Night Bird

They were all there, at least the ones that mattered. Tramp kissed his wife and said that he would be back in the morning to see about springing her from this dump. He looked at the tubes, machines and her beautiful brown eyes, that were still full of mystery. He was aware that they were becoming dimmer with each passing day. You go home and get some sleep tonight. I will be just fine. I love you, she said. Love you to, see ya in the morning. He passed a nurse in the hall on his way out and she almost looked frightened by the six foot two hundred pound biker. He would have enjoyed that if not for the huge worry of his bride that never left his thoughts. She called him her "Kitten". Your so bad she would say tugging his long silver beard and kissing his face. In the eight years that they were man and wife she had never seen him unjustly angry and never at her. She put up with the bike parts and beer cans sometimes left on the living room table. She was his world. Knowing she was reading her books or making one of her Mothers great German recipes brought him great comfort. He arrived home to there little frame house and parked the wing in the garage. Setting down in his favorite arm chair he opened a beer and tryed to relax. Setting the beer on the table beside him he turned on the TV. He punched the remote trying to find something to watch and the remote just stopped working. Batteries dead. He got up walked to the kitchen thinking that they never went dead when she was there. He replaced them and went and sat back down. He must have dosed off because at 8:15 the cell phone rang. The hospital, her doctor, and now the nursing home were the only ones that had the number to it. Hello he said, Groggy from the short nap. Sir this the nursing home, is there anyone with you? No, what makes you ask that? Sir is their anyone you can call to come over to your house? What the Hell is this about anyway, he said flatly. The voice on the other end of the phone said, I am so sorry to tell you this, but your wife passed away just a few minutes ago. No Tramp said, this is some sick ass joke. No sir, it's not.I'm so sorry. Moments went by, his mind tryed to prosess the info. It just couldn't.
He almost jumped from his chair and walked swiftly to the back door. He grabbed his keys off of the kitchen table and walked to the garage. Lifting the heavy door with one arm he walked to the bike with the silver cover on it. Below the cover was the Honda Black bird. Even for a very experinced rider it was something to be respected. With a top end exceading two hundred miles per hour, this was not a toy. This lethal machine was designed for one thing, winning. Honda had made it for open grand prix
road racing. To simply out preform, out run and out handle any bike made by anyone.
It was so. He had never noticed it before but it looked almost evil. It's surface smooth like water. It's curves, areodynamic. Parked right beside it was his beloved Goldwing, and the little motorized bicycle. It echoed in his mind for a nano second,
never send the baby to buy the beer. Behind it was his special ride. The custom Harley Davidson Duo Glide. He had no idea what he would do when he got to the nursing home all his mind saw was it had to be fast. If he got there fast enough maybe the phone call would go away, yea that's right it would go away. His leather racing jacket lay folded on the sleek saddle. No time for the leather pants. No time.He put the key in the ignition turned it and was greeted by a barage of lights.
He pushed the choke touched the starter button, and the bike came to life with a roar. The sound of a very powerful perfectly tuned engine. No one but he knew that he was afraid if it. It was a controled fear, a choice he had excepted. It idled a few presious seconds at 2500 rpm. He turned off the choke and popped the racing throttle. He put it in gear and it died. The side stand was still down. A rookie mistake. Not like him at all. Side stand up he restarted the beast. He inched the machine towards the driveway. The polished concrete of the garage was much to slick.
He gained traction and headed down the short drive. To BE CONTINUED.