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.
He set the tray down before taking the seat across from me, a huge smile on his face. “They look good, huh?” he asked, pointing at the brownies.
“Yeah, but aren’t the wine glasses a bit much?” I asked, causing him to chuckle.
“Of course they are. But that’s just how they do things here at Paradise,” he said, shrugging. I reached for my brownie and took a bite, Mase waiting to see my reaction.
“These are amazing. How’d you find out about this place?” I asked, savoring the rich chocolate taste. He smiled before grabbing for his own brownie, taking a huge bite.
In record timing, Mase’s plate was empty, apart from the few crumbs left over, as he downed the glass of milk. He proceeded to pick up every last crumb with his finger tip, while I worked on finishing mine.
“My mom used to bring us here all the time, and have us sit at this table while she ordered us brownies and milk,” he said, his voice low. A certain sadness crept back into his eyes, the bright look I’d seen there before completely burnt out.
“Us?” I asked, leaning forward.
He brought his gaze up to meet mine. “My little sister and me,” he said.
I watched as the pain cut through his eyes, rippling across his face. In that moment, he looked utterly broken, but there wasn’t anything I could do to help him. Because I was still on my hands and knees, picking up my scattered pieces that fell too far from my reach.
I longed to know where his mother and little sister were. And why he was staying with my Dad and Ruth, instead of them. But I wouldn’t ask him to tell me, not when I couldn’t do the same thing in return.
“So it was nice of you to bring me here,” I said, giving him a small smile. It’s funny how when you see another person in pain, you can easily forget your own.
“I’ve missed coming out here, but I never felt like doing it alone. Thanks for the company,” he said, recovering from his previous thoughts. And almost looking thankful that I didn’t ask more about his mother or sister.
“I just wish I knew about this place sooner. I used to live on Mockingbird Lane and drove by this place at least twice a day. Never thought to stop and try it though,” I said.
“Really? So you went to Auburn High then?” he asked.
And that’s how we spent the next twenty minutes at Paradise, sitting in those uncomfortable metal chairs. We talked, conveniently skipping around the things that hurt too much to mention. Mase ended up buying another brownie which I gladly split with him. His eyes were shining again, until I brought up our Art project.
“We’ve been ignoring the one thing we came here to talk about,” I said, still smiling at Mase’s recent confession of crying every time he watches Mufasa die in The Lion King.
“What did we come here to talk about? I just wanted an excuse to eat a fudge brownie,” Mase said with a shrug. I totally believed that.
“Of course you did. I’m talking about the Art project,” I said, watching the immediate change in his expression. He sat up a little straighter, running a hand through his hair.
“Oh, yeah. Okay, well, you go first then,” he said.
I nodded. “I mostly listen to music when I’m running. And running makes me feel relieved. So, I guess when I think of music, I think relief. Like, my load getting lighter, you know?” I said, slightly blushing at my lengthy explanation. Did it even make sense?
“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his gaze stuck on the table between us.
“What about you? How does music make you feel?” I asked, wishing I knew what was running through his mind right now. And why he looked so uncomfortable when he first read the tiny word on the slither of paper in Art class.
He placed his forearms on the table, leaning forward towards me. His grey eyes found mine as he let out a breath, his mouth turning down at the edges.
“Guilt,” he said, his voice a soft whisper. “When I think of music, I only feel guilt.”
Author's Note: Here's chapter 9:] Let me know what you think of Mase and his bike. ;] Please vote if you liked it! And there's a picture of little Gabe on the side. Cute kid, right? :] ALSO, my twin did a cover of Taylor Swift's 'Eyes Open' so you should check it out. Link is also to the right! >>>> (In the info tab if you're using the app.) Thanks for the reads/comments/votes. You guys rock<3 -Shahira