EVELYN
just gonna stand there
and hear me cry
but that's alright
because I love the way you lie
Speedlust
The central space in Carl's apartment was home to a brand new painting. It was mostly black and gray tones, with tiny spots of color, mostly yellow for window lights. It showed an armor-clad motorcyclist deep in a turn on a black Ninja 250. Behind him the expanse of the city lights dominated the background. It was a beautiful painting. Carl had spent extra time on the rider, making sure the muscles were big, but not too big, so that girls might still make the subliminal connection between the person in the picture and him. He also had a story about how the image was inspired by this one time when he had leaned into a turn just right, as he was accelerating, and looking ahead in the curve, and realized that the feeling was better than sex. The story was true, every word of it, but only because Carl had forgotten how ridiculously awesome sex was. Also, little did Carl know but he had gotten certain important details wrong on the bike.
Carl didn't know if all that had worked or not, but he had gotten laid last night. Literally, all night. Carl had previously not known that "all night" was ever meant literally, and not just a figure of speech, but now he did, and as he lay there in his last afterglow, he mused: "I could die right now and I would be happy."
Elena popped her head onto his chest and made a pouty face. "But who would sleep with me then?"
Carl grinned. He did not know how or why his fortune had turned. All he knew is that he was at a party last night, and despite being scared out of his mind, he had talked to this Elena chick, and now he was lying in bed with her and she wanted to come again every night this coming week. He didn't know where the courage had come from. In fact, he probably still didn't have any courage; he had just moved forward and acted the way you have to act when you are on a bike in the left lane with some douchebag ridding your tail and some jackass in the right lane doesn't see you and tries to merge into you. That kind of moving forward. Had Carl gotten...really any sleep at all, he would have made this connection himself. Instead, Carl was seriously concerned that his heart might explode from happiness. Maybe that wasn't just a figure of speech either.
He would have loved to lay there in bed all day with Elena in his arms, occasionally waking up to more kisses, but today was the day he could pick up Carby from the shop, and Carl just couldn't lie around at leave his bike waiting. He forced himself out of bed, drank two cups of coffee, some tea, grabbed a soda for later, and tried to shake the mild hangover out of his head. Thankfully, he didn't have much to drink last night, but getting no sleep was enough to make him miserable. The lack of sleep and the overdose of euphoria he was feeling made him feel like he was walking in a dream. A good dream. The best dream. This was the first and only time in his life where Real Life was better than what he was capable of imagining, and being an artist he was capable of imagining a lot. Elena was just so damn hot. And cute. Hot and cute. Damn. He nearly did her again on their way out the door. In retrospect, he probably should have.
Carl paused outside his door and watched Elena walk away. His heart started beating faster as he did so. He nearly called her back and put off getting Carby for another day. Or three. I mean, who really needs to go to class when a girl is willing to let you touch her boobs? Had Carl done so, Carby would have been stolen two nights later when a couple of teenage thugs broke into the motorcycle shop, but that's not how Carl's story ends. Instead, Carl forced himself to turn away and walk the long distance to the motorcycle shop. He walked over the incredibly dangerous bridge once again, this time his desire to not fall off and die heightened by his recent experience with Elena. He made it to the shop safetly and went up to the front desk, and then outside again and around to the side, where he waited twenty minutes behind three other people, one of which was getting in a huge argument with the service guy over some weird issue Carl couldn't understand, and then another guy showed up and led Carl back into the store to pay for the towing and the other towing and the fixing, and then led Carl back outside to his bike, which someone wheeled out and started for him. The engine sounded a little different than Carl was used to, and that is when the cool black motorcycle shop dude taught Carl what an idle knob is. And then Carl was off. He was very tired, but no matter: he just had to ride. He was a motorcycle guy now.
He rode for an hour, and then went back home and slept basically the rest of the day, and then got up as the sun was going down and texted Elena. He was going to pick her up on his motorcycle. He was going to get on a sportbike, ride into central city, and pick up the hottest russian chick in the world, and give her a ride on his motorcycle. On his sportbike. Carl was so damn excited his hands were shaking as he twisted the key.
Carl hit the highways with a fever, and began dodging cars and going as fast as he can, which isn't all that fast on a 250, however, when you add all the car dodging it becomes very exciting and your actual top speed does not enter the picture. Carl was on fire. Even as traffic slowed down, he couldn't, and without really thinking, he moved in between the lanes, riding the white stripes like a bandit. A part of him--a really large, monstrous part of him--knew that he definitely should not be doing this, especially since he was so new that he still stalled first gear occasionally. However, Carl was caught up in the speedlust, and moved laterally around a yellow ford to split the lanes like he was dodging a cone in the Basic Rider's Course, which he had never but should have taken.
The rage that took over
Evelyn choked. Correction: Evelyn was choking. The reason Evelyn was choking was because his hand was around her neck, after having just slammed her into the wall. Her head had smashed a glass frame. However what was going on externally was not the focus of her mind. Externally, she was about to get a few more bruises; he was probably going to throw her to her right and into the table. If he was horny, he would rip her jeans off and go where she normally didn't let him. There was nothing new there; he had come home early and seen the bags and knew what she was attempting. No, it was the internal battle that raged on, now that her courage was shattered. Evy, the funny, coy, ambitious and melodramatic side of her was getting creamed by Lyn, the practical side, the side that was cheating on Evy with the status quo. Now, Lyn was lecturing. You knew this wouldn't work. It doesn't matter what the details are. Something will always happen if you try to get out. Just settle for a housewife. Its probably the best you can get by now. Sobs welled up in her throat just before he let go of it. The things she had lost for him: the college she never finished, the friends who had given up on her, and the baby she had...taken care of. That was your choice. You never even told him about it said Lyn. Evy countered with: that's because it would have tied us together. That is when Evelyn realized something that had been in the back of her mind, guilting her for more than a year: she had...taken care of...a baby that she loved, for no other reason than that baby would have tied her to him in a way that she could never escape from. Even if she moved to another state and became a high paid doctor or lawyer and had a family of her own, that child would be all that he needed to stay in her life, forever. She couldn't have that.
When Evelyn refocused on the outside world again, they were trading words furiously. She was crying, and screaming nonsense, and he was not crying, but also screaming nonesense. He hadn't slammed her on the table, so Evelyn wasn't too worried. So long as she could avoid slapping him she would get out of this without a black eye. Then she realized how sad that sounded. Then, she realized how hard it was not to slap him.
The argument ended the way it often did, with her making him dinner. Most of the other details aren't that important, because the guilt realization with the baby had changed things, had made those details unimportant. What is important is that this was one of his favorite dinners, and that Evelyn had fallen into the routine of placating him that she knew so well. She could do this in her sleep. In fact, she had placated him in her sleep, and it was not something she wanted to think about. What she did want to think about was the two pills she slipped in his beer. The correct dosage was one pill, and there was also extra olive oil in the recipe. A lot of it. In fact, Evelyn had a last minute fright that he wouldn't like the taste, but he grinned and wolfed it down. It sounded like he was growling. The storm had abated. This was normally the time where Evelyn's nerves calmed and her heart slowed to a normal pace, but this time it was not over for her. She swept the glass quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice that she was just pushing it to the wall, and made some chamomile tea. She sipped it as best she could with unsteady hands. Evelyn didn't eat; she was going to have to do this on an empty stomach or she would throw up. She sat across from him and smiled.
"Baby I'm sorry. You know I love you."
She held her smile and shivered a little. Doubt, and her emotions, were creeping in. Her plan was on a knifes edge, but one of the bags was still packed. "I know. You want another beer?"
He shook his head. "I'm good. Hey after this you wanna...." Sex. He was too riled up to satisfy him with just a blowjay. He wanted sex, and if they had sex, the last wall of iron will within Evelyn would crumble, and the bag would be unpacked, and it would be over. She had her wallet, and her keys--in her back pocket so he wouldn't notice. In fact, if she grabbed her coat she could leave now.
"Not now..." ...dangerous territory... "...but, lets just watch tv first."
He shrugged and finished his beer in one swig, doing that annoying thing with his elbow that he thought showed off his bicep. Evelyn felt disgust. In fact, for a moment, and despite the recent outbreak of violence, she couldn't understand why she hadn't left before.
They watched tv. He suddenly ran to the bathroom. Evelyn could hear it from the couch. She turned the tv off, then realized her mistake and quickly turned it back on. Its now or never, sugar. It was the strong voice. Rouge.
Evelyn felt like she was walking through a dream. She slipped past the bathroom, grabbed one of what was originally two large and one small bag, and then made a beeline for her coat.
"YOU BITCH." The scream came from the bathroom. The door burst open, to reveal him, standing, pants around his ankles and feces sliding down his legs, pooling inside his boxers. He was raging.
Now, sugar. Evelyn dropped the bag--threw it, actually, in the opposite direction, for momentum--and high kicked him square in the chest. He pedaled backward and tripped into the tub, leaving a bloody mark on the wall tile. The bag flew into the wall and caught the edge of the table, tumbing into a chair that it knocked over. The chair might have tripped her if Evelyn wasn't already sprinting. She didn't even stop for her coat. Five blocks later she collapsed on the sidewalk. Pain and guilt surrounded and over powered her and she cut her hands on loose bits of concrete. Blackness crept at the edges of her vision, but soon it abated, and she was whole again. The sun was setting and the world was beautiful and she was free...
...and a bit chilly. Evelyn walked to the nearest gas station and treated herself to a small canister of strawberry shortcake ice cream, and, briefly, her world was calm. She did not think about what an unwise move it was to spend half of her cash on ice cream which would only make her cold on a night when she needed but didn't have a jacket. By the time the ice cream was finished and she was just walking along balancing the cup and spoon between two sticky fingers, the chill hit her bones and she realized that she was walking aimlessly toward trenchtown with no particular purpose, and, more importantly, nowhere to go. The low for that night was going to be an unusual 52 degress F, and despite Evelyn's best intentions, if it wasn't for Carby, she would have ended up sleeping outside their--no his--doorway, the only warm place available, shivering and crying, wondering what he would do to her, and willing to do anything to survive. He would came come home in poop-stained clothing, after the neighboors called the cops on them again and he ended up punching an officer this time, and he would have made Evelyn wish she hadn't been born. That is not what happened, however, because a little black ninja literally came flying into her life.
The crash was loud but not that loud. It was the sight of a biker and a sportbike separately (but synchronously) flipping over the rails of the highway above her that she would remember forever. The bike landed in its front tire, nearly upright, with the rear following, sliding down the embankment with far less commotion than its rider, coming to a rest at Evelyn's feet. The rider, however, was broken. Evelyn didn't see how it happened but she saw him sprawled there in a position that creeped her out. Two of three pieces of his helmet wobbled nearby. His only other protection had been jeans, a t-shirt, and shoes that were not the high tops or boots that they would have told him to wear in the Basic Rider's Course. Lacerations covered his arms and chest and there was blood on the sidewalk.
The details are blurry and unimportant, suffice to say that Evelyn did interact briefly with Carl before he left the world of the living, and that Carl was barely aware of Evelyn even though he whispered to her. What Carl noticed in his final moments, as air escaped and blood filled his lungs, is that Carby's fairing was a lot slimmer than he thought, and not just because of crash damage. Carby's exhaust pipe was also slimmer. What did he paint? Carl's final moments are difficult to narrate further, as such pain can only be described accurately by the dead.
There were other people there, and many of them had cell phones, but Carl's heart stopped beating long before sirens echoed in the distance. The only person that Evelyn noticed was the Other Rider.
He stood up on the highway, for a moment, with one leg up on the brand new kink in the guardrail, with the top of another motorcycle peeking over the guardrail, and the moon behind him. Then the rider, Biff, was beside her, and she was a sudden chatterbox.
"He said his bikes name was Carby. Well, "Carbon 250." He...uh...asked me to take care of it."
Biff nodded. Evelyn was having a tough time not staring at his face. Especially his eyes.
"Well you can't refuse a man his dying wish."
"I..." Evelyn wanted to tell him that she was homeless and broke and so, so lost, but she lost her voice.
There was some waiting, and talking, and lots of uniforms and flashing lights. Evelyn wasn't sure why she stayed around; Biff was the only one who saw it happen. He described it in eloquent detail, making liberal use of the high-minded vocabulary of the uniforms. Words like vehicle and trachea and write-off. He almost sounded like a cop, but didn't look like one. Evelyn stayed because he was there.
She started shivering from the cold, and it was as if Biff had been waiting for her to do that. He flipped his jacket off and swooped it around her in one fluid motion. Evelyn wondered how someone got that good at putting on a jacket. Did he practice for hours on end with a mannequin, or had he just seduced that many girls?
When the excitement had dulled, Biff walked with her and listened to her story. She was a chatterbox again. She told him all about the escape, even the part about the shit pooling in her ex-boyfriend's underwear. Ex-boyfriend...damn it feels good to say that out loud. Only when her boots crunched on glass did Evelyn realize that Biff had just taken her around the block. Awkward silence descended. Evelyn wondered what it was about this guy that made her knees weak. Then she checked her phone. 29 missed calls and counting. She turned it off.
"I'm sorry, I'm gushing like a little kid. I'm sorry--my life's story can't be that interesting."
Biff shrugged. "Interesting enough. I think most girls this attractive end up shacked up with some guy and a baby by your age. At least you got out of it without a baby."
Evelyn felt instand, searing guilt. What nerve. Even though Biff didn't know, and even though it sort of sounded like a compliment, Evelyn didn't like what he said, and she was starting to feel angry. More awkward silence. Who does he think he is with all this "your age" nonesense? He's not much older.
"Carby's getting treated like scrap," said Biff.
"Who?"
"The bike. You said Carl named him Carby."
"Oh. Yeah."
"They think its scrap so they just took it to a lot. This is the address." Biff handed her a card. "The number for a good bike shop is on the other side."
Evelyn turned the card over. Some bike shop in trenchtown.
"Go to the lot in about a week, and they'll release it to you. The bike shop can tow it."
"Um...I don't know about all this." I got my own problems, sugar. "Why don't you take care-"
"Carl asked you, didn't he?" said Biff. Evelyn didn't have an answer for that.
"Now, as for your own story...this will get you a room for a few nights." He held out a roll of cash in a rubber band.
"I...I can't accept that." Still angry. They argued for a bit. Then, suddenly, Biff grabbed her belt buckle and yanked her close, so close that her lips were mere inches away, and slighly below his. Her chest pressed into his. Anger all gone. Fear now. She could smell his aftershave, and it was that pleasant aroma that stayed her growing terror.
Biff slid the the cash into her front pocket. He shook his head also. "Don't be stupid."
Then they were standing apart again, but her body was only now starting to react to his touch. Evelyn was glad her jacket covered her chest. Biff hailed a cab and she got inside. The warm air inside was glorious; her mind went blank when she looked at the driver.
Biff leaned in. "She's going to the Hillbrant on 1st Ave." He paused. "And, Evelyn."
She looked at him.
"I'll have my jacket back."
"Oh!" she had forgotten it was his. The leather just felt so good, so...right. She almost didn't want to take it off. Evelyn fumbled, out of embarrasment, trying to get the jacket off in a hurry, twisting her arms behind her to pull the sleeves. She ended up giving him and the cabbie a good show in the process. If Biff noticed, his face didn't show it. He nodded and grabbed the door with his hand.
"Wait, ...pay you back...."
"Take care of Carby. If you wanna pay me back, do that." Biff threw the door shut.
The cab was still stopped at a red light nearby when Evelyn heard the repeated crescendos of Biff's bike as he took off into the night. The ride was pleasant. Evelyn had the fortune to get a cabby that didn't talk much and she was thankful for that. She was drained and exhausted and unable to talk for any great length. She spent the car ride wondering why, of all the doucebags and popped collars and nervous little geeks in the world (who constantly hit on her), why did the first good one in a while not ask for her number? In all honesty she probably would have given him the fake one, as a reflex, but it still annoyed her that he hadn't asked.
Evelyn checked into a room, left her phone off, and slept soundly that night.
notes:
Evelyn thinks the biker in the painting is Biff
evelyn's love affair with the pink jacket/suit--also it is *used*
evelyn's love affair with the pink jacket/suit--also it is *used*
evelyn uses the bike to get to work; used to have her ex drive her
mention the motorcycle shop breakin
mention the motorcycle shop breakin
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