A Good Man Is Hard To Find

Chapter 3

“Holy crap! Are you ok?”

“What! Who’s there? I can’t see anything!”

“Whoa, calm down. Deep breaths come over here,” Harry said soothingly pulling Angel out of the glare of the monstrous motorbikes headlight.

“You’re going to be just fine.” His dulcet tones and gentle pressure on her arms pulled Angel out of her pre-hyper build up.

“Ok, ok, ok, ok. I’m ok.” She let a hiss of breath out between her teeth. “I didn’t get hit, I’m ok.”

“You’re ok.” Harry repeated, squinted down at the girl he’d almost hit. He rubbed her arms, not really sure what to do.

“So, um, habit of yours?” Trying to regain her cocky composure, Angel made a feeble play at Harry.

“What?”

“A hobby perhaps?” One side of her mouth twitching

“Wait. What?”

“Oh y’know almost running people over?!” Her voice raising a little too loud, her nostrils flaring. She took another deep breath and looked up at Harry’s face when he realised she was the sarcastic waitress from earlier.

“Oh God I’m really sorry. I didn’t see you walking then when I turned my lights on you were suddenly there. I’m really sorry.” He ran his hand through the hair obscuring his face. “I’m Harry by the way. Do you  . . . want me to take you somewhere or something?” His eyebrows raised in confusion. Angel started to laugh. Well if I didn’t know it before I know it now. I’m definitely invisible she thought.

“I know who you are,” her chuckles fading.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we have English together, yeah.” Angel nodded her head her face in a funny configuration that gave off the ‘this is awkward for you vibe’. Her eyebrows raised, cherry cheeks pushed up, jaw out and lips pursed.

Harry was perplexed, admittedly he wasn’t the most observative person on the planet. Surely he should be able to connect the dots and give the girl a name. Seriously. Who is she?

“I’ll give you a hint . . . it begins with - ”Angel got cut off before she could tease Harry even more by his triumphant cry of.

“Angela! That’s your name!” Harry had been racking his memories of registration in English he could only come up with Ange. Which obviously was short for Angela, he thought until she started snorting. His triumph quickly changed to disbelief. Was she laughing at me? What could her name be? Why don’t I know it?

“Well, Angela. Not bad I ‘supose. I’m Ange by the way,” she mused.

“I knew it was Ange, I just presumed that was short for Angela. Which is isn’t . . .” he left the sentence open for her to finish with her name. She smirked at him. “It’s obviously short for . . .” he let that one open as well, nodding his head forward. “Ok, enough joking about. What’s your name? Surely it’s better for me to hear it from you and not from someone else.” She sighed dejectedly (resigned to her fate).

“Ok if you insist. My name,” a pause “is Angel,” the last half coming out in a rush. She scrutinised his facial expression looking for clues as to what he thought of her incessantly annoying name. He mulled it over for a second or two, and then tried it out, seeing how it felt in his mouth.

“Angel, Angel. Angel. Angel.” She could not protest, enjoying the sound of his voice softly repeating her name. Enjoying the way he said it, more of a sigh than a joke. “Why did you parents pick Angel?” He asked, going through the gestures – though it wasn’t the weirdest name he’d ever heard. It suited her.

“Oh I don’t know, but of course what kind of person calls their child Angel? Well my mum obviously” she spat out bitterly shaking her head from side to side, reeling out some speel that had obviously been said toward the subject of her name. “Well I’ve got to go. Try not to run anyone else over on your way.” She said curtly to his calm silence.

“About that, I am truly sorry,” her remark moving him into action, he stepped closer to her, so she had to crane to look him in the eyes. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? I know I’ll give you a lift home – or where ever.”

Angel softened a little but looked toward the beast with a mixture of awe, anxiety and a secret desire to ride it.

“I . . . I don’t know,” she looked at it sceptically.

“Look don’t worry I’ve got a spare helmet – tell me where and me and my steed will proceed there with haste.” Still seeing the uncertainty in her eyes; he changed tactic “it’s perfectly safe, honest to God I wouldn’t offer a ride if I wanted to kill you, cuz I’d die to.”  Realising that probably wasn’t the right thing to say but then she nodded her head.

“Ok” after telling Harry her address and strapping on his spare helmet. She looked wearily at the volomptuous, sleep hunk of metal. It looked old-ish and loved – still fairly dangerous though.

“Ok so a few rules 1. Don’t take the helmet off. 2. Hold onto me. Tight. Don’t let go. And 3. If I lean one way you must lean with me – do not go the opposite way, ok?” Harry said expectantly.

“Got it boss."

He then swung one of his long legs, that she had earlier been admiring, over the motorbike. He turned to her offering a hand. This is insane. She thought as he helped her up then placed her arms around his waist. She locked them at the front and tightened. Hearing him chuckle.

“You’ll love it, trust me.”

“I’m trusting you enough at the moment as it is” she threw back as he turned on the machine and it sputtered once then roared into being.

 Angel could feel the metallic animal pulsating with life underneath. Maybe I should close my eyes and then I won’t be able to see whose going and I won’t scream, she thought. Quite pleased with her rational thinking. That was until they rolled forward. Clenching her eyelids tightly together, she repeated the mantra: everything will be fine, in her head, mostly. Harry revved the engine and felt the power beneath him. Then they sped off into the darkness.

It was a difficult to describe riding a motorbike – especially to someone who’d never ridden on before. The start is almost like the climax in a song right before the bass drops; and you know it will. Then there’s the feeling of the air rushing over your body – creating a tunnel for you. The feeling of calm that seeps through the excitement as you feel yourself as though you could take off. Go anywhere. Never have to worry about anything ever again. These thoughts aren’t good for Harry and he knew that; but sometimes the urge just to up and leave without saying goodbye overwhelmed him. Trying to concentrate on getting Angel home and not taking her to some distant city – getting caught up in dreaming.

Angel opened her eyes tentatively as she found the ride smooth as calm. The Sodium-orange streetlamps whipped past creating a continual blur of light. She lifted her head off Harry’s back and looked around, losing her grip on him too. Her back straightened and torso stretched up. She tilted her head back and let a woop into the night. She felt free and the wind hitting, the heat radiating from Harry and the stillness of the sleeping world around them.

Harry chuckled at her blatant enthusiasm. She couldn’t really explain it to herself either. She’d been petrified of crashing and dying when she’d first say on the mat chrome black of Harry’s bike. Now what she felt, felt more like freedom. Like could fly up and touch the sky.

Harry wanted to pull her close, scared for her safety and enamoured with her playful joy. He didn’t though as the thought of pulling her close as inviting as it was, didn’t quite override the fear that letting of the handlebars would send them veering into a street lamp. He leant forward as they accelerated, the speed exhilarating. The burst of speed didn’t last as long as either of the pair would have wanted.

They rolled to a stop in front of Angel’s house; she hopped off as elegantly as possible.

“I’m sorry about practically running you over.” Harry blurted out.

“It’s ok, thank for the ride home, you’re right it’s fucking awesome.” She laughed, then turned and let herself in.