Orange Bike, The Trilogy: Part Two
Alex finally put the bike together properly, and we got on the waiting list for a berth in our building basement to store it. In the interim, Alex locked it up outside directly across the street from our front entrance.
It was a Friday when the weather finally cooperated enough for Alex to ride his bike to work. He was beaming triumphantly when he got home. I was happy to see him happy.
The next morning, I went out to run some errands. It was dark and steamy and rain was imminent. Not a good day for a bike ride.
When I came home, the apartment had a gloom in it. I figured it was from the clouds until I saw my beloved. He looked like someone had died. I ran up to him, "What's wrong? Are you OK? Did someone die?"
With tears brimming and the words caught in his throat, he looked down at his hands. He was holding his bike lock. Cut in half. His beautiful bike -- his cheap, defective, arrived-in-a-box bike -- had been stolen.
All I could do was hold him. He was SO sad. He looked like he had lost his best friend. In a sense, he had. The bike represented freedom to him. A brief respite from the chaos of the world. My heart ached at his loss.
Well there was only one thing I could do to cheer him up (besides that - get your mind out of the gutter!).
The next morning, I got up early to waddle my 8 month pregnant ass into the kitchen. Alex awoke a couple hours later to a large batch of vegan chocolate chip cookies. His smile said it all. The sting of the bike was gone from his mind. He hadn't lost anything that couldn't be replaced.