It was a week to the day…

…since I dropped her off. She wasn’t, well,  she just wasn’t herself. That much was certain. The signs were there a few days before. I ignored it until the symptoms were undeniable. I thought it would be a quick and simple procedure. I imagined she might be in overnight, so it came as quite a shock when overnight turned into a week. That excrutiating week seemed like forever.

I think the train ride into work and home each day was the hardest, at least for me, languishing in that long empty hour each way, every day. I missed my old feiend. Life wouldn’t be the same until she was home again. I’d trail off in thought, growing jittery, feeling the tension rise, along with the anticupation as our reunion neared. How I longed for her sleek athletic form, her speed and stamina,  and the longing realization that she was always there for me[ ready and willing.

I got the call late Friday. The procedure had gone as well as expected. Not that it was terribly serious.  It was quite routine. Tthe voice at the other end of the phone assured me that she had come through well enough. Neither of us would know she’d had any troubles at all. Recovery was complete.

She couldn’t be released until 9am. Have to say I was growing more anxious by the minute. It wasn’t far from the house, but the trip seemed endless. I waited outside, and then precisely at 9am, pushed through the door. The man behind the desk looked up smartly and gave a knowing smile.

“You’re here for…”

“I am!” I blurted, too excited, feeling a rush of warm blood into my cheeks. I was tingling and electric.

“Everything went fine,” he said, stepping from behind the desk. “I’ll go get her.”

“Um,” I interrupted him a moment, “can I ask, what was the…”

“Ten bucks,” he said simply.

“That’s it?” I replied, taken by surprise.

“Just a nut,” he nodded before disappearing the back.

It wasn’t a moment later when he led her out as beautiful as the day I’d first laid eyes on her. And with all the care wrought by years of this, he gently dropped her kickstand and tore the tag from her handlebars.

I  rushed to her, sweeping her into my  arms in the biggest hug ever, chuckling  as stuck into my side, smacking her seat playfully, and remarking, “You scamp!”

We were one all the way home. At the light I ran my fingers lovingly over her A-frame and promised her we’d never be apart again. My mountain bike. Oh, how I missed her so…

About 900poundgorilla

W.C. Turck is a Chicago playwright and the author of four widely acclaimed books.His latest is "The Last Man," a prophetic novel of a world ruled by a single corporation. His first novel, "Broken: One Soldier's Unexpected Journey Home," was reccommended by the National Association of Mental Health Institutes. His 2009 Memoir, "Everything for Love" chronicled the genocide in Bosnia and the siege of Sarajevo. His third book "Burn Down the Sky" is published exclusively on Amazon Kindle. It was in Sarajevo at the height of the siege where he met and married his wife, writer and Artist Ana Turck. FOX NEWS, ABC, CBS News, the Chicago Tribune and The Joliet Herald covered their reunion after the war. He helped organized relief into Rwanda during the 1994 genocide. Turck has been a guest on WMAQ-TV, WLS in Chicago, WCPT, WBBM radio, National Public Radio, Best Of the Left and the Thom Hartmann show. He has spoken frequently on Human Rights, Genocide and Nationalism. In 2011, his play in support of the Occupy Movement, "Occupy My Heart-a revolutionary Christmas Carol" recieved national media attention and filled theaters to capacity across Chicago. He remains an activist to the cause of human rights and international peace. View all posts by 900poundgorilla

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