Cards in the Cloak

by Jeremy Bursey

  ***

  Norman and the groundskeeper had spent the next couple of hours sitting beside an ice dispenser while staring at the sky. In the first hour, the old man had reached in the machine and scooped with his clawed hand a tiny mound of ice for them to eat. As the remaining droplets of water fell from his fingers, Norman counted the clouds in the sky. Most of them were tiny cotton balls floating thousands of feet above him, but a few monster-sized vapors pushed through the weaker ones. About halfway through his inventorying of the sky, he clucked his tongue and shook his head. He was clearly living out his twilight years in the worst way anyone could live. But at least he was eating ice and counting clouds far away from the nursing home, so he was grateful for small victories. He just wished he wasn’t sweating and shivering so much.

  He had managed to count nearly seventeen cloud masses when the silence was interrupted by a thunderous chorus of motors. The old groundskeeper stood and smiled.

  “That sounds like Bobby and his friends,” he said.

  Norman hoisted himself up with his cane for a better look at the road. The rumbling had gotten louder and louder, so much that it started to hurt his ears. Then suddenly he saw what he assumed he was waiting for. A fleet of Harley-Davidson motorcycles flowed into the parking lot from behind the wall of woods at the corner of the property, rolling in like royalty. A thick-bearded man near the front of the group veered out of the line and stopped his bike less than two feet from the old groundskeeper and promptly cut off the engine. As the engine died out, the biker took off his sunglasses. He didn’t bother to wave.

  “Hey, Dad,” he said. “Is this the guy we’re taking with us?”

  “Yep, this is, what’s your name?” the old groundskeeper asked.

  “Norman Jenson.”

  “This is Norman Jenson. He’s a good friend of mine who wants to see the beach once more before his time is up. He’s already spent enough time being mistreated by bureaucrats with nursing degrees, so take good care of him, and make sure he gets there in one piece. If he doesn’t, I’ll flog you. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Dad, I got it.”

  “You better. I can still hurt you if you don’t.”

  “I know.”

  The biker removed a helmet from the back of his bike and handed it to Norman. Norman rolled it around in his hands, wondering what he was expected to do with it. Last time he had been on a motorcycle, helmets weren’t required, and he didn’t really want to don one now. But he took the biker’s cue anyway and mashed it down on his head. Then he fastened the chinstrap as best as he could and waited for the biker’s next instruction. The biker reached into his saddlebag for a pair of sunglasses. After checking for lens flare, he gave the glasses to Norman. Norman placed the sunglasses over his eyes and gave the biker the thumbs up. The nurses would undoubtedly be pissed at him right now if they knew what he was doing.

  “Remember,” said the old groundskeeper, “he’s a hundred years old, so don’t be reckless. He won’t land as well as you if you pitch it.”

  “Dad,” said the biker, “I got it. Don’t worry. Now, why don’t you call someone to carry you and your lawnmower back? You shouldn’t be driving that thing on the road.”

  “Eh, don’t worry about me. I’ll cut the fringe on my way back and charge whatever county this is for the work.”

  The old man patted Norman on the back.

  “Mister Jensen, enjoy yourself today,” he said. “If you time it right, you won’t have to come back.”

  Timing it right was certainly one of Norman’s secret hopes. He didn’t say anything about it though. He figured the groundskeeper would’ve made that assumption already.

  “You take care, too,” said Norman. “Keep my future home nice and green.”

  Within a few more moments of making adjustments, the fleet of motorcycles flooded back onto the road. It had been decades since Norman last rode a motorcycle, but the feeling rekindled old excitement. And though he couldn’t hear himself scream over the noise saturation of ridiculously loud engines, Norman cheered at the rush of feeling the wind blow hard against his face and the sight of the pavement speeding below at what felt like the sound barrier.