The Chord to my Heart

9: Come Fly With Me

                                                                  9: Come Fly With Me             

            “Bring on the helmet hair,” I said, my voice cracking mid-sentence. I’d never been on a motorcycle before, but what’s the worst that could happen? On cue, an image of splattered brains on asphalt came to mind and I cringed.  

            Mase let out a short laugh, watching my expression. “Let’s just take the car instead,” he said. 

            But I rolled my eyes while reaching for the helmet gripped in his hand, pressing the knot of fear down into the pit of my stomach. There was no reason to be scared. I had nothing left to lose. 

            After asking me half a dozen times if I was sure I wanted to do this, Mase finally threw his leg over to the other side of the bike and gripped the handles. It turned on with a mean growl and I took a small step back. I watched as he flicked up the kickstand, leaning forward and using his feet to keep the bike upright. 

            He turned to me, nodding his head towards the empty space behind him. I watched as his eyes looked different, the melancholy grey being replaced with something brighter. Something hopeful. 

            I couldn’t help but to match the small smile playing on his lips before I pulled the heavy helmet over my head. And as I stood next to the bike, getting ready to climb on, my hands trembled. I wasn’t sure if it was the bike that was causing the nerves, or Mase.           

            It felt like flying. The wind sprinted through my hair, causing the dark locks to dance violently behind me. The angry roars from the engine made my stomach do a scared flip. But even as I sat on this two-wheeled death machine, clinging to Mase while he did seventy on Interstate-25, I couldn’t bring myself to regret getting on the bike with him. I felt free. And alive. 

            My grip on his waist got tighter, my face burying into his back, as he sped up. It felt like we’d only been on the bike a few minutes when I forced my eyes open and watched the familiar buildings pass by. We were on the other side of Auburn, closer to my old high school. Closer to my old life.

             We pulled into a parking lot that I drove by numerous times growing up, never giving it a second glance. Mase turned off the bike, my ears ringing from the deafening silence. 

            “You okay back there?” he asked, turning his head to look at me. I nodded my head in response, my voice still lost from the rush of the bike. 

            “You sure, Lyla? ‘Cause you’ve still got a death grip on my waist,” he said, his lips turning up into a teasing smirk.

             A warm blush raided my cheeks at his words as I pulled my arms back and climbed off. He smiled before getting off and leading us towards a building the color of sand. The word Paradise was written above the door in bold, black letters. 

            “I’ll go in and order for us. Do you mind saving us this table?” he asked, nodded towards the old wrought iron table and chairs just outside the door. Another car pulled up then, parking next to the bike. A young couple walked towards Paradise, their fingers interlocked.

             “Sure,” I said, taking a seat while Mase went inside. A few minutes later he walked back through the door, tray in hand. There were two, tall wine glasses filled with milk and two fudge brownies in the shape of hearts on ivory colored plates.