Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

46. Pillion

"I love hugs, but that's not the point." His laugh tickles me as he taps the side of the bike. "Okay, Look. See right here?" He points down to a peg.

"Yeah."

"Sit your feet there and hold on tight."

"Gotcha." I nod, quickly pulling my visor over my eyes before wrapping myself even stricter around his body.

"Ready?"

My eyes begin to dart around the bike, making sure everything is in order as if I knew diddly squat about motorcycles. "I don't know." ...shit, are we?

That's when I see Marcel lift his foot. Oh, Sweet Bobby and Baby Jesus. "...you're ready."

Taking off, I bury myself in Marcel's long-sleeve. Oh no. Oh NO! OH NO!

It seems my mind and body are detached. My mind is telling me to hold this man for dear life. My mind is racing with these questions: why do I continue to put myself in these crazy situations? Am I going to fly off? Am I holding him tight enough? I don't know if I am. 

My body feels limp. There's absolutely no way for me to tell how my body is reacting to the experience. All I can feel is this brawny machinery underneath me as the wind rips through each thread of my clothing. So, I believe I'm okay because I'm still somehow attached to the bike.

As the bike slows down, you would have thought I ran a 40-mile marathon by how hard I'm breathing. Am I sweating? I don't know. My body hasn't caught up yet. I'll inform you once she gets here!

"Are you okay?" Marcel breaks me from my fears. Opening my eyes, they cut in each direction as I pant. "It's okay." Even though he can't make out my panicked expression, he can tell I'm caged behind my fright from my silence and the heart rattling his entire body. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Okay, Princess?" He assures, rubbing my knee as I nod.

Preparing myself for another rush, I bow even harder as I watch the red light turn green. "I know."

And just like that, we're off again, speeding down the highways, watching the lights pass our eyes as flickers and stretched rainbows. With the illusion of speed, the bike swallows dash line after dash line and catapults us ahead of the intimidated, red, brake light vehicles.

I know I'm new to this motorcycle thing and not too familiar with the proper etiquette, BUT I do feel I have my share of common sense. Can someone please explain to me why Marcel approaches these side-by-side cars without slowing down? I don't know about you, but I'm trying to see tomorrow.

Squeezing Marcel tighter, I try willing him into slowing down or rerouting. That was pointless. Taking a chance, Marcel splits between the cars, leaving them honking from behind. With the sense of danger surrounding us, the thrill of rebellion courses through and around my veins. Assuring our clearance, I can't help but smile at their angry, diminishing faces.

Relaxing while riding pillion may not be the smartest idea, but I feel my body melt into Marcel's as I use the attire rippling air to take another flight to freedom as we lane split.

I've been on this ride for less than 20 minutes. The first couple was so nerve-wracking that I didn't know whether to escape by throwing myself off or lengthen my life expectancy by clinging to Marcel. But things have taken a different track because now, I'm in no rush to leave. Sometimes, you have to do what scares you because the reward may be greater than you ever imagined.

That reminds me of leaving New York for London.

That reminds me of when I first met Marcel.

It wasn't the easiest time. My nerves were shot, my feathers were ruffled, but with a bit of charm, I quickly warmed up to the rude gentleman and his charming city.