miracle mile #2
So why are my wrists trembling? I can feel the vibrations in my bones the second I grip the handlebars. No matter how hard I squeeze, I can’t rid myself of these tremors.
Squeeze, release.
Where’s Lilith? She could steady me. All it would take is one touch and . . .
I can’t feel the bike beneath me. It’s just metal. Most times, when I ride, I sync up to the cycle. We’re one and the same.
No longer separate. Now . . . I don’t know. There’s nothing but steel underneath me. I can’t get a sense for this bike. It’s
not a part of me. We’re not linked. It’s just a . . . just a bike. A metal skeleton—and I’m the flesh, all loose, the muscle
and sinew and veins, flapping about the air without its bones, as if we’ve been separated.
“On your marks . . .”
No time to dwell. Got to go. I steady my breath. Try to, at least.
Steady . . .
“Get set . . .”
I’ve got to rein in my heart, get a grip on my pulse, tighten every last vein.
Steady . . .
“GO!”
Over a hundred amped-up brakeless bike riders set off all at once. We’re a pack of mad wolves. A rabid stampede of pedals.
You can hear us howling through the night.
Deak hits it hard, pedaling out ahead of the rest of us. Freel is doing a decent job of making sure I can keep my pace with
him, but I know I’m slowing him down.
I can do this. I can do this. Steady as she goes . . .
Steady . . .
We pass under the streetlamps. I look to my left, glancing down at the street. I see a webbing of metal, the shadows of our
spokes, like cobwebs spread over the asphalt for these fleeting blinks before slipping back to black, until we pass under
the next streetlight.
The streets are full of spiderwebs. Seems like I’m the only one who can see them.
So . . . where’s the spider? Bound to be a big one. I look up, expecting to spot some big motherfucking black widow scuttling
across the streetlamps, hiding above our heads.
We’re just flies. All of us. Wandering right into their web.
“Go, motherfucker, gooooooooo!” This speed demon races passes me on the right, taking the lead with some hefty pumps of his
legs. Let him take the blue ribbon for all I care.
His shout rallies the rest, until we’re all howling.
I’m just trying to keep up. Keep my pace. Keep my heart from exploding.
There’s this constant flicker in my ear. A thin quiver of sound. Something snapping. Flapping. What is that? At first, I can’t pinpoint it, where the sound itself is coming from.
Am I the only one who can hear it?
Wings?
It’s following me along, chasing after me. I glance down, wondering if I rode over something. I hear the snap of metal against
the road. No, this is flimsier than metal. Plastic.
My spoke card. The laminated tarot.
The devil flickers against the wheel, the end of the card caught in the spokes and snapping. Reminds me of when I was a kid,
how I clipped a playing card to the tire. Hear that steady clip of the card as I pedaled faster, faster, the hum of it clicking in the air.
I should be keeping my eyes on the road, but I’m transfixed by the flickering image of the devil on my tarot. The constant
flutter of the card against the spokes has sent Satan into this quivering motion, back and forth, his hand held up in the
air, until it looks as if he’s waving right at me. I can’t help but stare down at him. Why’s the devil signaling for me?
“Heads up!”
I turn just in time to see a Hyundai up ahead. I weave around. Barely. His driver’s side mirror brushes against my hip. The
car’s horn peals out behind me just as I pass.
“Asshole!”
Now the driver is trapped in the flow of bike traffic, swarmed on all sides by a dozen riders. Whatever car is on the road
has to navigate around us all or pull over. But honk your horn and that’s the end of it. You’re all ours now.
This guy behind the wheel keeps planting his palm on the horn, laying out a series of honks that go nowhere, do nothing, simply
adding to the swell of sound, the outright chaos.
Those riders surrounding his Hyundai answer back by swatting their own palms on the roof of his car, on the hood, the windows,
just about anywhere they can, this resounding round of skin on metal—slap-smack-slap-smack—while howling into the air.
The bikes own the night. No two ways about it. I’ve just got to survive. Keep upright.
Steady . . .
There’s too many of us. Too many bikes. We eclipse every other vehicle on the road. And I’m a part of it, struggling to keep
up. Keep alive. I’m swept up by the riptide of bikes. I don’t feel like I have control of my own ride anymore, if I ever did,
stuck in the undertow.
Steady . . .
My body doesn’t feel right. My legs tremble now. The vibrations in my wrist have reached all the way up my arms, through my
chest, down into my waist and now my legs stutter. My chest is clamping down, hard, ribs gripping onto my lungs and squeezing.
I can’t breathe. I immediately feel my center of gravity give, like I can’t stay upright on my own bike.
I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be riding.
Lilith where’s Lilith
I’m going to fall. Going to crash.
where is she
Freel isn’t beside me anymore. It’s just me and the road and all these beasts.
where
Deak is long gone.
Lilith
Where am I? I thought I could do it. I wanted to try. Get back on. Saddle up. Ride. I needed to prove to myself that this
is still who I was.
Without my bike, I don’t know who the hell I am. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?
Trying to find myself again?
The surge of bikes down the street. I’m trapped in the flow. I’m smack dab in the middle of a hundred cycles and there’s no