Ride to Heavens Door

Just a thought ... Thinking stoop is place where one contemplates the journey and listens to the wind .....

Part 1

There is a quiet place where the rustling of leaves are louder then the passing cars ... and the bushes and trees hide out a bit of nature from noisy city streets. It is in such a place she found solace and solitude when needed. She went there even if the clouds cried or the sun smiled. It was her place whenever the need to think out the sadness and parting came on her. Such was this night ....

It had begun just a week or two before when she had noticed something new around her home. She was not a busybody by nature ... more by practice. She observed the comings and goings of those around her and filled in a narrative when she was bored. She was friendly enough with strangers to say hi ... and a couple of them knew enough of her to call by name and would be concerned but not surprised to find her missing for a day or two.

And that was why the young mans bike had caught her eye. ... if only it hadn't. Not that it was really anything odd about the bike. She knew enough to consider it more a city racer then an over sand dune rider. The look of it was new enough to have been a holiday gift. Maybe that was what it was. No it had not really been the bike at all she realized she had noticed. Even though she knew previously he left by foot or with another car when she had seen him around a young man with a bike in the city was not that odd an occurrence at all.. Then what had made her look again?

She tried to put herself back to that day and time. Now where had she been? It was early in the day but not yet noon so she would have been out on deck. Her coffee would have cooled enough to drink ... and then a noise from below .... It was

Part 2

... well she was not really sure what the noise was. You see her deck was three floors above the ground and she had some jazz music playing. Cannonball Adderley blues tune Mercy, Mercy, Mercy .. It seems even fate was trying to tell her something. So as she listened to the sax play that day something made her stand up and look down ... just in enough time to see the car that had screeched to a stop, avoiding hitting the bike by a wishes breath.

And she noticed no stirring from other decks or doors and figured that others had not heard ... or they were just to used to noise to notice. But she noticed the young man guiding the bike across the parking lot toward the mailboxes and the bike stand.

But what was it that made her curious? He was of no relation to her ... and he certainly was not injured from that near miss. No she watched and wondered because it was only after he had secured the bike .. fastening it with lock and chain ... that he looked around from side to side with his hands never leaving the handlebar ... And when he looked around she saw it ... obvious as coal on new snow .. that blackened swollen eye.

But then she had lost track of the young man never seeing which unit he entered. But she did notice the bike never moved. She passed the bike stand when checking for mail as part of daily ritual. The sandy earth surrounding the stand never showed new footprints or wheel imprints. It was not that it returned after a ride to the same spot ... it just never moved. Maybe he had been hit ... no that was doubtful ... but maybe from the fight as she remembered the eye ... maybe.

It went on like this for about a week until the day she did see the youth standing around the bike. But still he did not ride it. He just seemed to be looking at it or toward it as his back was all she could see. She was heading out for a walk and had just glanced in the direction of the mailboxes and saw his figure. She tried to approach him but his young legs quickly took him into the second unit before her walking stick could carry her even a few steps. But now she knew the unit at least. And that he had survived whatever.

She could have let it go then except for the bike. It seems he had not only looked at the wheels but

Part 3

and this was the odd thing to her. Sometime someone had painted the bike green . Why would one paint a bike that was never ridden and did not have a mark on it? Not even a speck ... not a single speck .... of rust.

But that would have been his business and certainly not a crime. What could she have done based on just that? If she had actually met the guy she would have maybe asked him about it. She had heard that he lived on the bottom floor of unit two with other family members. Family members that knew him well......... they lived with him ...... and should have known him ..... should have.

The day after the paint job there was much talk around the complex .... She learned that the young man had been found in his apartment and removed by the coroner The rumor mill had all their dreadful facts ..... yes it was suicide ... cutting bloody blade found in bleeding hand.... but it had not been the wrists ... No it was both palms and every finger on both hands ..... Oh how much pain he must have been in ... to have caused so much pain.

And though that was a very sad event for her to hear about it still was not the reason for this need to come to her quiet place. She had not really been acquainted with the family after all .... and had only observed what ... everyday actions or something else ....If only she did not read the morning paper ... If she had not seen the article today.

The article......

Last chapter

... that was on page one of the local news section, above the fold ,and beside the picture of a lovely missing child. It read that a holiday gift had been taken out for a spin and since then neither the gift nor the child has been seen. The child's favorite color was blue and the gift had been a sleek fancy blue bike ..... And then it all made some sort of terrible sense.

She had called the phone number listed in the paper .... she had told the Sergeant who answered what she had seen and why she had noticed and tried to say if only she had known .. if only ... And told him she could be wrong .... she might still be making too much of .... nothing. The Sergeant thanked her, asked a few questions and said a Detective would be stopping by soon and not to touch the bike ... as if she would.

The bike was picked up by the police and still no sign of the missing child. It is still possible she thinks. Isn't it still possible? Maybe ?And that is why as night darkens the sky she sits still in her quiet place. Because when she passes the bike stand on the way to the mailbox all she can think of is that song that had played on that day. She prays for everyone. And prays to help silence all the what ifs ........ Mercy.... Mercy ... Mercy.

..... I hope this tale was worth the time of reading. I hope we all take a moment to look at missing posters in case we pass them by chance ... and I hope we take a moment to see those who sit across our dinner tables so we do not miss them by mistake ......