2 The Knowing and the Getting There

2

The Knowing and the Getting There

I retrieve my helmet from the case on the back of the bike and put it on. It’s one of those open-bottomed deals so my face is open to the breeze and I can wear my shades. My eyes have always been unusually sensitive to the sun, which is basically an excuse to wear shades whenever I’m outside in any degree of light, even though I live in the north of England.

For some reason I don’t put the shades on now, as I  automatically should do without thinking.

Sat on the bike I exhale loudly to myself and attempt to reconcile what I have heard and seen. With my back to the screen, on my way out of the cafe door, I had caught a final snippet from anchorman, barely audible over the chaos between myself and the counter

“Breaking News now, as new reports flood in of more massive explosions across the UK and Europe. Manchester, Birmingham, Glasgow and Liverpool have been hit, and enemy aircraft are entering British airspace en masse having begun their assaults - we believe - with military bases and shipyards, although many seem to be heading in the direction of our nuclear power stations and ...”

The transmission cut away just in time for the door to swing shut behind me.

Now, sat astride my battered old cruiser, people are rushing around me, some run towards the town centre, or back onto the stationary train. It’s driver stands behind me, lighting a cigarette with a shaky hand on his lighter. Others get in their vehicles, screeching at another or remaining sullen and silent in equal measure.

Where am I going?

I masticate the information I have available.

Cities are gone. Major towns too no doubt, and my planned destination ten minutes ago was not only of moderate size but features a shipyard and a major weapons factory. That’s about thirty miles south west of here, and a definite no-go.

South are major cities and a nearby Nuclear power station. To the west, on the coast, more towns, more ships and another Nuclear power plant.

East is the Pennines for a fair way, forests and farms,mountains and small villages, but soon there were more cities, more power stations and more targets. 

North is the Lakes, which - besides the water - was more of the same. A lot more, it was far to Carlisle and there were a thousand places to hide from the coming planes, and who knows what else. I know the Lakes, far better, know people here and there even. I’ve camped places since I was a kid, worked around it as a younger adult. It would be the smart choice.

I rev the engine and boot up the kick stand, accelerating slowly toward the exit and the roads that lie before me. As I do I think about choices; smart choices and stupid ones.

And I think about her.

She lives with her parents in Windermere, only 15 miles North of here. I live in a village halfway between here and there. I could stop by mine to grab a few things, and then I would have to pass her’s to continue North.

Was there time? When you were in a burning building - and I was - they told you not to stop for your belongings, right? On the basis that your personal safety far outweighs the value or usefulnesss of your possessions in terms of importance and being relative. Which I believe.

Plus, she definitely wasn’t my responsibility. I don’t mean to sound cruel, or egotistical in saying that. I really don’t. She has not been my girlfriend for a very long time, several years, and that was very much a mutual decision. 

And one night; last night, does not a relationship make.

Her text was ambiguous, maybe deliberately so, or was it? Was she sorry we slept together, or sorry she yelled at me afterwards?

But then she also asked if I was sorry too. And I didn’t yell. I hardly said a word, and then she left.

As Bob Dylan sang

We never did too much talkin' anyway

But don't think twice, it's all right

Left would be best if I go to her. Right if I’m cutting and running.

I rub my tired eyes with my fingers flat, and breathe deeply, in then out. I look at the road, and the choices fall away.

Not to, you know, spell it out for you but the only thing she could have meant, the only think she could be regretting is that we had sex.

I reach to my jacket pockets. I pull out a hip flask and scan the passing cars. I empty it.

Jack D, Johnny W and especially Jim B have always been my most consistent friends when it comes to feelings of loss and despair. But their lady friend is the best consolation of all.

Replacing the flask I take my smokes box and retrieve her.

I light the joint, taking a big old hit. I leave it hanging down from my lip so I can keep her going as I do, and I pull away, taking the bike on a long slow loop right.