by Rick R. Reed
It was late September, a Tuesday, and Cole’s day off from the store. Cleaning the place would be something practical and a distraction from thinking about Rory, who’d now been gone for well over a month. Cole was trying to come to terms with the fact that it was most likely he’d never see him again, yet his dreams every night brought back Rory’s face, his arms, the startling paleness of his body, peppered with freckles. And he’d wake, just as he had today, with those dream images taunting him, giving him hope he knew in his head was useless, but not in his heart.
He continued to peer out at the day, one his mom would have called Indian summer. She would have insisted he take advantage of it. And Cole knew she was right. Autumn had already been settling in, like a guest that planned to stick around for a while, just long enough for one to get comfortable before the horror of winter arrived to take its place. Winter always seemed to settle in the longest, even though each Chicago season was, in reality, about three months. Winter, with its seemingly endless darkness, bitter cold, and heaps of grimy snow, always seemed as though it would last forever when in the grips of its icy fingers.
So today he should get outside—head downstairs to the basement and pull his Trek hybrid out of the storage locker. It had lain idle there since they moved in back at the beginning of August. Cole had never had the inclination or even the energy to want to ride the blue-and-silver bike lately, even though when he’d moved in, with the long lakefront trail so close by, he’d intended to ride almost every day.
He could pump up the bike’s tires, grease its chain, and take it out for a spin. There was the path along the lake, which he could easily follow south all the way down to Hyde Park, or north through Evanston and the Northwestern University campus. If he went that way, he could cut across Evanston to the west and hook up with the Green Bay Trail, which ran parallel to the Metra train tracks. The trail was a beautiful paved path, most of it under a canopy of trees whose leaves were just now beginning to change.
And a bike ride, with the sun on his back and the wind in his hair, would also be a distraction, a much more pleasing one than cleaning. Anyway, if he cleaned today, he’d just need to do it again, so… why bother? He smiled and realized he hadn’t done so in a long time. He felt a little guilty for feeling this small twinge of happiness and freedom when Rory was God knows where.
Cole stared down at the dusty hardwood floor. He knew where, or if not where exactly, what. Alone in his own space, Cole could allow the thought that was always behind the others to peek its ugly monster face out—Rory was, most likely, no longer even alive.
It was the explanation that made the most sense.
Cole sprawled back on the bed, tempted to just pull the covers up over his head and spend the day there, hiding. Hiding from truths too terrible to contemplate for long.
No. He would get out. He would do his best to enjoy this day. Who knew what it would bring?
AFTER A shower and a breakfast of cold pizza from two nights ago, Cole went down to the basement and pulled his battered Trek from the storage locker. He had to move aside some boxes, and in the process almost talked himself out of going. The boxes were mostly Rory’s stuff, filled with things like Star Wars action figures and drafts of science fiction short stories he’d written in college.
But gamely he soldiered on and extricated his bike from the cluttered and crowded locker. He grabbed his pump and helmet from a shelf. The bike looked ready to go, except the tires were soft when he squeezed them.
It took only a few moments to pump them up. Cole donned his yellow Giro helmet and hoisted the bike up on his shoulder to carry it upstairs and outside.
The basement door slammed behind him, and Cole squinted against the bright sun. It was the tail end of the morning and relatively quiet. Rush hour was over, and Cole found himself actually looking forward to the ride, to stretching muscles, to feeling the breeze against his face. Because it was a weekday, he expected to find the trail relatively free of other bikers, runners, and walkers. He’d appreciate the solitude.
He hopped on the bike and headed out to Sheridan. He’d hook up with the lakefront just south of the Evanston border. The sun warmed his arms and shoulders, even though there was a little nip in the air. The temperature hovered in the midsixties. Perfect.
He rode north, letting his mind go blank, centering himself in his body and feeling its reactions. He found himself smiling again as he headed toward Evanston, and the lake, bordered by boulders, stretched out on his right in all its azure glory, the sun glinting off its ever-moving surface. To his left was Calvary Cemetery, and Cole made a mental note to stop in on his way back. He’d always found cemeteries to be places of peace.
Rory loved cemeteries too.
It was something we had in common. Our second date was at Graceland. We had a picnic among the tombstones, and the quiet and peace in the middle of the city was something I won’t forget. You taught me that, Rory. You showed me the beauty of a cemetery.
As he turned onto the trail bordering South Boulevard Beach, Cole shoved aside the memory. He was glad he’d made himself get out of the house for something other than work. For once he found it easy to be in the moment, to put his concerns and thoughts at bay as he pedaled along, paying attention to the pleasant ache of calf muscles and his heavier but regular breathing. He even pondered stopping at a café in Evanston on the way back for lunch. There was a Chinese joint downtown, the Pine Yard, that he really liked.
Cole was surprised at the miles he accumulated so quickly, keeping his mind free of the worries that normally pressed in on him. He allowed himself, for perhaps the first time since that awful night, to simply relax and enjoy the world around him a bit. It wasn’t that difficult with the scenery he had to view. Not only was Lake Michigan, in its ever-changing motion and colors, a constant to his right as he pedaled north, but there were also dozens of other things to look at, like old historic mansions in Evanston and Wilmette, the grassy parkland that bordered the lake, even the occasional shirtless runner on the trail. This last surprised him and made him feel a little guilty, as though any attraction should have been wiped out by his situation.
He was only human, after all.
He headed west to the Green Bay Trail, enjoying the canopy of trees over his head and how the leaves were beginning to light up in hues of orange, yellow, and red. Away from the lakefront, it was quieter, save for the passage of an occasional Metra train, headed south into the city or north, up to Kenosha, Wisconsin.
Cole rode all the way north to Highland Park, nearing the gates of Ravinia, the outdoor music venue, before turning around.
Coming home, the temperature rose, the clouds cleared, and the sun upped its intensity. It almost felt like summer. It must have gotten at least ten degrees warmer. He found himself hungry, and a big plate of spaghetti with a giant meatball in its center sounded like the perfect way to replenish his energy.
Visions of pasta danced in his head as he raced south on Sheridan Road in Evanston, near Lighthouse Beach. He could just about smell the aroma of simmering tomatoes, basil, and garlic. His mouth watered. He pedaled faster, legs a blur.
And then it happened.
A runner, looking southward, darted out from a side street right in front of Cole. Cole had time only to gasp and slam on his hand brakes as hard as he could. The action did indeed bring him to a sudden and complete halt. Well, at least it brought the bike to a halt. Cole didn’t have mental time to even react to the terror of suddenly being airborne as he hurtled over his handlebars.
His impact with the pavement was hard, knocking the wind out of him. He groaned as his head bounced off the concrete.
The runner, a guy about his own age wearing a tank and nylon running shorts, stooped down beside him. Cole stared at his red-and-white nylon shoes. Asics. His gaze shifted up—the guy was saying something.
“Shit!” He lifted a shaking hand to his mouth. “I’m so sorry! I should have looked where I was going. I’m an idiot.” He reached a h
and out to Cole, who, dazed, managed to get up to a sitting position on the sidewalk. He placed a hand to his forehead. It came away bloody.
“Oh shit, you’re bleeding.” The guy’s green eyes were alive with concern. “You should maybe go to the ER, get checked out.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “My car’s parked over in a lot on campus. I can take you. We’ll throw your bike in my hatch. Okay?”
Cole wondered suddenly who this man was and why he’d taken such an interest in him. He glanced down at the blood on his hand and laughed. He showed it to the man. “Where did this come from?”
“Yeah, we need to get you to a hospital.”
“Why?” Cole asked.
The guy cocked his head. “Um, you just flew over your handlebars.”
“I did?”
“Yes, yes. Don’t you remember?”
Cole racked his brain. All he could recall was speeding along the Green Bay Trail and the autumn colors. Did he have an accident? When? He looked at the bicycle lying on the ground beside him. Whose was it?
He tapped the runner. “Is that your bike?”
“No, it’s yours. Look, I think your tumble shook you up. You might be in shock. If I leave you here, will you stay? It’ll take me, like, five minutes to run to my car and five minutes to get back. We’ll take you down to Saint Francis, have ’em check you over. You might have a concussion.” He nodded and smiled sympathetically at Cole. Cole noticed he had a really nice smile, very white and even teeth. But there was a little gap between the two front ones, not too big, but just enough of a flaw to make him human. And kind of sexy….
“Okay?”
Cole smiled again. “Okay what?” He laughed.
The guy bit his lower lip and looked out at the street. A fair amount of traffic was rushing by in both directions. “I’m gonna take you to the hospital, bud. You might need stitches in that eyebrow. It’s bleeding pretty bad.”
Cole reached up and touched his split-open forehead. It stung, and seeing the blood, and for the first time noticing it dripping down the side of his face, made him shudder. “I’m Cole,” he said, extending his hand.
“Okay.” The guy smiled. “Tommy. Tommy D’Amico.” Cole watched as the guy stood, took in his lean runner’s build, how his calves looked like someone had secreted a couple of oranges beneath the skin. Tommy’s gaze, though, was trained northward. There was a woman with short gray hair walking a standard-size poodle down the street. The poodle was black, which contrasted wonderfully with its bright fuchsia leash. And were those rhinestones in its collar? How fabulous!
Cole sat calmly and listened as Tommy introduced himself to the woman. “My friend here took a tumble off his bike and is kind of shaken up. Would you be able to do me a huge favor?”
“What’s that?” The woman smiled and reached down to pull her dog away from Tommy’s crotch, which Cole thought was hilarious. The dog wasn’t stupid!
“I don’t want to leave him here by himself while I run over to the campus to get my car so I can take him down to Saint Francis. It’s dangerous.” Tommy looked pointedly at the busy road, only a few feet away. “He’s not, uh, thinking right.”
What did Tommy think? That he’d dash into traffic? Sheesh, he wasn’t three years old.
“Would you mind?” Tommy asked. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ll hurry and—”
She cut him off with an upturned palm. “It’s no problem. Go. I’ll stay here with—” She glanced down at Cole, her eyebrows coming together quizzically.
“Cole.” Cole smiled and held out his hand and then withdrew it quickly as he realized it was covered with someone’s blood. He reminded himself—your blood. He didn’t know why everyone seemed in such a panic. Other than the blood, he felt pretty good, albeit a little confused. He knew he must have had an accident, but for the life of him couldn’t remember what the hell had happened.
“Babs and I will stay here with Cole.” She sat down on the grass beside him. She wore jeans and a red Bulls T-shirt, sandals. Her gray hair made her appear, from a distance, much older than she was. There were no lines under her warm dark eyes. The dog sniffed Cole and began licking away the blood on his face.
“Babs!” the woman cried, yanking the dog away by her leash.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to Cole.
“It’s okay. Dogs love blood. She’s being herself.”
Tommy spoke up. “Okay, I’m gonna go. I’ll be right back. Ten minutes or less, I promise.”
“Just be careful,” the woman said. “We’ll be here.”
They both watched as Tommy took off as though he were racing toward the finish line of some imaginary race. And maybe he was.
The woman turned to him. “I’m Mary Ellen. What happened to you?”
Cole removed his helmet to scratch his head. “I’m not really sure. Everyone seems to think I had some kind of accident on my bike, but I can’t remember it for the life of me.” He chuckled. “And I suppose that’s my bike there. I mean, common sense would indicate that, but I don’t recognize it.”
Mary Ellen rummaged around in the small backpack she’d taken from her shoulders when she sat down next to him. She pulled out a wad of Kleenex and held it out to Cole. “Here, hold this against that cut on your head. Apply good pressure—or I can do it if you want me to.” Cole took the wad of tissue from her and held it to his head.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got it.”
Mary Ellen eyed him. “All I can say is it’s a good thing you were wearing a helmet.” She shook her head. “I’m actually a nurse practitioner, so you’re in good hands. My diagnosis? You’re in a little shock, and you probably have a concussion. You might have cracked a rib or two as well.” She turned his head with her hand and with her other hand, pulled the wad of tissues away for a moment, then put it back. “And that will definitely need stitches. You might have a scar, but that could be kind of sexy, right?” She smiled.
Cole liked this woman. “Yeah, tough guy.”
“You just need to stay still right here with me and relax until your friend comes back.”
“Oh, he’s not my friend. He’s my lover.” Cole laughed.
Mary Ellen said, “Okay. Just chill until he gets here to take you to the hospital.”
Cole nodded. “I’m not going anywhere. It just feels really strange, almost like I’m dreaming.”
The poodle chose that moment to bark at a squirrel running nearby, straining at her leash. “Babs! Cool it!” The woman placed a hand on Babs’s hindquarters, forcing her to sit.
“Is she named after Streisand?” Cole asked.
“God, no! A lot of people ask that. But I just liked the name. And I love giving human names to pets. It suits her, don’t you think?”
Cole nodded. “It’s nice of you to stay here with me. I’m sure you have better stuff to do.” He drew in a deep breath. “As time goes on, I’m starting to feel a little more in touch with myself. Things are starting to hurt—like when I take a breath, ouch! And I feel a headache coming on.”
Mary Ellen nodded.
“You can probably go. I promise I won’t run into traffic, no matter how tempted I am.” He smiled, and she gave him a grin back, her dark eyes twinkling.
“It’s okay. I’m in for the long haul,” she said.
It was only a couple more minutes before a rusting red hatchback in need of a new muffler made a U-turn on Sheridan, narrowly avoiding an accident. Drivers, both northbound and southbound, sounded their displeasure with their horns.
Tommy whipped the car over to the curb and cranked down the window. “Your chariot awaits,” he called out.
“Can you get up okay?” Mary Ellen asked.
“Yeah,” Cole said. “My legs are fine.” Belying this, he stumbled a bit when he stood, but that was due to the dizziness he felt, not from any pain in his legs.
Mary Ellen put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to come with?”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you, but you have Babs, a
nd I need to get my bike in the back. You’ve really earned your Good Samaritan gold star for today.” Cole glanced at his bike, lying on the cement like a fallen soldier. “But maybe you could help me get my bike in the car?”
“Sure.” Mary Ellen turned to Babs and told her to sit and stay. She motioned Cole out of the way before hoisting the bike off the ground. Cole was surprised to see it didn’t look damaged in the least.
Tommy hopped out of the car to help Mary Ellen load it inside. He looked over at Cole. “At least your Trek escaped without a scratch.”
“I’ll say a little prayer of gratitude just as soon as we get to the hospital.” Cole hopped into the passenger seat. Tommy joined him in the car.
As Mary Ellen backed away, hands in her pockets, Cole called out, “You’re really kind! Thank you so much for staying with me.”
She smiled and waved, and then walked rapidly away because Babs was tugging hard. She’d seen another squirrel.
TOMMY PULLED up to the emergency room doors of Saint Francis Hospital in south Evanston. “You okay to go inside on your own? I need to find a place to park this piece of shit.”
Cole eyed him. “You’re not gonna ride away with my bike never to be seen again, are you?”
“I’m not gonna do that.” He pulled out his wallet and withdrew a DePaul University student ID. “Here, hang on to this. That way, you’ll know where to find me if I try to abscond with your wheels. I can understand why you think I might be tempted after riding in this jalopy.” He grinned.
Cole glanced down at Tommy’s student photo, in which he wore a blue-and-green rugby shirt that contrasted beautifully with his red hair and green eyes. “Okay. So, you’ll come back? And wait for me?”
“Of course. It’s the least I can do. Again, I’m really sorry.”
Cole shrugged. “It was an accident. That’s all.”
“Still. I should maybe have had the music in my ears at a lower volume and been looking where I was going.”
Cole hesitated. He didn’t know if he was supposed to absolve the guy any further or what.