Page 16 of Until Now
He is looking at me like I’m the kid, and he’s the parent. Like my antics are laughable.
“Just go on your picnic and don’t kill the ants.” His expression is entirely serious.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“If you roll over on them, they’ll be dead.”
The laughter can’t be held back by my Chris Rock. He’s amusing himself, and if I’m truthful, us too. Maxen thinks it’s funny as hell.
“We’re leaving now. I have my cell. Don’t let McFly out by accident.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t get too loud with the music. Mrs. Patterson has complained about your band practices, you know.”
Bing’s head is nodding, but his eyes are saying, ‘leave already.’
I grab my helmet and leave one last kiss on my son’s head. It was accepted because none of his friends saw me do it. That’s what it has come to now in this new dynamic. Even a mother’s kisses are not always welcomed. It’s the way of the world, but damn, it’s sad to know that truth.
* * *
Maxen’s Harley is everything I expected. The beefed-up Fat Boy is smooth. The moment I swung my leg over and settled against his body, it felt familiar. I have not been on a bike since Robert died. Seems like once you love the feeling, the acceleration, and the wind in your hair, you always will.
I almost forgot what it’s like to lean into the curves of the road. It isn’t only the man who becomes one with the machine. The rider can too. In a way, you become an extension of the bike. When you peel away all the daily bullshit and experience the elements, you come alive. Random people nod at you, and you can always get someone to talk to you about your bike. There’s a cool factor that isn’t limited by your age. It’s your ride that does the loudest talking.
A Zen-like quality engages all my senses. I am reminded of how easy it is to feel joy. There’s a beautiful simplicity to appreciating things that usually pass by without much notice. The smells alone. Every restaurant and fruit stand we pass offers a sampling of what they are selling. Not literally, but just in the way the scents wafted over and past us. Oranges and peaches, hotdogs, and berry pies. It’s a feast for the nose.
But now, the most tantalizing scent of all reaches us. As the road dips closer to the river and its banks, an earthy, mossy smell permeates the air. Humidity settles on my skin, and I rest my head on Maxen’s back and take in the moment.
He slows to a crawl, navigating the narrow road through the trees. I’ve never been here before because this Western access to the riverbank was closed to the public until last month. I’m not sure it’s widely known. I haven’t seen anyone else so that we could be alone. Alone.
A Tennessee summer day is as good as it gets, as far as I’m concerned. Of course, I’m prejudiced because my childhood summers were spent in idyllic settings like this one. The memories rise.
Maxen turns his head. “How you doing back there?”
“I’m good. This is a beautiful spot.”
We are mostly in shade now, and the Silky Dogwoods with their white blossoms make a gorgeous show. The River Birch trees line the water’s edge and reach deep back. But it’s what appears next that stuns. Suddenly we are in a shady forest of hydrangeas. They blanket the floor of the expansive space. Mostly white, but there are some green and purple patches every so often. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, Maxen! This is stunning,” I say as he comes to a stop under a Birch tree and turns off the bike.
“I wanted to give you a bouquet you haven’t had before.”
I swing my leg over and stand. He gets off and engages the kickstand. Then our eyes meet, and I see the desire rise. He gently takes me in his arms.
“Where were we?” he asks softly.
