This was originally an assignment for my college English class. I felt that it described a moment so profound for me that I wanted to share it with all of you. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it... :)
Courage
I stood in the doorway of the garage, lovingly gazing upon the cool blue paint. I had waited an eternity for this. Ever since I was a little girl I have loved motorcycles. The way that the wind felt during a slow ride on a warm summer evening. The sparkle of the metallic paint glossed over its agile sport bike frame. As a child I would stand in wide eyed awe over my uncle’s swift machine, knowing that one day I too would own such a magnificent piece of engineering. I learned all I could and would jump at any chance I could get for a ride. I would hear them coming on the street and look excitedly in every direction aching for just a glance. One day I would have one all my own. That day had come.
We had gone to the dealership weeks earlier and hand picked this one fresh out of the crate just for me. I had taken the safety course, gotten the endorsement on my license, and painstakingly waited while it sat in my garage. I would take it out and polish it in the sun, waiting for the day when I would be deemed ready. A brand new bike sitting in the garage can prove to be an overwhelming temptation to someone as passionate as I am. Apparently, it proved to be too much. As I descended down the rickety wooden steps, I could feel my heart racing at the thought of what I was about to do. Running my hands over the cool metal I thought, “I can do this. I know I can. I’m ready. No better time than now.” I had already been warned that the bike was too tall and I was not skilled enough to take it out on my own. In a full seated position, only about an inch of my size eight feet made contact with the pavement. I knew that taking it out alone was not an option, but “Who is going to stop me if they don’t know?” I said to myself. Already wracked with guilt for violating the agreement I had made upon the purchase of the motorcycle, I heaved open the garage door. Sizing up the miniscule decline of the old cracked driveway my worry started to grow. While I lived on my own and had no worry of being caught in the act, the neighborhood was bustling with summer night socializing. His words echoed in my mind “Promise you won’t take it out alone.”
The leather of my jacket felt constricting like never before, its stiff white chassis squeezing my body, making it unusually hard to breathe. I pulled my helmet over my long blonde hair, mind buzzing with trepidation. Erring on the side of caution, I pulled up the kickstand and wheeled my bike out through the front yard, heat sick grass underfoot. I could not believe I was doing this. Down into the gutter, out into the street. I stood there, body numbed by the adrenaline racing through my veins. Fear soon gave way to anxious anticipation as I put the key in the ignition. The engine purred as only a sport bike does. This was my moment. The moment I had been dreaming of all my life.
Sitting in the saddle I beamed. My gloved hands shook as reached for the grips. What must have only been a matter of minutes, I sat there in the street poised for action in what seemed like eternal wait. “Am I really going to do this?” I mumbled, “It’s not too late to just put the bike back in the garage and call it a night.” No. Too often in my young adult life did I let fear come between me and the things I love. So often had I let my dry well of confidence tarnish the experiences I deserved. There was no turning back.
Clumsily I rolled on the throttle. The bike lurched forward as I plodded my feet along when suddenly my Suzuki sputtered and stalled. “Okay, get it together, you can do this,” I whispered. I fumbled for the ignition switch and it came alive with a roar. I opened up the throttle a little more assertively, pulled my feet up and I was off. The gauge cluster glowed with amber light as I steadily rolled down the street. The blue black shine of impending darkness managed to catch the pearl accents just right to make the paint glow in the dusk. I was riding the motorcycle I’d dreamed of my whole life. Tears welled up in my eyes and my heart soared. I had done it.
After circling the block several times in a joyous stupor, I pulled up to my shabby old duplex. I carefully came to a stop in the center of my now abandoned street, sure to park on the apex as my short legs would be no match for the weight of a falling bike if I were to stop incorrectly. Switching off the ignition I sat there in the darkness. Gazing down at my bike, I began to cry. I wanted to share this gigantic accomplishment with the person that I most betrayed. I knew the tone of disappointment that would no doubt reside in his voice, he knew all too well the dire consequences of an accident. But he had to know. Slowly I pulled off my gloves and reached for the cell phone in my pocket.
“You will not believe what I’ve just done,” I interrupted as he greeted me cheerfully; “I took the bike out.” Silence. He was the greatest rider I’d ever known. I was selfishly desperate for his approval, in spite of his surely immense disappointment in my broken promise. “Travis?” I choked. After a long pause, his warm voice came gently through the line, “Well, it’s your bike, but please be safe. And wait for me next time… if anything were to happen to you I would never forgive myself for helping you buy the stupid thing.” Grateful for his graceful approach, I knew when not to push my luck. I gave him a quick but affectionate good bye and returned my phone to its warm pocket. As I sat there in the quiet street, a feeling washed over me I hadn’t felt in a long while. All the guilt and worry and regret… all gone. He was the person I loved and immensely respected as my partner and best friend. And while I held him so dearly to my heart, I realized for the first time that perfect summer evening, my cowardly lion heart had earned the respect and approval that truly mattered most… my own. *
Courage
I stood in the doorway of the garage, lovingly gazing upon the cool blue paint. I had waited an eternity for this. Ever since I was a little girl I have loved motorcycles. The way that the wind felt during a slow ride on a warm summer evening. The sparkle of the metallic paint glossed over its agile sport bike frame. As a child I would stand in wide eyed awe over my uncle’s swift machine, knowing that one day I too would own such a magnificent piece of engineering. I learned all I could and would jump at any chance I could get for a ride. I would hear them coming on the street and look excitedly in every direction aching for just a glance. One day I would have one all my own. That day had come.
We had gone to the dealership weeks earlier and hand picked this one fresh out of the crate just for me. I had taken the safety course, gotten the endorsement on my license, and painstakingly waited while it sat in my garage. I would take it out and polish it in the sun, waiting for the day when I would be deemed ready. A brand new bike sitting in the garage can prove to be an overwhelming temptation to someone as passionate as I am. Apparently, it proved to be too much. As I descended down the rickety wooden steps, I could feel my heart racing at the thought of what I was about to do. Running my hands over the cool metal I thought, “I can do this. I know I can. I’m ready. No better time than now.” I had already been warned that the bike was too tall and I was not skilled enough to take it out on my own. In a full seated position, only about an inch of my size eight feet made contact with the pavement. I knew that taking it out alone was not an option, but “Who is going to stop me if they don’t know?” I said to myself. Already wracked with guilt for violating the agreement I had made upon the purchase of the motorcycle, I heaved open the garage door. Sizing up the miniscule decline of the old cracked driveway my worry started to grow. While I lived on my own and had no worry of being caught in the act, the neighborhood was bustling with summer night socializing. His words echoed in my mind “Promise you won’t take it out alone.”
The leather of my jacket felt constricting like never before, its stiff white chassis squeezing my body, making it unusually hard to breathe. I pulled my helmet over my long blonde hair, mind buzzing with trepidation. Erring on the side of caution, I pulled up the kickstand and wheeled my bike out through the front yard, heat sick grass underfoot. I could not believe I was doing this. Down into the gutter, out into the street. I stood there, body numbed by the adrenaline racing through my veins. Fear soon gave way to anxious anticipation as I put the key in the ignition. The engine purred as only a sport bike does. This was my moment. The moment I had been dreaming of all my life.
Sitting in the saddle I beamed. My gloved hands shook as reached for the grips. What must have only been a matter of minutes, I sat there in the street poised for action in what seemed like eternal wait. “Am I really going to do this?” I mumbled, “It’s not too late to just put the bike back in the garage and call it a night.” No. Too often in my young adult life did I let fear come between me and the things I love. So often had I let my dry well of confidence tarnish the experiences I deserved. There was no turning back.
Clumsily I rolled on the throttle. The bike lurched forward as I plodded my feet along when suddenly my Suzuki sputtered and stalled. “Okay, get it together, you can do this,” I whispered. I fumbled for the ignition switch and it came alive with a roar. I opened up the throttle a little more assertively, pulled my feet up and I was off. The gauge cluster glowed with amber light as I steadily rolled down the street. The blue black shine of impending darkness managed to catch the pearl accents just right to make the paint glow in the dusk. I was riding the motorcycle I’d dreamed of my whole life. Tears welled up in my eyes and my heart soared. I had done it.
After circling the block several times in a joyous stupor, I pulled up to my shabby old duplex. I carefully came to a stop in the center of my now abandoned street, sure to park on the apex as my short legs would be no match for the weight of a falling bike if I were to stop incorrectly. Switching off the ignition I sat there in the darkness. Gazing down at my bike, I began to cry. I wanted to share this gigantic accomplishment with the person that I most betrayed. I knew the tone of disappointment that would no doubt reside in his voice, he knew all too well the dire consequences of an accident. But he had to know. Slowly I pulled off my gloves and reached for the cell phone in my pocket.
“You will not believe what I’ve just done,” I interrupted as he greeted me cheerfully; “I took the bike out.” Silence. He was the greatest rider I’d ever known. I was selfishly desperate for his approval, in spite of his surely immense disappointment in my broken promise. “Travis?” I choked. After a long pause, his warm voice came gently through the line, “Well, it’s your bike, but please be safe. And wait for me next time… if anything were to happen to you I would never forgive myself for helping you buy the stupid thing.” Grateful for his graceful approach, I knew when not to push my luck. I gave him a quick but affectionate good bye and returned my phone to its warm pocket. As I sat there in the quiet street, a feeling washed over me I hadn’t felt in a long while. All the guilt and worry and regret… all gone. He was the person I loved and immensely respected as my partner and best friend. And while I held him so dearly to my heart, I realized for the first time that perfect summer evening, my cowardly lion heart had earned the respect and approval that truly mattered most… my own. *
