No Hands

bike_strip

I see you are a strong woman, and confident…” I said, taking a deliberate pause timed as theatrically as I could before finishing my sentence, “on the bike.” She was lightly built with an enchanting presence. That North Mesopotamian olive skin and almond eyes. She averted her glance meaningfully, as if she had practiced that move all her life. “I noticed something about you too” she said, smug, completely avoiding any acknowledgement of the compliment. “Oh yeah?” I exclaimed, rather surprised. “You let go the handle bars and rode the last ten minutes with no hands” she said. “It gives me a sense of freedom” I tried to explain. “Plus you can straighten your back, and look around from a higher vantage point. And see the flamingos way in the marshes.” Her manner was mysterious and inviting. Well-crafted like an Arabian Nights tale. I could tell she only seemed aloof, but was actually focused to the hilt. “You should get a unicycle. You have just about enough balance to shed that extra wheel and handle bar” she said, rather mischievously. ‘Just enough?’ I though — really now. This was no longer a two-bit conversation but a high-stakes poker game of sorts. One I felt losing. I took another pause. A longer one. This time to think of a witty comeback. This woman was as smart as she was elegant. “You are right, I think I will drop the bike” I said “but get a tandem, not a unicycle” I uttered. She looked straight at me, now with a Mona Lisa smile. She had slightly raised eyebrows. Mona Lisa had none. “Of course, she said” as if she read my mind perfectly, “but only if I am the lead rider.”

Discussion Area - Leave a Comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.