by Laury Falter
I hurried to take a shower, using a towel I carried in my backpack to dry off, and headed downstairs. Standing in the kitchen, the house was empty, silent and still retained that musky scent, but I smiled my way out the door anyways.
I rolled my bike from the shed and started it, enjoying its rumble even more today. After a quick stop at a local coffee shop, for a shot of espresso and a croissant, I took a tour of the French Quarter.
The roads were narrow and most were cobblestoned or had broken pavement that made it challenging to ride, but that didn’t bother me much. The city was captivating.
The streets were lined with aged, bowing trees that shaded weathered, brick buildings and intricately designed iron balustrades. Small shops opened to colorful art galleries and restaurants propped doors and window shutters open to allow the teasing aroma of spicy southern food to waft out. There was peacefulness to the city, even between the bursts of thrumming jazz music, with everyone moving slowly about their business. Their leisurely pace may also have been because of the soaring temperatures and ridiculous humidity that fell over the city like a stifling blanket. The air was the only thing I would have trouble adjusting to.
After my brief tour of the French Quarter, I arrived at Jackson Square.
It was a raised park of green grass and shrubbery set in a square shape. There is an enormous iron statue of Andrew Jackson on horseback standing in the center. Jackson Square is historic because slaves were often sold here during the 18th and 19th centuries. Now though, along the outskirts of the park, it clearly had become a place for artists to sell their wares and for tourists to have their palms or tarot cards read. The traditional other name for the park is Place d’Armes, but I naturally decided to call it “The Square”.
I parked my bike and walked through the tarot card and palm readers, caricature artists, and local craftsman. Then I stopped a few minutes later at a woman’s table, scanning the hemp products crowding her space.
“Looking for anything in particular,” she asked, pleasantly.
“No.” I shook my head. “Actually, I was wondering something…”
“Uh huh,” she encouraged me to go on.
“How do you set up a table here…as a vendor?” I asked, even while still wondering if I was going to pursue it.
She explained the lengthy, bureaucratic process and then wiggled her finger at me, beckoning me closer. When I leaned in, she added, “But don’t waste your time. Just grease the security guards with a hundred dollars and they won’t say a word.”
I was surprised at her frankness but appreciated it. “Okay, I will.”
“What is it you sell anyways?” she asked, only seeming remotely intrigued.
I opened my mouth to draw in a breath but stopped. I realized that if I told her, she wouldn’t believe me anyways. Instead, I decided to respond cautiously. “I’ll show you tomorrow.”
The woman smiled, now curious. “I’ll be waiting.”
I strolled The Square a while longer and was about ready to leave when something happened. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up – and they had no business standing up on such a hot, humid day. Suddenly my hands began to shake and my stomach went queasy.
Something was very wrong.
With all the noise and movement, you’d think I could easily have missed him, but as it turned out, I didn’t. In fact, I knew he was there before I saw him.
My eyes scanned the crowd with some faint notion that I was looking for whatever was causing this reaction in me. A large man chewing on a sausage, his chin smothered with grease, passed by. Next was a pair of thin women in business suits leaning together and gossiping. Either of these scenes could have made my stomach slightly queasy, but I instinctively knew they weren’t the cause of my sudden inability to control my body’s reactions.
All of a sudden, there he was…leaning against the wall of St. Louis’s Cathedral, hidden in the shade, hands in his pockets, despite the day’s heat, and his eyes positioned directly on me. There was no doubt in my mind that he was staring at me because he didn’t bother to look away when our eyes met.
As I stood in the sun a chill ran through me.
My first instinct was to run. This stunned me since I never ran from anything…ever, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to leave immediately, as if something deep in my core were screaming at me to escape. This reaction made no sense to me, so I ignored it completely and turned my attention back to the creepy guy.
He was still staring at me.
I noticed that his mouth was turned down now and his nostrils flared out. Clearly he was furious about something.
I wondered if he was an official thinking I was about to shoplift. Wearing a dress shirt and slacks, his professional appearance definitely sent that message. But in a brief moment when our eyes locked, I noticed something different about him. He wasn’t old enough to be in a position of authority – even if he came across as holding it. His outward appearance made him look young enough to be my age, yet something in his demeanor, his stance, told me that he was much older.
No matter what his issue was, I was about to leave anyways. It was getting dark and my balcony was calling to me. So I slid up on my bike and headed back to the house.
I was conscious of him as I left The Square, feeling him following me without having to look to confirm it. As I moved through the intersection, I turned to find him sitting behind the wheel of a blue Ford Mustang. Once more, he was staring at me with that same angry gaze.
In reaction, my skin broke out in a cold sweat and my hands started to shake. I never had this happen before – but then I’d never been afraid before either. It took a moment to realize that this was what I was experiencing…actual fear. It was new to me, completely. But I couldn’t deny it. I was trying to gain control of my nerves that were now shooting off panic to every inch of my body.
It took me an entire street block before I started to get my breathing under control and that was only after I glanced over my shoulder at the stop sign to make sure the guy wasn’t following me. I didn’t see him, but the hair on the back of my neck was still standing up, which didn’t calm me at all.
I turned down my street and focused on the third streetlight that was lighting the pavement in a dim orange circle. This was the entrance to my driveway on the side of the house, and I was only a few feet from it when something entirely unexpected and unforeseeable happened.
Just outside the hazy glow of the streetlight stood someone who I was absolutely certain had not been there a moment ago. He appeared without warning and from nowhere, suddenly standing directly in front of me, as if he had intentionally put himself in my path.
This last thought occurred to me as ridiculous, but it was the way it seemed nonetheless.
Despite the swiftness at which the event happened, I saw something with absolute clarity. He was handsome, so much so that he’d looked more appropriate on a runway than standing in my street. I knew instantly that he was around my age. But unlike other teenagers, he stood tall and assured, towering over me, even from my height on the bike. What he wore did not reflect the most recent fashion either. His clothes had an age to them, still clean and well-kept but traditional. His hair was dark brown – as best I judged from the reflection of the streetlight – and cut to be shaggy yet just short enough to keep it tidy.
I instantly felt guilty for being in the motion of running him down – which would certainly result in injury at this speed.
What I also recognized in that brief moment was his expression. It was not filled with terror as would be expected when a five-hundred pound motorcycle is bearing down on you. He was not scattered or looking for a way to escape or frightened at all.
He was frustrated.
I, on the other hand, was frantic. My bike was about to pummel a complete stranger, and I didn’t seem to have any way of avoiding it. I had felt in control of my bike from the moment I first took a seat on it. Yet, in that moment, I had as much control over it a
s I did over directing a planetary alignment.
“Right!” he yelled in an English accent, pointing in that direction with a long, toned arm.
But I was already going left – completely by chance. Realizing that it was now or never, I gained control of myself. At least now, with the ability to function physically, I turned the handlebars to the right, but it was too late.
My front tire was less than a foot from him now. We were going to collide.
Suddenly my bike took on a life of its own. It trembled slightly and the handlebars jerked to the right, nearly throwing me off, and just as abruptly, it righted itself as it turned into my driveway. Again, I was almost launched off when my wheels hit the gutter’s dip but it caught me at just the right angle. I only vaguely registered somewhere deep in my subconscious that I was not controlling my bike but it was controlling me. It caught me from falling off with each jarring move and each forceful bump. This made no sense to me, so I quickly disregarded it.
I focused instead on the fact that I should have been sprawled on the pavement with my giant five-hundred pound bike on top of me – I was definitely leaning far enough over that it should have happened. But the bike swerved its way down my neighbor’s driveway, plowing me into the hedge that separated our properties. The bike ended up leaning against the hedge and the motor cut off a moment later.
Jostled and completely confused about what had just transpired, I took a moment to inhale deeply. It was alarming to realize how ragged my breathing had become. This was the first time I’d ever felt my breath that way. I instead chose to focus on freeing my leg from the overgrown shrubbery.
I wiggled it up and over my bike, falling to the gravel driveway in my effort. I immediately picked myself up, brushed off tiny stones engrained in my palms, and unfastened my helmet.
Already, the fear I’d felt a few seconds ago was gone. Disappeared, and in its place was fury.
I pulled my helmet off, craning my neck painfully in the process and not caring.
All of a sudden he was right there, standing directly in front of me.
“Are you all right?” he asked, although his mouth was slightly puckered and he sounded more aggravated than concerned.
Despite my anger brewing, it dawned on me that this boy was even more attractive up close. I was angry and wanted to stay that way. I definitely did not want to be intrigued; yet, that was how I felt. In the moment of staring at him, I noticed that he had a certain kind of smoothness to his skin that seemed untouched by time. He carried himself with assurance and grace; if it weren’t for his size, I would have thought I was looking at someone several years younger. But, this wasn’t what stunned me. His eyes, which locked with mine and refused to free me, were the blue-green color I’d only seen in the waters off the coast of Florida. Translucent, warm, and welcoming. I had leapt off piers into that water uninhibited, free – but I was feeling neither of those emotions in my current state.
No, I felt angry.
“Am I all right?” I scoffed. “I almost ran you over. What were you doing just standing in the street? Did you want to be hit?”
His eyes squinted then, reducing their beautiful blue-green color, and I was thankful. It allowed me to regain a bit of clear thought.
He stared back at me as if he were trying to answer a very challenging question. “You’re angry with me?” He sounded confused and a bit appalled.
I threw up my hands. That wasn’t clear?
“You were standing in the middle of the street! I had to avoid hitting you! I ended up in a bug-infested hedge!” I crossed my arms, waiting for an apology.
He leaned back and folded his own arms across his chest in a seemingly unspoken challenge. “So I understand that you didn’t notice the Ford Mustang barreling down the street behind you? The one that was about to run you over?”
Stumped, I turned back toward the opening of the street. “Mustang? What Ford Mustang?” I asked, thinking in the back of my mind. Wasn’t the creepy guy from earlier today driving a Ford Mustang?
“It’s gone now,” he replied, frowning. “You didn’t think it was going to stick around after nearly running you down, did you?”
He was mocking me, which infuriated me even more.
“You realize I could have easily killed you?” I demanded.
“I doubt that,” he replied. A hint of a smile rested just beneath the surface.
I couldn’t comprehend why he thought this was funny. Did he have no sense of self-preservation?
“My bike is a heavy piece of machinery,” I stated for emphasis to my point.
He nodded casually, still retaining that subtle grin. He had no rational fear about what had just happened. That much was clear to me.
I laughed at the idiocy of the situation, which made one of his eyebrows lift skeptically.
Finally, he responded. “That doesn’t apply to me.”
“What doesn’t?” I asked, now thoroughly confused.
“Your bike and its dangers.”
“How is that? Are you a stunt person?” I asked, coming up with the only logical explanation I could think of on the spot.
He seemed to appreciate that assumption with humor, tilting his chin up and releasing a deep chuckle. When he was through, he brought his head back down and looked me deep in the eyes.
“You really have no idea, do you?”
“About what?” I nearly screamed, thoroughly perturbed at this point.
Then his expression changed from smug humor to stunned surprise. He stood this way for some time, staring at me, with his mouth slightly ajar and his eyebrows creased. “No idea at all…” he muttered then.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I replied.
“No, you wouldn’t,” he said, with sincerity, apparently now having overcome his shock at whatever unknown realization he’d arrived at a moment ago.
“Where did you come from anyways? One second you were not there and the next…” I recognized my voice was calming now along with my emotional state.
He seemed to have difficulty answering, opening and closing his mouth several times. Finally, he responded, his voice almost teasing and that slim smirk returning to lurk beneath the surface. “It looked like you needed my help.”
“I didn’t,” I replied, putting my hands on my hips in visible protest.
“How did I know you were going to say that?” he teased, allowing that smile to breach the surface, lighting his face with such beauty it caught my breath.
Something happened in him then. It was subtle but I noticed it anyways. He relaxed. His muscles eased up, his expression loosened. It was as if he’d just now encountered a very old friend and fell into the same welcomed, tolerant pace at which that friendship had existed.
“You didn’t answer my question. Where did you come from?”
He considered how to answer for a moment and then replied coyly, “That doesn’t matter. What does, is that you are safe…Right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Look,” I said clenching my teeth against my irritation. “I don’t need your help. Okay?”
His eyebrow went up further with a disagreeing stare. “Well…I would say that everything points to the contrary.”
In reaction to that bold understatement, I felt my lips purse in aggravation. To avoid showing that he’d made an observation far too close to the truth, I turned my attention to my bike. It was still leaning against the hedge, making a clear indentation in the once solid wall of green foliage. I reached down and took hold of the handlebars and then leaned back so that my body weight could be used as a pivot to lift the enormous machine back up. It was heavy, despite the adrenaline still pumping through me, and after several struggling heaves it hadn’t moved at all. I could sense he was still behind me, watching.
Catching my breath, I warned, “If you laugh, I am going to…” He cleared his throat and I stopped myself. I couldn’t be sure but I think he was trying to cover his chuckle.
I could feel him beside
me then. The skin on my arm closest to him tingled – not like with creepy guy earlier today – but in a nice way. I had to fight the unexplainable force inside me that wanted to lean toward him, and knowing it just made me angrier. Never in my life had I felt this way about anyone – much less a stranger. Typically, I tried to avoid boys, always knowing that I would be moving on soon, and starting anything would be ridiculous and futile. But, here I was drawn to this stranger. It made no sense.
“Still don’t need my help, eh?” he muttered, glancing at me with a playful grin.
“No, I do not,” I replied resolutely, despite the obvious contradiction of that statement, as he moved my bike to stand right-side up for me.
Then, it occurred to me that he was not drawing in any heavy breaths at the exertion of what he had just done. Not a single grunt, or even a minor muscle tremor, was released. His body didn’t seem opposed to lifting a weight far more than his own. In fact, he did it effortlessly, as if he were pulling out a chair.
When he turned to face me, he must have caught sight of my shock. “Something on your mind?” he asked casually, smirking once again.
“That bike is over five hundred pounds,” I pointed out, insinuating.
“And?”
“And you had no trouble moving it.”
He chuckled lightly, still easily holding my bike upright for me by the handlebars. “Just be thankful you have me here to help you.”
I laughed sarcastically. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for you.”
This time it was his lips that pinched in protest, and for a moment, I wondered what response he was holding back.
I slid into the seat and refocused my glare on my bike, thankful there was no body damage. Then I turned the key. It spurted, hiccupped, and, after a few seconds of honest effort, died.
I looked up at him in frustration and motioned toward it. “Great…”
He then had the audacity to sneer at me as he reached across, grazing my arm - simultaneously sending a shock wave through my body - and swiftly turned the key. The engine rumbled to life.
