomed to our town here. My wife has many fine dresses so I will sneak of and buy her another so she’ll be forced into a romantic dinner with me to wear it. And lastly I will leave some for the future, as our uncle has for us.”

Hungry thought to himself, so well thought out of Plenty. He was planning for a future, integrating himself into the lives of the people and of his town, he was literally sewn into the fabric of this place, he would never leave and he would be remembered always. He was permanent in a way that Hungry himself would never know, never wanted to know.

Plenty smiled at his Brother, he would do such good with that money, wandering till it felt right, chances were good he would have just the luck to come upon the right person at the right time and it would literally be a miracle. If not for Hungry someone would be without, he would be a mysterious passing hero and never forgotten, maybe even made into a myth or a legend.

It was getting dark outside and Hungry stood suddenly and looked anxiously out the window.

“I should get going Plenty”

“I know”

The END