Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“It’s motorbike day!” she said, and did a little boogie under the covers. “Can’t wait to see your Mum’s face!”
It was incredible, just how excited the girl was for my mother’s pleasure – a woman she barely knew. She’d virtually skipped up her parents’ front lawn when we’d made the trip to get her things for her weekend stay after dinner last night, dancing in the passenger seat as we’d headed back to mine.
She was extraordinary, and addictive.
So addictive that I’d been out every night on the bike. Turns out I was still good at it – just like riding a bike, you never forget. I was taking that bend three or four times a night, imagining Mum whooping on the back. I was grinning like a loon every time, all to myself.
Yes, my regular practicalities were flying out the window, one step at a time. I barely recognised myself as we prepared Mum for her bike ride, settling her on the back of the bike with her oxygen tight around her waist, literally bound to me with multiple bungee cords to keep her held steady.
It was plainly ridiculous. Unsafe in every perceivable way, but still, her insistence and her laughter kept me moving. The thrill in her cackle was too strong to ignore.
As was Chloe’s. Ridiculous or not, this was happening.
My little jitterbug was a gemstone at the side of us, staring on at the bike like it was a mine of gold, eyes glittering as brightly as if it was her going for the ride and not my mother. She was a flurry with the pictures, capturing every movement and every second as we prepared to leave, finally stepping up in front of us to take one last picture of us together, Mum with her thumbs up as I fired up the motorbike.
“AMAZING!” Chloe squealed. “You look AMAZING! WAIT! Wait while I set to record.”
I waited until she was ready to film us pulling away and I couldn’t remember a time I’d done anything so wild, and so meaningful, both rolled into one. My pulse was alive, energy pounding deep and, with a thumbs-up from Chloe and a “Yee-ha!” from Mum, I set off from my driveway, a man on a mission, determined to give my mum the experience a bucket list deserves.
Mum squeezed as tightly as she could as we left our street, body pressed up to mine, noticeably tiny and frail, even through the leather jackets and the cords binding us together. Our helmets would have stopped our speech even if the wind hadn’t, but that mattered not. Speech had no place here, I could feel her excitement in the air, all around us, lighting up my heart along with hers.
I only wished Chloe could have been on the bike with us. I’d have loved to have felt her thrill at the ride along with my mum’s.
The country roads were winding, views intense. The bike zoomed up the crest of our nearest hillside, engine screaming loud. I was at one with the machine beneath me, soaking up every turn like I’d never let it go.
I knew the bend in the road we were heading to so well now after practising every night – a long straight road between Redwood and Harrow, sloping downhill only to veer in a sharp curve at the bottom. The fields were plains on either side, huge oaks sprawling in the distance, and Mum loved it there. She’d commented on just how amazing it would be to sail around that bend on the back of a motorcycle, without fail, every single time we’d driven past there.
Now was her time to test out her theory.
The hill peaked under the tyres, and the road fell away. The land was a blanket underneath us, chequered with greens, and the road opened up, beckoning our acceleration with open arms.
I should never have done it – cranked our speed up to gone 100 mph – but I couldn’t stop. If I’d have believed in a soul, I’d have believed mine was sailing as high as a kite, enjoying the moments nearly as much as my whooping mother. My chest was fluttering, and my senses roared free, and I took it. I took that bend at a speed that should never have been.
The tyres gripped the tarmac, and the motorcycle growled, and we swept around that bend, the bike tilting so perfectly, my dear mum yelling and screeching every second of the way.
Fuck yes. I was grinning like a fool. My recklessness had been worth it.
We were nearly done with the bend when I registered Mum freeing her arms from my waist. I daren’t look, but my intuition said it all. My mother’s hands were in the fucking air.
I’d have called her crazy if I hadn’t already been in the crazy category myself, heart racing as I glanced in the rearview mirrors to find Mum’s hands pointing up the sky.