Bit Uncomfortable

I knocked loudly. I knocked loudly again, like a cops knock. The seedy little man, behind the door, told me that he'd "have the money," in an hour. Id been here twice already,and I told him that this was the "last trip," I was going to make to him, for our clubs money. I was warranted the collector, in our clubs, goings ons. We didn't mind, lending our money but, if you didn't pay on time, there would be taxes. If you didn't pay the taxes, there would be broken legs. This guy was at the start paying taxes stage. We wanted our money back with interest, and we wanted the late fee.

The skinny little guy wrung his hands behind the door, and peeped out at me, the six foot six tall, biker in his club garb, weighing 285 pounds. I worked out regularly, and took pride in my appearance, and tough guy image. The embroidered patch on the back of my jacket , telling the world of our brotherhood. Giving everyone in life, the impression that I really " "lived to ride, rode to live." I was free. Free of encumbrances like children, or a partner. Something about the freedom of a motorcycle, and a leather jacket made people envious. This 1% of populations people, were an elite bunch, but people in the public, knew well. Our reputation wasn't squeakey clean, and we didn't mind. Often, on our club rides the passers by in thier cars, would honk, and give us all the thumbs up. We reveled in our adoration, that we recieved from women. They often threw themeselves at me, and I loved every minute of it. I was a biker.

The skinny guy, breathed in sharply, shook his head at me, he knew, that he owed, and stuttered again "yeah", he knew he was late. "That I could have the 69 Mustang for half the payment if I wanted," he muttered. I told him "the money," was what we wanted, and didnt tell him, that I secretly did want that old Mustang. I made out, like I was himming and hawwing about it. I finally told him okay, " just this time we will take the car, but he better have the other half of the fifteen thousand next week". I called my buddy, the towtruck driver, and he came, to pick the little man's car up. I wondered, what was propelling this tiny man, to give away his beautiful car as collateral. I also wondered, what he was spending all the money on. It was the third loan, of fifteen thousand, that he had got. This being the first of three, fifteen thousand dollar loans, that he didn't pay back on time, and he still owed the interest. I didn't ask the details though. It wasn't my job, to know where the money went, after we lent it. Our lower price payback plan, was lower than loan shark payback policy. It was inviting to some, who had no credit, in the real finance world.

The small quiet man, paced in his house, from the living room, back to the kitchen, and back again. Occasionally stopping to stroke the leather jacket, and spit polish, the beautiful Harley Davidson, that he had in his living room. He "had to have these," he told himself. The motorcycle weighing in at least four times his weight, had him scared of his first ride. He hadn't gotten a motorcycle licience yet, and was genuinely scared of the big machine. His grandfather had had, an old Indian motorcycle, and it was his real dream, come true. But he didn't know if he could be brave enough, to strut the leather, and rumble that bike, always being an introvert in life. He scolded himself, for the tenth time that day. He knew he couldn't ride it around his living room, and that he had better get some courage soon. Who could show him how to ride though? He was to shy to ask the biker with the money, but how was he ever going to get a seat, on this beauty, with out help? The biker would probably say no to him, to show him how to ride, this is what he imagined. If he chickened out, he decided, that he would give the bike back. He reprimanded himself again, on his own lack of confidence. The club, he had borrowed the money from, could take the big motorcycle, if he wasn't going to get the guts, to ride it. He had the cash too, the seventy five hundred, but he really needed to learn to ride. He really wanted to go out soon. He couldn't look himself in the mirror, if he gave this shiney new "Harley Davidson" to the huge biker, the collector. Where could he go to learn?

"Okay buddy," bang, bang, bang went my knock on the little guys door. All hundred pounds of him peered back at me. So, I asked if he had our money. The man stood, as though blocking my view, from something, or someone, behind him. The curiosity overwhelmed me, and I peered past him, to a really nice, white, shiney, Harley Davidson. He looked behind him, like it was an omen sitting there. The bike I could tell, was never ridden, the tires polished, with the rest of the gleaming machine. " Who owns that" I said quietly to him. Admiring it, from where I stood. He replied that he "owned it," and sheepishly told me that he "couldn't ride it though." A motorbike, was not to be left in a living room, in our circle, it was "meant to be ridden." I told him this.

The small man at the door, shuffled his feet, and sort of half asked me, "if I knew anyone with a dirt bike or something. That he could learn to ride on." I was overwhelmed with a feeling of compassion for this land walking dweller. "We got a few dirt bikes around" I said wondering if he wanted me to teach him, or buy one, or what. This time, I was the one shuffling my feet, when I said "yes," and that "maybe I could teach him." My gruff exterior said, that he would "have to pay the gasoline," for the bike he would learn to ride on, for lack of anything else to say. For some reason charity, and nice acts of kindness, embarrassed me. He explained to me, in his high pitched voice that, he had "put a down payment on it, about three years ago." That he had never been riding, because of his lack of knowledge, and that no one around, had anything to practice on. I looked at this skinny little guy in front of me and smiled at him, for the first time, since meeting him.

We wheeled the 250 Yamaha, out of my garage. I told him to "rev the throttle, and let off the clutch slowly," then he could go. He had just put on his leather jacket, that I told him, would save his skin from the pavement, if he ever wiped out. He wore it proudly today. He cracked a small smile, at the wheely he almost did. He got it to go, full speed, in less than five seconds. The wind blew in his hair. I felt like a dad, showing my kid to ride, for the first time. A feeling of accomplishment, that I had never felt before, came over me. What a feeling.

We laughed, and hauled his new bike out, for the next weekend. He wasn't such a bad little guy, and I almost forgot about the seventy five hundred, he owed our club.

Well, that guy learned to ride,and I kinda take credit for it. I never had someone rely on me like that before, and it sort of felt good. I told the little guy not to tell anyone that I was a "nice guy" though, or anything, when he thanked me, that was our deal. After he paid the loan off of course. He had the money to pay. THE END