vespa

the wind whipping my hair into strings, separate strands of darkness flowing in a straight line behind me and how is it that I can be at once so very completely comfortable, yet so very very uncomfortable? my pink coat draws stares, it is buttoned up above my chin and it is bright, of course, because it is mine, and it even stands out in the reflections of the well shined glass on sheridan drive and though we've done this before during the day, it is night and the two of us on this thing, this scooter that is a beautiful and amazing thing, it makes me glad and I don't question why, I just resist the urge to yell yee haw when we drive so fast that the wind pulls my hair off my back and my eyes water and my nose gets runny and my hands and exposed skin gets cold and the world is twisting out and away faster and differently than it does when you're in a car, because when you're in a car, there is a barrier between you and the rest of the world and it is a door and often a pane of glass in that door, but on the bike, it is just you and the elements and your interaction with them is so much harder to ignore.

part of being on this kind of bike is that the people like you, the ones on their bikes, want to acknowledge you somehow, like there's a secret handshake, or a special emblem, or a certain pact between us that has us beep, wave or nod to our fellow riders on their scooters, motorbikes, mopeds and even the ubiquitous motorcycles are included in this brotherhood.

it is not very often that something can both thrill me and make me forget the undulating chorus of admonishments in my mind while the smile of my face sutures itself behind my teeth. and yet, beyond the scooting there is a relationship that I haven't been able to accept, but perhaps in time, I can.