A Pretty Good Story

I met Scott when I decided to go motorbike shopping after yet another very mediocre first date I had with a guy I met from my dating service. It was a late afternoon and I had time to burn and needed a pick-me-up. Scott worked at the bike shop and spent the afternoon showing me the different motorbikes that fit what I was looking for. I said I was 90% sure I wanted one, but I wanted to take one out on the road first and make sure it would be something I would enjoy. Scott lowered his voice and said it's not something they normally do, but if I came back to the shop after it closed, he would take me for a ride.

After giving the address to a friend, I met Scott behind the shop. He strapped a helmet on me and we pulled out into traffic. We rode to the nearby park and then turned onto the adjacent side streets, out of the way of other cars. I'm not sure what happened, but Scott later described looking in his side view mirror and helplessly watching me deck the bike. I was sprawled out on the road with the bike on top of me before I could even complete the thought, I'm going down.

He parked his and ran towards me, "What happened?" He said he needed to know so he would know how I was injured. I mumbled something about the front brake. For the most part I was okay; I was just completely horrified I had an accident in front of this guy. I tried to get up as quickly as I could, but my left foot and ankle were trapped under the 200-something pound machine.

"Are you okay?"

I pointed down to my leg and then shrugged, "I'm stuck," I said matter of factly. "I can't move my leg."

So he pulled it off of me and I gingerly put my foot down, and was surprised there wasn't any pain. I alternated each ankle and gently stood on the tips of my toes, and my foot was fine. My shirt and jeans were bloody and we quickly saw that my hand was bleeding where I tried to catch myself.

We stood there on the side of the road looking at each other and trying to figure out what to do about my hand, which was filling up with blood. I looked towards the front yard of a house to see if there is a leaf I could use, and he sort of looked at his shirt, tugging at the bottom and debating if he should offer it or not. However my hand wasn't cut or gashed, it was just missing several layers of skin.

"Just stick your hand in your pocket," he said. "Let the pocket soak up the blood."

So I did.

"Omigod, you're shaking."

"I shake naturally," I said, trying to play it off. And my hands do naturally shake, but it's much closer to a subtle quiver. Here I was standing wide-eyed and my whole body was shaking--my hands alone were jumping inches without my consent. "I always do this," I tried again. Yeah, if I had Parkinson's.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're shaking pretty badly."

"I'm fine," just really, really horrified.

"Well if you want to climb on the back of mine..."

"Nope."

"You want to keep going?"

"Yup."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup." I stuck my hand in my pocket again so I could keep the amount of blood on the handle bar minimal.

At the shop he led me directly into the bathroom where I ran my hand under the faucet until the black and red skin turned soft pink. Now that the ride was over, I began to shake again like I did right after the accident. My knee began to throb and felt puffy under the thin veil of my blue jeans. My shoes were missing entire chunks of leather. Scott took charge and pulled out the first-aid kit and made me sit while he bandaged me up.

"Now we drink," I informed him. I didn't give him an option. I needed to start drinking until I stopped shaking.

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes."

He got back on his motorcycle and I climbed into the safety of my SUV and met him at the local bar between his and my apartments. There we ordered rounds of beer while he told me in painful detail every time he's decked a motorbike.

"I did it once in a Kroger parking lot," he admitted. "I went over a speed bump and it was wet from the rain and I just went down. You think you're torn up? I cracked a rib on the curb. People were running up to me, and I was so embarrassed I just got up and sped out of the parking lot before they could get to me. Oh, here you have something on your face." Scott reached up and romantically wiped asphalt off my cheek. Awesome.

When it seemed like a natural time to leave the bar, the TV in front of us began to beep with colored maps of our state plastered all over the screen. I turned around and looked out the window of the bar and saw the sky was green.

"Thunderstorms. Maybe even a tornado watch," I guessed. Before we had time to see if I was correct, lightning crashed and the bar lost electricity. We should have been scared, but we were surrounded by kegs of beer and the bar freely poured while we waited out the storm. So we sat in the local dive bar in the dark and talked and drank. The conversation drifted away from accidents and onto where we grew up and our pasts.

By the time the storm had passed, Scott and I were pretty drunk.

"What now?"

I was planning on going home and nursing my increasingly aching knee, but Scott didn't want to end the night just yet. I was curious to see where this would go. "I dunno. What do you have in mind?"

"Well I would invite you to my place, but I'm painting. I'm not going to lie--it's a pretty shitty place. I don't even have air-conditioning."

"What!? You don't have air-conditioning in the South?" That was a mistake I made exactly once while at the university. "Well my place is right around the corner, walking distance even."

So I brought Scott home with me. I peeled off my bloody jeans for my cheerleading shorts and he set me up on the couch, my swollen knee crooked over his lap while he wrapped it with an Ace bandage and some ice.

It was then I knew I would sleep with him. He kept repeating how scared he was when I crashed, but he still managed to take charge and take care of me. And maybe it took me losing control to allow someone else to step up and take it away from me.

"I really took it like a man," I began.

"I know. You didn't cry and you popped up so quickly. As soon as I got the bike off of you, and before I could even turn back around, you were up and moving. And then you said you wanted to keep going."

"I had to save face."

"Can I kiss you now? Cause that's all I want to do," and before I could even respond, his lips were on mine. The lights were on in my apartment, and it seemed like all my body parts were either bloody or swollen, so when he tried to take my shirt off, I protested.

"You're so skinny, and I'm so not." I know I'm not heavy even in the slightest but the difference between our bodies made me uncomfortable. I ran my hand up his back, "See when I do this, I can feel your ribs." I ran my hand up my own back and was shocked at the difference. "I can't feel my ribs in my back."

Scott scooted me back an inch on his lap so he could make eye contact with me, "You don't think I feel self-conscious about being this skinny? I wish I could gain weight. Everything you're feeling--and you shouldn't--I feel too."

I still felt more comfortable in my bedroom. Once again, as things progressed sexually I got anxious. I felt panicky and I began to plant my palm on his chest to push him away like I had done with Jack so many times in the early days...

"Hey, hey, hey. Look at me." Scott stuck his face in mine so all we could see were each other's eyes. "I didn't expect any of this out of you, but I'm happy we're here."

"Just... if you're going to use me. Could you not?" I don't know why I said it. I actually didn't plan on seeing him again. I liked The Musician. But in my alcohol-fueled haze, I decided I needed to get the stink of Jack off me and here was a nice guy who took care of me when I never even asked.

I actually have no idea what Scott said next. I just remember that he had stopped to look in my eyes. Whatever he said was reassuring and it calmed me down before I could have the anxiety attack.

He kissed every one of my bruises. And I had a lot of them.

The next morning I was surprised to see him. And then I moved my knee and remembered everything. I was nauseated from the beer and the pain, but I got up and got dressed for work. I really didn't know what to do about the boy in my bed. I rubbed his chest until he opened his eyes. He grabbed my arm and pulled it to him as he fell back asleep.

Affection the morning after, that was a good sign. But I wasn't supposed to be looking for signs; this was supposed to be a one-time thing.

He finally got up and I crawled in bed and waited as he used my bathroom. He came back out and saw me curled up, "Aww. Let me take a look at you."

I sat up and pulled up my pant legs for him to see my mangled legs. He pointed to a black one the size of a dollar bill on my calf. "That's new."

Actually it wasn't. He saw it the night before and leaned over just to kiss that one. He doesn't remember--that's a bad sign. But I don't care about signs.

We walked out of my apartment, and he put his arm around me while we walked to the parking deck--good sign. I stopped in front of his bike, but he just laid the helmet down and continued walking me to my truck--another good sign. Then he kissed me and told me he would call me later to see how I'm feeling.

I smiled as I got into my truck. This might actually turn into a pretty good story, I thought.