(NOT fan fiction!) Kurt Cobain and Tally Fisk

Chapter Thirty-Four

What is it?"

John's face falls. "You can't tell?"

My feet scuff over the dusty garage floor as I circle the...object.

"I mean, I can see that it's a bicycle...type...thing."

What sits before in John's garage on this late summer night does, indeed, look like a bicycle.

Like a bicycle but also nothing like one.

Where a bicycle would have handlebars, this thing has a glittering baton like girls twirl in parades, held up by mannequin hands which are, in turn held up by a large Batman action figure who is standing strong with his arms in a Y position.

Batman is attached by a metal clamp to a baseball bat the serves as the crossbar.

The basic bike frame is still there, wrapped in a collage of random items like fake flowers, buttons, rocks, coins, beads and so many more items that the eye just wants to linger, finding a new surprise every second.

Instead of a typical bicycle seat there sits what can only be described as a small throne, covered in what at first looks like deep, red velvet but, upon further inspection, appears to be some sort of Astroturf. It is trimmed in faux fur and rhinestones.

"Say something else," John prompts.

"I'm still taking it in," I admit.

The pedals are made from paperback novels, sealed in some sort of hard plastic protective cover. One is a romance novel and the other is an old Hardy Boys mystery. They have those traction stickers people put on slippery surfaces on them.

The tires are painted, one fuchsia and one dark teal, and the spokes of the wheels are covered by vinyl records with strings of twinkle lights.

Even the chain has been...upgraded?...with polka dots and diamond shapes made of some sort of puffy paint.

"Give it a spin," John says.

He's smirking at me now. Like my utter bewilderment is exactly what he'd been hoping for.

"You can't be serious," I say.

"As a heart attack."

He bounces over to the door that leads into the house and pushes the button to raise the garage door.

As it squeaks and groans, a breeze pushes its way in and hits the sweat I didn't know was on my forehead.

"Hop on!"

"Uh..." I move toward the creation as John's phone rings from his front jeans pocket.

"Hey, girl!" he says.

I raise my eyebrows.

Tally he mouths.

Why do I feel a tiny stab of disappointment?

"Listen," he says, "I've got something I want to talk about for the Invisible Woodsmen but my phone's about to die, so just come over . . . Oh. No thing. See you tomorrow or something."

He pockets his phone and says, "She's out driving around with Kyle."

"Sounds like a fun time," I say with an eye roll as I crank the handlebars of the bike to turn it toward the open garage door.

I gasp and jump as I almost run over Kurt.

"What?" John asks, looking through Kurt and out into the night.

"Saw a ghost, I guess," I mutter. I give Kurt a look.

He just stands there, hands in pockets, and smirks at me. I jerk the wheel away from him and put my foot on the pedal, pushing off.