On the way home, she called the biker.
He answered:
“What?”
“You always answer the phone like you're angry.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“You called.”
She laughed.
“I went to the hardware store.”
Silence.
“The one?”
“Yes.”
“How's the parking lot?”
“Still there.”
“Good infrastructure.”
She smiled.
“They still sell red paint.”
“Hang up.”
She laughed harder.
He did.
Some relationships needed no sentimentality because affection had become obvious enough.
The old biker died in his seventies.
Not on a motorcycle.
Not dramatically.
Heart failure after several difficult months.
The young woman visited during his final week.
So did the man who had once been the teenager.
They arrived separately.
The biker saw them from his chair.
“Well.”
His voice was weak.
“Look what the cat dragged in.”
The young man smiled.
“Still funny.”
“No.”
The young woman sat beside him.
“You look terrible.”
“Your manners got worse.”
“You taught me.”
They talked about ordinary things.
Her work.
The young man's son.
The club.
Motorcycle prices.
The biker complained that new bikes cost too much.
The young man reminded him he once spent twelve years saving for one.
“Exactly.”
“Means nothing changed.”
“Everything costs too much.”
Eventually the room grew quiet.
The biker looked at both of them.
“I've been thinking about that day.”
The young woman smiled.
“You think about everything now.”
“Old people do that.”
The young man looked uncomfortable.
The biker noticed.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Making that face.”
“What face?”
“The guilt face.”
The young man looked away.
The biker continued.
“You did wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“Yes.”
“We established this.”
The young man smiled slightly.
The biker looked toward the young woman.
“You did something reckless.”
She nodded.
“Correct.”
“You destroyed my motorcycle.”
“Paint job.”
“Same emotional category.”
She laughed.
He became serious.
“You both changed my life.”
Neither spoke.
The biker continued.
“Not because one of you was good and one bad.”
The young woman frowned.
He explained.
“You reminded me action matters more than appearance.”
He looked toward her.
“You looked like a kid destroying something.”
“You were saving something.”
Then toward the young man.
“You looked like a monster to a lot of people.”
The man's jaw tightened.
The biker shook his head.
“I'm not saying you weren't responsible.”
“I know.”
“You showed me responsibility doesn't have to be the last sentence either.”
The young man wiped his eyes.
The biker hated crying.
Especially when other people did it near him.
“Stop that.”
The young woman was crying too.
“Both of you.”
“No.”
She laughed through tears.
The biker sighed.
He reached toward a drawer beside his chair.
Inside was the old Hello Kitty note.
Faded.
FOR THE RED BIKE. SORRY.
The woman stared.
“You kept that?”
“No.”
“You literally just pulled it out.”
“Somebody put it there.”
“You're impossible.”