my ridedie
Jordan
It’s not real. That’s the first thought that pops into my head the second I see it—the glint of metal, the matte-black frame, the starburst
of spokes. I must be imagining it.
“What is this?” I ask, totally thrown by the bike before me. I need someone else to acknowledge its presence, the tangibility
of it, just to make sure that it’s actually there.
I need someone else to say it’s real first. Then I’ll believe.
“What do you think?”
A bike. Lilith brought a bike.
“For you,” she says.
She wanted to leave the theater before Kim Novak fell to her death. Lilith had something for me. A surprise, she said.
“Where did you get this?”
“Does it matter?” I hear the edge of suspicion—of doubt—in her voice.
“It looks just like my—”
dead
“—old bike.” It’s true. Down to the tires, it’s the exact same model. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Lilith nabbed my
bent frame from my apartment and had it fixed.
But that’s just not possible. There’s no fixing that frame. No mending it.
“You don’t like it?” Now I can hear the hurt in her voice, the wound in her words. Has Lilith ever done something for someone—anyone—before? Offered a gift to another?
Am I the first?
She doesn’t know how to take rejection. Even the tiniest slights offer their own injury. The thinnest paper cuts, straight
to her host’s heart.
“I do,” I offer. “I’m just . . . surprised. It’s beautiful.”
It truly is. Brand-new. Not a racer, but a sturdy, custom-built cruiser. Solid enough to sift through the city. How did she
know what to ask for? Did someone help her?
Did she read my mind?
A chilled thought drifts through—Has she been inside me? Could she slip into my head and sift through my thoughts without me even knowing it?
“A token,” she says, “of our appreciation.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting soft on me . . .”
“Never.”
I can’t help but lapse back into my mind, thoughts racing a mile a minute, all the self-doubt and second-guessing quickly
eclipsing Lilith’s eyes. What if she’s peeked inside?
What did she see within me? What does she know about me?
What darkness did she find?
“Are you ready?” she asks.
“For . . . what?”
“Take a ride.”
The mere thought of riding locks my ribs up, squeezing my lungs. I can’t do it. The last time I was out here I couldn’t do
it, seizing up on these streets. “I think a cab’s in order.”
“. . . Why?”
I have to play it off. I can’t show her that I’m starting to panic. The anxiety is seeping into my system, and I have to keep it at bay. Tamp it down. “I only see one bike, for starters.”
“We can share, can’t we? Show me.” The smile on her lips is gone. She’s serious.
“You’re expecting both of us to ride . . . together? On the same bike?”
“Why not? My life is in your hands.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why are you so afraid?”
Because this city nearly killed me. My recklessness, my carelessness, it almost killed me. What am I now? I’ve barely healed, and Lilith wants me to risk it
all.
But I can’t say the words. I’ve got nothing.
“I trust you, Jordan . . .”
There’s that pressure. That brick on my ribs. Its weight bears down on my chest, growing heavier by the breath, until it becomes
a cinder block. Two cinder blocks. Three.
“Don’t,” I say, stepping back. “You shouldn’t.”
“But I do.” She steps closer, takes my hand. “I have faith in you.”
Faith. In me? When has a devil ever felt that before?
I can’t breathe. The cinder block against my chest is pressing down so hard, it squeezes my lungs.
Lilith must sense something is wrong, because she places her hand—her host’s hand, the woman from the movie theater, a woman
I’ve never met, a stranger, an absolute fucking stranger, a Betty Boop redux in a slinky sequined outfit, the curls of her
hair clinging to her temples, a painted-on beauty mark for added effect, an unfamiliar body, out of time—against my chest,
where the pressure is at its apex. Her palm settles against my shirt, and even though there’s a thin layer of cotton between
her skin and mine, I feel her.
“Breathe,” she says. “Breathe.”
Something in the way she keeps her hand there, touching me, I feel the weight lessen. The brick diminishes. Lifting, almost, until I can inhale and exhale again.
“That’s it,” she says. “Breathe.”
The cinder block disintegrates. Nothing but skin now. Nothing but air.
“Take me,” she says.
I climb on. Grip the handlebars. Squeeze, then release. There’s something about mounting a bike that gets my heartbeat pummeling.
I’m not ready for this. I need off.
“Sorry, I—I don’t think I can.”
“You can.”
Lilith won’t let me go. She hasn’t released me. We’re in constant physical contact. Her touch is enough. Something about her
skin. Her presence. It supports me. Strengthens.
“Take me home,” she says. “That’s all I want. Will you take me?”
Everything in my body screams to walk away from this. All of this.
Instead, I say, “Okay, but we’re taking it slow.”
“As slow as you want.”
She climbs onto the back of the bike behind me, taking the seat. There’s enough room for me to stand on the pedals when the
time comes, keeping upright and leaning on the handlebars. For now, my feet are planted on the pavement, holding us both upright.
I have to recalibrate our weight. My strength. Can I really do this? To her?
“Hold on to me.”
She wraps her arms around my waist. Her face presses against my back. “Like this?”
“You ready?”
“Take me home.”
Home. Where is home?
In me?
In hell.
I look straight ahead. The road before us is two lanes, one heading in each direction. There are no cars. The traffic light
down the block is red, a single cigarette singed into the night, seething brighter as if whoever’s smoking just took a long
drag.
I don’t know if I can do this. I am afraid.
I am so afraid.
I tempted death for so long, until it finally found me. Took me. Dragged me to hell. Now I’m back with a second chance and
what do I do? Fall right into the arms of a devil. A fucking goddamn demon. As if my soul couldn’t keep away from the cinders.
Faith, she said. Lilith has faith . . . in me. A demon who found faith.
I’m definitely no angel.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then,” I say. Take a deep breath. “Here we go . . .” I lift my foot up from the street and immediately bear my weight
down on the pedal, pushing us off. The bike darts forward.
Lilith’s arms constrict around my chest as we wobble. I have to counter by leaning forward. Find our balance. Gravity is already
reaching for us, greedy, ready to take us down.
But I won’t let it. Gravity can’t have her. She’s mine, all mine. You can’t have her . . .
I can do this. I can. All I need is a little faith.
Seven blocks. That’s all. We can take it slow. I don’t need to push it too hard. This isn’t a marathon. It’s just two people,
sharing a bike, riding home through Richmond.
I can do this. I can. I’ve done it—
a lifetime ago
—before and I can do it again. My breathing deepens as I pick up our pace, pumping my legs.
I’m out of practice. Out of shape. Already, I can feel the ache in my joints.
Muscles protest, clenching up. Some even scream.
The loudest sound, however, is right there in my head.
All the doubt. The fear. It’s simmering up to the surface of my skull. It won’t let me go.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
Faith.
I feel Lilith’s hand slide across my chest. She’s found her way under my shirt, the gentle scrape of her fingernails over
my bare skin. She finds my nipple and pinches.
“Hey now,” I say. “No distracting the driver while he’s driving.”
“Am I distracting you?”
“Just a tad.”
“Forgive me. I thought I was offering moral support . . .”
“It’s not my morals that need supporting.”
We don’t have far to go. Through Carytown, then hang a left. We’ll be back at my place in no time.
A car passes us on the left and my limbs lock. There’s gravity again, grabbing at my legs, ready to yank me down.
So I steady myself. Pump my legs, regain our balance by pedaling faster.
We’re upright. Steady again.
Lilith holds on. I can feel her so close to me. Her hand runs over the length of my waist, grazing the skin just below my
navel. It’s almost as if I can feel the flow of blood in my body reverse course, my circulation spinning, heading in the opposite
direction. I’m delirious with her touch. It’s almost too much. Almost. I can feel her pressing against me.
So I pedal faster.
Faster.
“Show me,” she says—and I swear, it’s like she’s riding along with me, her body pumping at the pedals. Our bodies are intertwining.
Uniting.
“Show me,” she repeats. What I’m capable of. What I’m made of. What’s inside me.
Nothing but shadows.
Yes. Yes, I will.
Nothing but darkness.
The city is ours. Not just mine, but ours. Richmond is something to share. Its streets, its energy. I’ve never given this
to anyone else before. Never ridden with another.
I want to show her. Share this electricity with Lilith. The pulse of it all, its people. Let her tap into that energy—the
essence, its spirit—right alongside me. I want her to feel the way I feel when the laws of gravity no longer matter. I want
to take her to the very precipice of light, of sound, where colors bend and breath distorts, where oxygen no longer holds
us.
Take me home, she said.
This is my home.
Where I live.
We breeze past my block. We have so much further to go. There’s so much out here to see, to experience, and we’re not stopping
until we tap into that mainline. Strike the deepest vein and tunnel our way through, all the way to the heart of this blissful
city.
“You ready?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she says.
“Hold on tight.” Tight. Tighter. Never let go. “Don’t let go . . .”
The lights all turn green, offering us up a runway right through Richmond. The artery is ours. There are barely any cars out
at this hour.
This city is ours.
All ours.
Lilith lets out a shout right behind me. There’s laughter intermingling with fear, that gasp of air that comes from shock,
and I know she’s loving it. The rush of adrenaline.
The downright fire. Feel our bodies burn.
We’ve reached the peak of the city, the very precipice of Richmond, at the intersection of life and death, time and space,
heaven and hell.
I know what’s next for us. What’s coming right up . . .
The Dip.
I haven’t gone this far in months—a year now—but look at me. Something about being with Lilith, showing her this, sharing
it with her, gives me the courage to ride again.
To tap into the life I’d lost.
“This is it,” I shout.
Her limbs constrict, serpents at my sides. I feel her breath at my ear. Somehow, she’s just next to me, whispering, “Let me
in . . .”
Was that in my ear? Or in my head?
Somewhere deep inside?
The street drops out below us. There’s no more road. We descend. A straight shot all the way down to—
hell
—the lowest road in Richmond.
The asphalt tilts and our bodies take the plunge. I can feel the lift in my stomach, as if all of my insides rise into my
rib cage while the rest of me dives. Our speed picks up. I’m not pedaling anymore. I don’t need to. We are plunging down,
down, all the way down.
The wind bites at my skin. The air hisses in my ear. Lilith is there, right there, clinging to me the whole way down—and it’s
only then that I realize it’s not the air hissing in my ears, but her. There’s a heat rising off her. Her breath. Her exhale.
It burns and I’m burning right along with it and my God, there is nothing, nothing in this world that feels this good.
Nothing in this world.
We are going down . . . down . . . all the way down.
This isn’t concrete. This isn’t the city.
This is our very souls.
Burning.
I release a shout. So does Lilith. Not her host. Her. Lilith. Actually Lilith. It vibrates out from the body she’s in and echoes into mine.
We ride. Ride. All the way to hell and back.