Short Story: Flying Free

by Bruce Perkins

Through streaming tears, your pilgrim peers

With eyes red from the ride

He thinks ahead to beer and bed

His woman by his side.

 

“Oh shit.” I thought, “She’s gonna Kick My Ass.” With two hundred miles between the bar behind me and the raging bitch no doubt waiting up for me, I was finally heading home. It had been a long ride, but the boys weren’t done when the sun went down, I had stayed for just one more and now the bar had closed at two o’clock. I was looking at an all night ride.

 

The motor-beat between his feet

Hums a steady monotone

That’s all he feels as hungry wheels

Eat miles going home.

 

I checked the gas, kicked the tires, lit the fires, and settled into the seat. Pulling out, I opened the throttle and lifted the front wheel to salute my brothers. I might have heard cheers but there was too much noise to be sure and my eyes stayed to the front as I leaned into the wind. It was just me and the road from here.

 

Here come the sun again. Here come the sun again.

He won’t be home ‘till she don’t know when

Here come the sun again.

His dancing light throws back the night

Yet darkness presses down.

He shakes a chill, flies faster still

And storms a sleeping town.

 

My eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, and the cone of light from my headlamp encompassed the entire field of my vision. The bite of the wind tearing my eyes blurred what I could see. As I roared past a gas station/country store, it occurred to me, “Those folks are all snug in their warm beds, Bruce. What the hell’s wrong with you?” but just like me, the thought was there, then gone.

 

He rides the lines, ignores the signs

Lets others live by rules

His spirit sees eternities

In stars that shine like jewels.

 

Running the back roads like I do, there was no one to pass and no one to slow down for. I put her on the yellow between the dots and opened it up. On the winding levee road, I could see for miles ahead so I rode right down the middle at twice the legal limit and three times the sane.

 

Here come the sun again. Here come the sun again.

He wont be home ‘till he don’t know when

Here come the sun again.

 

He’s flying free, content to be

Alive and riding on

If speed should kill, his soul would still

Be racing with the dawn.

 

It was glorious, singing, weaving and generally playing the fool, all the while knowing that I would never be here again. Out in the country, with the houses few and far between, there was just me and the moon so I howled and laughed then howled some more. I might have been the only person alive.

 

Through streaming tears, your poet peers

With eyes red from the ride

He thinks ahead to beer and bed

His woman by his side.

 

As the sky began to lighten, I had to gas up. Pulling out of the station, I noticed a lady standing by the side of the road. No dog, no bag, just a thumb. I figured “What the hell, I’m already late…”

 

Here come the sun again. Here come the sun again.

I won’t be home ‘till I don’t know when.

Here come the sun again. 

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