Little Wolf

Ch 6 Being Man

"Michael will never let his go," I said with complete confidence.

"Hmmm. We should go talk to Michael anyway," Dad said as if I already agreed to go.

Shoulder temporarily forgot, I just stared at Dad's back as he stirred the potatoes around.

There was another whole unspoken conversation in that sentence, in his whole purposely casual demeanor. He was offering me the freedom to go that I'd so long craved. I've been tied here by unspoken bonds I always felt but never understood. Dad was giving me his tacit blessing, offering me the independence of a man.

It was late afternoon when we drove up the dirt road to Michael's. It was a silent ride. Things were still somewhat awkward, despite Dad keeping that casual attitude that was betrayed by the grip he had on the steering wheel. We walked in silence to the back of the property, to the old shed that was Michael's workshop.

Dad did most of the talking after the brief hello. Michael commented about how much I'd grown since the last time he'd seen me a just over a year ago. Once Dad told him why we were there, Michael promptly started to shake hands with my dad for the purchase of a motorcycle he just finished repairing. Dad stepped back, saying the sale was direct to me.

The amount was more than reasonable. Michael told me I could make payments as my paychecks came in. The whole thing went down just way to easy. I tried to catch Dad's eye, but he kept looking at various parts laying around.

Michael insisted on inviting us up to the house to share a smoke with us.

Dad agreed too readily. I shot Dad another look, knowing how he barely tolerated the formal smoking ritual. I've never seen him accept an offer to smoke, without at least trying to get out of it without offending his host. Dad ignored my look as we trudged up to the house as the shadows lengthened into evening.

We sat out back, the older man instructing Dad to start a fire while he went into the house for his pipe. Dad kept busy, purposely avoiding me until Michael came back out. The three of us sat around the small fire. Dad still didn't look at me.

Michael couldn't share a smoke without sharing stories of some of the close calls he'd had on bikes over his long years. The conversation took on the flavor of a lecture about bike safety. I kept my features pleasant, nodded respectfully at the right times.

I could do this.
Be a man.
I groaned internally.

After stories hi-lightning the dangers of riding a motorcycle, there were other stories of how his bikes had saved him on a few occasions. Michael had lived an adventurous life in his time. Some of the stories were intriguing. I found myself asking the occasional question or making comments.

We sat there for a few hours, sharing smoke and stories as dusk came on. I kept throwing glances at Dad when I thought Michael wasn't looking. All I got was more of that purposely casual attitude from him with that still-not-looking at you... until finally a slight side glance and a quick smirking grin.

Be a man. Hang out with the grown men. Don't be the impatient boy I once was. Show respect to your elders; it was pretty cool to do so, not that I'd admit it.

Michael surprised me with the story of how my mother had used one of his motorcycles to make her rounds as the local vet, until an elk had attacked it during rut season.

"I don't know, " Miachael said thoughtfully. "Maybe the elk thought the handlebars were enough like horns to challenge it. There is no explaining an elk in rut."

Michael paused to blow out smoke, then used the pipe to motion toward the motorcycle we'd agreed about, his voice slow and deliberate.

"Your mother wanted you to have it. May it serve you the same way it served River Woman."

I was astounded to learn Mom had ridden a bike. I never knew! More, Mom's old bike was now my new bike, and Mom had wanted me to have it. The memory of her silver ghost pushed its way to the forefront of my thoughts.

The motorcycle explained the few quiet arguments my parents had had the few weeks before they took to the forest that fateful day, if you could call it arguing. A stiff tone from my dad, my mom's determined but gentle comment in return, a long silence. I never knew why my parents opposed each other. I glanced at the motorcycle that Mom had arranged for me, the bike Dad had been against me owning.

Sharing a look with the old man who held the long formal pipe out to me with both hands, I saw respect. I realized that my new steel horse was not merely a purchase. The low price of the repaired motorcycle was Michael's gift, honoring all my mother had done to help people who couldn't pay full price for her veterinary skills. It was a connection with my mom's past; a gift that honored me as her son, as a man in my own right.

I solemnly took the pipe, took a steadying draw. I couldn't look at Dad right now, didn't dare. He knew the bike was waiting for me when he suggested we come out here. Dad was honoring my mom's wishes. He was setting me free, giving me the means to go the same way his father had for him.

Hearing the stories about Mom had me all emotional, especially after the long day I'd had. I held back my tears, determined not to cry at a time when I was being accepted as a man.