Cherry Red Chopper

A youth's ignorance.

    The red chopper, silhouetted against a back drop of a few fine vehicles, beckoned The Young Man. The moment he saw this beautiful vintage vehicle of cool, an unbound feeling came upon him. He could go anywhere, the roads were his and his to tame, and he would do a magnificent job of it with that cherry red chopper. This hunk of sex appeal and freedom was enticing, and so The Young Man stepped forward.
    At first he didn’t see The Old Man because his eyes were transfixed on the bike.

‘I would kill to have this.’ He thought benevolently.

The Old Man made his presence known with a cheerful greeting and an extended naked hand. He did not take The Young Man’s presence as a threat; on the contrary he was just glad to see someone else appreciate the old chopper. Indeed he started a conversation with The Young Man and was pleased, more pleased then he had been in a while, to talk to this young man as if he was his son. Alas! he was not. But that did not stop The Old Man from believing it to be so.

The Young Man’s mind was filling up with a vision of an open, empty and unencumbered future, as he continued to view the cherry red chopper through rose colored shades. He felt no great attachment to the man and was barely listening to him. He was not an evil young man, but he was, alas, young. He wanted to live the stories The Old Man recalled, he longed to live so as to tell the stories himself with the same misty expression on his face. He just desperately wanted to live. The Old Man was talking over the façade of interest, something about flowers,

“…I come out here… the garden…can’t have roses...allergies…”

The Young Man heard just a stream of words and reacted with an uncanny ability of deceit. The Old Man sneezed and covered his face with his hands. Everything seemed to stop for one last breathe. He collapsed within a second, wheezing. The Old Man knew he was dying, he thought it was the cancer. The Young Man looked about to see if anyone was around before carrying the old man into his home and laying him on his bed. The Old Man looked to The Young Man for comfort, while The Young Man asked if there was someone he should call for The Old Man refused hospitalization. The Old Man’s daughter lived a few hours away. It was only because The Old Man was dying that The Young Man felt he should stay, and stay he did.

A few hours later before the daughter arrived, The Old Man beckoned The Young Man to his bedside.

“I…would…like for you…to keep my….bike.”

The Young Man was confused, ‘why me?’ he thought. The front door burst open and the daughter rushed in. The Young Man explained that her father had collapsed and let the two to be. The Young Man took the keys and rode away, finally able to make his own stories. On the way home he passed the roses he had touched a few hours before.

Author's Note

Any thoughts are welcome. Criticisms, opinions, and any thoughts that popped into your head.