“Nobody opened it?”
“Not since after the funeral.”
The mother looked at him.
“But you had a key.”
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
The road captain leaned against the wall.
“At first we thought we’d give his things to you.”
She lowered her eyes.
“We couldn’t find you.”
“I know.”
“After a while…”
He looked at the locker.
“It became easier not to.”
The boy pulled out the brass key.
His hand shook.
He looked at his mother.
“Can I?”
She nodded.
He pushed the key into the lock.
Nothing.
He tried again.
The road captain crouched.
“Turn it slightly left first.”
The boy did.
Click.
Every older biker stopped breathing.
The door opened with a metallic groan.
A smell escaped.
Leather.
Dust.
Machine oil.
Nine years sealed in steel.
The boy looked inside.
A black motorcycle helmet sat on the top shelf.
Below it, folded rain gear.
Brown work gloves.
A paperback novel.
A photograph of the five bikers when they were younger.
A small stuffed bear still inside a plastic shopping bag.
The road captain stared at the bear.
Nobody remembered it.
The boy reached for it.
His mother made a small sound.
He lifted the bag.
A department-store receipt remained inside.
The date was the day before his father died.
The same store from the photograph.
The boy looked at his mother.
“This was for me?”
She covered her mouth.
The road captain turned away.
The boy removed the bear.
Blue ribbon.
Tiny stitched smile.
He held it against his chest.
No one spoke.
Then the boy noticed a black metal box behind the helmet.
“What's that?”
The road captain frowned.
“I don’t know.”
He had never seen it.
The box was about the size of a thick book.
Locked.
No obvious keyhole on the front.
The boy pulled it out.
Something rattled inside.
His mother stiffened.
The road captain noticed.
“You know?”
“No.”
“You looked like you did.”
“I don’t.”
The boy turned the box.
On the underside was another keyhole.
The brass locker key did not fit.
The oldest biker suddenly said:
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at him.
He stepped toward the locker.
Reached beneath the bottom shelf.
His fingers moved along the metal.
Then stopped.
“There used to be a magnet here.”
“What?”
The old biker pulled.
A small magnetic key holder snapped free from beneath the shelf.
Inside was a tiny silver key.
The road captain stared at him.
“How did you know?”
The older man looked embarrassed.
“Your brother used to hide cigarette money there.”
“He didn’t smoke.”
The old biker gave him a look.
“Sure.”
Despite everything, the mother laughed.
The sound seemed almost inappropriate.
That made everyone laugh.