Free MAGPIE by M.A. Reyes Page A

like it, that’s all that matters.”
    Surprised and a bit bothered he wasn’t annoyed, I said, “Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” and took a long swig.
    “Want to talk beer or catch up a little?” Brett didn’t falter when he asked the question; instead of a beer debate, he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know one another…again.
    Already feeling a buzz, I acquiesced, relaxing into what seemed to be the beginning of a fun date.
    We ordered a couple of sandwiches and more beers. Conversation came easily, and I found myself really enjoying Brett’s company. As the night wore on, I began to see Brett differently. Sure, his edges were frayed, but he was so comfortable in his own skin. He knew where he stood and what mattered to him. He didn’t stay in shape to impress others, particularly women. Or so I gleaned from his lack of interest in any of the young, minimally dressed women that walked by our table.
    I shivered as the evening cooled. Brett reached around to grab his jacket that hung on the back of his chair. “Here you go. This ought to keep you warm.” He handed me an extremely heavy black leather jacket.
    “You ride a motorcycle?” I asked in an unfamiliar octave.
    “Yeah, have since ASU. Nothing like riding through the desert with no one in sight. I know it sounds cliché, but I love the freedom and the sense nothing else exists but you and the road.” A whole new side to Brett opened up with those few words.
    I smiled and said, “It’s not cliché. I know exactly what you mean. After my husband died, I spent a year taking road trips; sometimes I’d go for a few days. A few times, for several weeks. Folks at work were so good to me. When my leave dried up, they gave me unpaid leave.”
    Calling my thoughts back to the present, I continued, “A bike probably feels very different physically, but I think we’re talking the same thing—emotionally and spiritually.”
    I shifted in my chair, feeling a little vulnerable having just expressed something very personal. It seemed Brett’s ease had somehow rubbed off on me.
    With a sly grin turning at one corner of his mouth, Brett asked, “Want to go for a ride?”
    “Probably not, unless you have an extra helmet.” I wasn’t about to go anywhere on a bike without a helmet. I was still “death shy;” probably will be until I die.
    “You can use mine,” he said, and before I could protest, he got up and went inside to pay the tab.
    I don’t know a lot about motorcycles, but I do know what I like. We walked halfway down the block and came upon one of the hottest looking bikes I’d ever seen. A cruiser type, I noticed it was a Triumph when I walked up to it.
    “I thought Triumphs were cars.” I regretted my remark as soon as it escaped my mouth.
    What a ditz , I thought.
    “You’re not the first. Here, put this on.” Brett handed me a Darth Vader-looking helmet with a tinted screen and full facial coverage. He noticed that I was struggling to put it on and came over to help.
    “Here you go…What a fox!” This time, his juvenile comment made me laugh. I had to admit I was having a terrific time.
    We rode around the neighborhood, slowly at first, so I could get used to it. Brett walked me through the rules of riding “bitch,” and once he got a sense that I had it, we took off west to Santa Fe Drive where he turned it up a few notches. The wind on my skin was thrilling, and I giggled inside the dark chamber of the helmet. We drove for about thirty minutes until he turned around and headed back to The Grille. I was sad to see our spontaneous trip come to an end, but I didn’t let my disappointment show as I hefted myself off the seat.
    “Wow, Brett, thank you.” I was still reeling with the thrill of the ride.
    “Want a ride home?” He said with the same sly grin he gave earlier.
    Probably his signature smile ...
    “Hmm, not sure,” I said, instantly bemoaning my answer.
    “I don’t bite, Mags. It’s just a ride.”
    True ,