Riding Lies

by Eshkar Erblich-Brifman

  She hesitates. “But…alone or with a group?”

  “If you’ve never cycled, then it’s definitely better alone at first. But that’s an issue of cost, I wouldn’t want to interfere in your considerations…”

  Again, money is paralyzing her. She’s fed up! Can she never just do something with their money too? She also brings in a salary!

  “You know what,” he says, “the first session’s on me. You don’t have to continue. I just want to prove to you that riding is fun. And it’s healthy, for your mood, too. I don’t want money. Just try once, what do you have to lose?”

  “Alright,” she agrees, giggling like a teenager being flirted with.

  Two more children arrive. Their fathers wave hello to her, hang up their backpacks, kiss their kids and off to work they go.

  “Hold on, I don’t have a bike…” she remembers.

  “I’ll lend you one,” Koby offers, “I have a spare. Noga will give you my details. Talk to me and we’ll arrange a lesson.”

  “Okay,” she says, her heart pounding with excitement. Did she really just agree to a riding lesson?

  “I have to go,” he says and goes to say goodbye to Noga, who is already busy finding a solution to an argument between two children. “Bye, sweetie,” he says and runs his hand over her hair. She blows him a kiss. He laughs and leaves.

  Her eyes stay glued to him until he closes the door behind him. She hears the gate outside click shut. The Skylark Preschool banner shakes for a moment. She’s going for her first riding lesson at age forty-four. Who would believe it.

  ***

  She stands and stares at her image in the mirror. It’s horrific: Her full thighs are crammed into black leggings, not riding pants, because that’s all she has. She’s wearing sneakers, it’s the only thing she owns that could be suitable. Her tight black T-shirt is covered with a sweatshirt, and she hopes she won’t be too hot to ride. She plays around with her hair, trying to decide whether to tie it up or leave it loose—which is better? It looks better loose, but it probably won’t be comfortable, not to speak of the knots she’ll have later. She fills her lungs with air, trying to muster up some courage. She glances one more time in the mirror and leaves, saying goodbye to Nadav and Neta and promising to be home within two hours, three at the most. There are snacks in the cabinet, fruit in the fridge. Everyone’s sorted. She starts the car and drives off to meet Koby.

  Koby is waiting for her in the parking lot in the Martyrs’ Forest with two bikes.

  Hesitant, she gets out of the car. “Am I late?” she asks and he says no, not at all, he’s early.

  “Would you like a drink before we go?” he asks kindly and shows her his coffee kit. He has tea, too, if she prefers. He could pick some fresh sage, it grows all over the place, here.

  She smiles. She also likes sage. She brought some to the preschool recently and made tea for the children. But maybe later? She doesn’t know. Perhaps it would be better if they rode first, after all, that’s why she’s there.

  “I like your leggings,” he compliments her. She looks at her thighs and says that’s all she had, and that she knows they aren’t really for cycling. Her shoes are also just plain sneakers.

  “Everything’s fine,” he tells her, “and you look great.”

  He explains briefly what the ready position is and asks her to get on the bike. Then he teaches her all the theory when to shift her weight back, and when forward, how to grip the nits on the pedals with her feet, how to brake and where all the brakes are located.

  She listens, trying to remember it all, so she doesn’t mess up, or fall over. She doesn’t want to limp into work tomorrow. She doesn’t want to break anything.

  He can see that she’s tense. He touches her back lightly and tells her she has no reason to worry, he’ll be right there behind her, watching. She’ll be fine.

  “I’ve chosen an easy trail,” he assures her, “something suitable for beginners. It’s a flat flow trail…” He adjusts the spare helmet that he brought along for her and surpasses himself by closing the buckle under her chin, making sure that it fits. She can feel his warm breath. It smells slightly of mint gum. “Come, he says, “let’s begin.”

  She starts to pedal and the bike wobbles forward. She regains her balance and before she knows it, she’s riding perfectly. As he said, he’s right there behind her, observing her movements, watching and supervising. A cold wind is blowing in her face, cooling her hot cheeks, and her lips break into a broad smile. She did it! She’s actually riding a bike!

  After the lesson, he offers her sage tea again. This time she doesn’t refuse. She’s exhausted and aching all over. Tea may revive her now.

  “You did incredibly well!” he says, opening his kit. “Considering it’s your first time, you rode amazingly.” He puts the little finjan on the gas burner.

  She feels flattered and finds it hard to hide her smile. She crouches over a sage bush, removes a few leaves from the top and adds it to the finjan.

  “So tell me a little about yourself,” he asks while the water begins to bubble.

  What does she have to lose? It’s been ages since she’s had the opportunity to start from scratch, with a new person who doesn’t know her at all. She tells him about the children and Dror, about her preschool, which is her life project, and a little about her parents and younger brother.

  He listens attentively, watching her with a look of fascination, as if he’s eager to hear more. She finds herself opening up. What does she care? Maybe she’ll never see him again after this lesson. She tells him about Ido in the army, about the irritating jazz music that Dror listens to. He asks questions, and she answers them. He asks how they met, and how many years they’ve been together. Actually, she admits, he was her first serious boyfriend. They met in the army and they’ve been together ever since. They’re together for the kids, of course. What other reason is there?

  They take sips of their hot tea and continue talking. He’s interested in her and she’s not used to being treated that way. She asks questions of her own, and he tells her that he’s divorced, how much he loves what he does, and about his previous profession. Time seems to have stopped for her. She’s not troubled, or worried, and for an entire hour she doesn’t think about the children waiting at home for her.

  Suddenly a gust of wind hits them and overturns their empty cups. She laughs. He laughs along with her. And then the first drops of rain begin to fall.

  “Oh no!” she jumps up and giggles, “Someone’s hinting at something!”

  He begins to pack up the kit while the rain gets heavier.

  She puts the kit in the trunk while he loads the two bikes on his car. His wet hair is glued to his face, and even the strong wind can’t get it to budge.

  She starts to laugh, sure that she looks just as funny. “We should get going,” she says, remembering the children, and the laundry she forgot on the line.

  “Will you come again?” he asks as his dark eyes trap hers.

  She smiles and with perfect calm, answers “Yes.”

  ***

  “Who did we pay by check this month?” Dror asks, pushing his glasses to the tip of his nose.

  She looks closer at the computer screen and sees an endless column of expenditures.

  “Oh, that’s me,” she says lightly, hoping her tone would stop Dror from overreacting.

  “What’s it for?” he interrogates her, or maybe he’s really just asking, she’s not sure which.

  “My riding lessons.”

  “For what?” he barks, pretending not to hear well.

  “I’ve started cycling,” she tells him casually, “I’ve already had three lessons. The first was free. I only paid for two.”

  “You? On a bike?” he sneers, “Can you even keep your balance?”

  “You’d be surprised,” she answers.

 
“But we don’t have a bike!” he argues.

  “True,” she admits coolly, “soon we will. In the meantime, he…the instructor is lending me a bike.”

  “He, huh?”

  “Is that an issue?” she asks, ready for battle.

  “The main issue is that I’m not sure we can afford it…” he says. He’s obviously irritated.

  “Oh, cut it out, Dror,” she says, her eyes shooting arrows, “I’m allowed to do something for myself for once! I’ve waited on you and the children for years. I also deserve something! Not to mention that I, too, just like you, bring home a salary every month!”

  “Okay, okay,” he backs off, “if it’s so important to you then continue for now…”

  “Thanks for your permission. Really!” She walks away, still angry, noting to herself that it may be better to pay in cash next time. In any case by next week Dror will have forgotten, it’s not as if they talk. He has no interest in what’s happening around him. All he cares about is himself and his piano. Oh, and the horrific jazz he listens to. Well, work, too, of course, and the intolerable need to roost on their money. Heaven forbid any is wasted unnecessarily.

  ***

  The next day after work, she goes to buy herself a bicycle. She finished work early today, and it’s only around two. Noga recommended an inexpensive store that specializes in mountain bikes and she even called ahead to find out if they’re open between one and four. They’re open all day, they told her, and now she’s standing there, in front of the store, as excited as a little girl.

  “I want something good, but not expensive,” she tells the salesperson, who laughs and says that’s what everyone wants. at least here in Israel.

  “Well then, carbon’s out of the question,” he says, whether to her or himself, “you could go for aluminum…it’s just a question of budget…”

  “Show me what you have,” she says, lacking any experience in the area.

  “Look, there are a lot of variables to take into account,” he circles her, “will you be off-road cycling?”

  She nods. At least she thinks she will be.

  “The best off-road bike comes with full damping, it has front and rear brakes. I recommend 1-11 gears,” he continues, “and the old models have a number of gear wheels, whereas the newer models have one big gear, which is considered the best.”

  Slowly, her eyes start to glaze over. She has no idea what he’s talking about. Maybe she should have asked Koby to come along and help her choose. He did offer; he’s so chivalrous.

  “You also have to decide on the size of the wheels,” the salesperson continues, “These days twenty-nine is considered the best. But naturally you can go for twenty-six or twenty-seven and a half…again, it’s a matter of budget…”

  She signals him with a finger to stop. “Excuse me for a second,” she says and takes her phone out of her purse.

  About half an hour later, Koby arrives. She runs to him and gives him a warm hug. “I’m so glad you came! I’m lost here!” she says.

  He hugs her back and gives her his typical, warm smile, then waves hello to the salesperson. “Why didn’t you say so before? What were you thinking, buying a bike on your own.”

  “I didn’t want to bother…” she mumbles.

  “Come on,” he says and puts his muscular arm around her thick waist, “now you’re with me. I know Ronny well. We’ll choose a bike for you in no time.”

  An hour later they leave the store smiling, with a mountain bike, helmet, gloves, a carrier for the car and a florescent yellow water bottle that Ronny gave her free of charge.

  Just before the automatic door opens, she turns around, hands Ronny her phone and asks him to take a picture, a memento of this formative event. Ronny obliges happily and takes a picture of the two of them in the doorway, their arms around each other, the new purchase beside them. She thanks him and sends Koby the picture. The door opens and a fresh, dry breeze blows in.

  She grips the bike and rolls it out. She’s like a little girl, jumping up and down beside him with excitement. They bought her a bike. Maybe she actually bought it herself but it felt the same as when she was six, when her parents took her to choose a bicycle. She picked a glittery blue bike and insisted on riding it all the way to their car, which was parked far away. On the way, she hit the curb and fell, cutting her knee.

  It took her a year before she agreed to get back on, only to discover that the bike was already too small for her.

  Koby installs the bike carrier and even puts the bike on. “You’re ready,” he says proudly, “just like a professional!”

  She laughs and gives him a friendly hug. “You saved me!” she says and pecks his prickly cheek.

  “Well then, you owe me,” he winks.

  She laughs. “After the next lesson, I’ll take you to a café, what do you say? It’s on me. Is that fitting compensation?”

  “Very fitting,” he laughs and for a split second he touches a strand of hair that’s hiding her eyes.

  She quivers. He’s such a honey.

  They part ways, and she goes home equipped with her new bicycle.

  ***

  For their next lesson, they go mountain biking, but the trail is muddy and there’s a strong wind blowing. Mud splatters on her new riding pants and riding shoes. Just don’t slip, she prays and tries to steady herself on the turns, just as Koby taught her. She makes it around the turns one by one, but she finds the mud challenging. It’s hard to pedal, and she soon gets tired. He notices that she’s riding more slowly and brakes. She stops behind him.

  “It’s not a nice day for riding, is it?” he says, looking ahead at the trail.

  “It rained all night…” she adds, “what bad luck…how much further do we have?”

  He hesitates. “More than half the trail. Do you want to turn back?”

  She nods. She’s fed up with the mud and wind.

  “Let’s go then,” he says and turns his bike. “You promised me a café, remember?”

  “For sure!” she laughs and they turn on their tracks.

  It’s nice and warm in the café she chooses. Small spiral heaters are heating the covered porch, emitting orange light. They sit under one of them. The waitress hands them a menu.

  “Let’s treat ourselves to something good.” she offers generously. When was the last time she sat in a café in the afternoon in the middle of the week, for no reason? Nadav is at a friend’s. Neta is studying for an exam with a friend. She has the time.

  “Tell me about your children,” she says as they wait to be served. And he describes Shaked, Noam and Elad.

  “Wow, she laughs,” our children are almost the same age!” and although she’s already told him, she tells him again about her three. She tells him about Ido’s induction, Neta’s matriculation exams, and how Nadav still makes her feel young. He can relate to that and the conversation flows pleasantly.

  They share French toast with fruit salad and mascarpone cheese. He talks about his ex-wife and the limited time he gets to have with his children.

  She feels sorry for him, a man in his late forties, and so lonely. What a weight he carries on his shoulders, juggling work and taking care of the kids and their home. Almost like her, but she’s a woman and he’s a man, and women— as everyone knows—are capable of more. Maybe it’s just easy for her to think that, since she does have Dror to back her up, whereas he’s all alone. His wife has always been a burden to him. She never helped, never worked, never lifted a finger at home. He had a ghost for a wife, or at least that’s what he says.

  “So you cook too?” she asks, interested.

  “Of course,” he answers. “It’s been my job for years. I don’t like it, and I don’t have the energy or time for it anymore, but we have to eat something, don’t we?” he laughs, making her laugh.

  He leans forward and with his finger, wipe
s a little mascarpone from the corner of her lips. She giggles and wipes her mouth with a napkin.

  “And aren’t you in a relationship?” she dares to ask, “Have you had any serious girlfriends since you got divorced?”

  “Here and there,” he refuses to answer directly, “but I’m not looking to tie myself down again. I think that I need to allow myself to live in a way that suits me. What do you think?”

  “Definitely,” she agrees and then asks, “which way do you mean, exactly?”

  He laughs. “Look,” he leans back and spreads his legs, “I think this whole couples thing may have been good for Noah’s ark, but it’s a little old-fashioned. People are fixated on behaving in a certain way that may not be right for them. Being married is not for everyone. In fact, I believe that marriage is not for anyone. It’s just that most people don’t know this or haven’t realized it yet. Most people are afraid. You see, we’ve been brought up to believe that we can love only one person, and it’s not an easy perception to change after so many year. People are afraid to be alone, they’re afraid to rely only on themselves…”

  “Sometimes people stay together because of it’s convenient,” she thinks aloud.

  “Exactly,” he agrees, “but that’s not a good enough reason in my eyes. A person has to be self-sufficient, stand tall, fulfill himself, and not allow anyone to bring him down or restrict him. After all, no couple is a hundred percent compatible, there are always clashes, there are always concessions. And why? What’s it good for? Are we not good enough to sustain ourselves? Or do we just not believe that we’re good enough? Are we incapable of shaking off all the commitments, of simply living the way we want to? Without being constantly stopped and told what to do, without giving a damn, without being subject to the critical society around us…”

  She’s fascinated. She wishes she could live like that. She wishes she could throw it all to the wind, especially Dror. Maybe one day she’ll have the nerve. “And what about the children?” she tackles him. “The children are undoubtedly a parental commitment!”

  “Sure,” he answers, “but I’m not worried about the children. The children will follow their parents in any case. You know, children are very resilient, adaptive. They always land on their feet. They’re stronger than many adults. We don’t need to worry that much about them, just to encourage them and believe in them. My children came out stronger and tougher, thanks to both the divorce and my way of life. They know that they have to help, that they have to tidy up after themselves, take out the garbage, go shopping with me. They’re very independent and barely ask for help. On the other hand, they know exactly what their place at home is. And naturally, they receive love and security and know that they have someone to rely on. One doesn’t contradict the other.”