Bike

Herengracht, Keizersgracht, Prinsengracht.

Tonight I had no eyes for the beauty of my city.

My glasses were a bit fogged so things were blurry and the wet cobblestones glistened under the lights of my bike. It was dark, it was raining and I wanted to be home as quick as possible. The movie had been entertaining and after that me and my friend Trees had drank a couple of beers.

It was late and at crossings the traffic lights only flashed in orange. There were not many people on their way. Only some taxis, other cyclists, an occasional scooter. All in a hurry to get home.

Suddenly a car passed me and turned right without looking and I had to hit my brakes real hard, but I slipped a bit so I jumped off my bike. Just in time. A screeching sound, because the car hit my bike.

I was lying on the pavement and had hurt my knee, but I was too shocked to feel it.

I got up and walked, no ran, after the bloody car that was slowly rolling further with my bike attached in a peculiar way. I started hammering at the driver's door. Made him come to a full stop. I pulled the door handle. I was so angry that I forgot it was a big black SUV, probably owned by some delinquents or other anti social beings.

The door opened and a big dark guy was frowning at me. Then he stepped out of the car. He was huge and he looked ferocious.

But I was not impressed. I had too much adrenaline in my blood.

"Godvergeten klootzak! Kan je niet uitkijken met je tering tractor! Ik had wel dood kunnen zijn. Idioot!" I yelled.

He looked  at me empty. Raised his shoulders. He obviously had no knowledge what had happened. Those damn cars. All safe behind the wheels, protected by a grill and not the slightest idea that they are driving a potential murder weapon.

So I grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him around the SUV and pointed at the wreck that used to be my bike.

"Kijk dan, lul!" I said.

"Oh sheesh, I 'm so sorry. I hit you? I didn't see you." He exclaimed. Suddenly a different person.
An American? I thought.

"Are you alright?" A worried look on his face.

Then I hear a tired voice coming from the back of car.

"Can we move on, Jesse. Give her a pick and let's go."

I look at the man called Jesse.

"What about my bike, you asshole?"

Jesse tries to pry my bike free. It comes off with a clang.

The back door off the car opens and another guy steps out of the car. A short guy with a baseball cap.

"What the fuck is going on, Jesse?" The man says irritated.

"Sorry Ed. I just had not seen her."

The man called Ed gave me a tired smile and handed me something from his pocket.

With raised eyebrows of disgust I looked at the palm of my hand.

"I don't want a fake fingernail! Are you crazy?"

"It's a guitar pick."

"So?"

"Maybe you want an autograph?"

"Eh...no?" I say.

"A hug?"

"Listen, you arrogant prick, I don't want a hug. You sick bastard, a hug." I made a impolite gesture. "I want to go home." And I turned to the driver.

"What are you going to do about my bike?"

Jesse turned to Ed. "I hit her bike."

The man called Ed stepped forward and looked at my bike.

"What happened?" Watching me intently. "You're bleeding."

He kneeled in front of me.

"Let me have a look."

I saw my jeans was ripped at the knee and through the hole I could see I was indeed bleeding.

"Shit." I said. Feeling the pain suddenly.

I limped towards the pavement and sat down under a lantern in order to see the wound better.

"Auw." I said.

The man called Ed walked to the car and came back with a Leatherman pocketknife and a first aid kit. Before I knew what happened he cut my jeans open.

"Hee, gek! M'n broek!" I cried, trying to vent him off.

"It's okay." He shushed. Meanwhile he examined my wound.

He took of his hat. The man was wearing his hair in a bun. From the corner of my eye I saw the other man had picked up my bike and was putting it in the back of the car.

"Hey shit! That's my bike. What are you gonna do with it." I tried to get up, but the man called Ed held me.

For the first time I felt afraid.

I brushed away the hand that held me down. Pushed him over and jumped up. I took a couple of steps back.

"I'm going to call the police now," I said quietly.

The man called Ed started to laugh.

"Jesus, you are a wild cat."

He stood up. Stroked his wet hair, which had come loose from his bun, back from his forehead.

"Come into the car. It's dry. Let me disinfect your knee." He walked towards me.

"Go away." I took another step back.

He held out his hand to me. Came closer.

I turned and wanted to run away, but he was quicker. He grabbed me and with one movement took me in his arms and dragged me to his car.

I screamed and kicked, but there was nobody to help me.

Jesse the driver opened the back door and Ed put me in a chair as if I was doll.

Ed got into the car with me and Jesse closed the door.

With big eyes I just stared at the man that sat in front of me.

The car was big, comfortable. Four 2-seats across each other, a fold out table, a bar even.

"Calm down." The man gestured. "We are not going to hurt you. I just want to help you."

"Help me?" I yelled outraged. "You just hit me with your loathsome car."

The man just grinned. Reached under a chair and took out a towel.

"Here. Dry your hair a bit."

I snatched the towel from his hands and dried my face, my hair, my hands. While I did that I studied the man.

In the intimate light of the car he didn't look so dangerous. He looked rather handsome actually. He had a friendly appearance. His hair was no longer in a bun. It was almost shoulder length. Waves. And he had a short beard.

But then the motor of the car started and slowly they drove away.

The man obviously saw the panic in my face and said.

"The least we can do is bring you home."

"Where to, Ed?" Jesse asked looking in the rear view mirror.

The man looked at me and I told Jesse my address.

"Okay. Let me have a look at that knee of yours." Ed said.

He tended my wound.

While he was holding my leg at the crook of my knee and dripped some disinfectant on the wound I gasped. Softly he blew on the sore spot to ease the pain, looking in my eyes when he did that.

"What's your name." He asked.

"My name is Ran, sir." I told him.

"Ran," he said, "would you like a glass of wine?"

"No."

"Anything else?" While opening a mini bar.

"No. No, thank you , sir." I said, cold.

"Something warm, maybe?"

"Fuck you." I said.

He raised his eyebrows. An amused smile on his face.

"Can't you be civil?"

"Well, no. Not with people that hit bikes with gynormous oil slurping cars." I snared.

"This car runs on water."

"Oh."

"But you are right. Jesse is normally the safest driver ever. It was my fault. I distracted him. I wanted to go somewhere but changed my mind. We were lost. Kind of.  We are so sorry."

I had to think. I made mistakes sometimes too. He seemed sincere. His driver too.

"Where did you want to go?" I asked.

"A coffee shop."

"A coffee shop?" I laughed. "You're tourists?"

"We are here for work."

"Work?"

"We are in the music business."

"There is a coffee shop around the corner were I live. Have never been there, but...they are all the same, right?"

"Right." He said. And he put a plaster on my knee.

Ten minutes later we sat at a table in the coffee shop.

Ed had asked me to join them, and I...well...I really had no idea why I went with them.

It was this new attitude I had since watching the movie Yesman. Saying yes to new things. Not that a coffee shop was new to me. I used to be a stoner. But that was long ago.

Jesse only drank a coffee, strangely alert guy, observing everything around him with that fierce frown of his.

Ed was very charming. Asking about my life and while I talked looked at me intently. Passing me the bong. The weed really hit home, which I really liked after all these years. I was stoned after the first puff although I wouldn't have admitted it.

We had the deepest conversation I had in years. We laughed. We had fun.

I had forgotten all about my bike and my anger.

And at one moment he toughed my hand, asked if I wanted to eat something.

And yes I was hungry. Real hungry.

"I want Flemish fries." I said. "With mayonnaise."

"Can we order them here?" Ed wondered.

"No. We have to go somewhere else. It's not far."

"Can we walk?"

"Sure."

Ed spoke quietly with Jesse. Said something Jesse obviously didn't like. And then Ed stood up. Helped me in my coat and we left. Without Jesse.

"Why do you have a driver?" I asked.

"In fact he is my bodyguard."

I laughed. "Your bodyguard? My god, who are you?"

He laughed with me, but bitter. "Jesse is my friend also, but I need a bodyguard. I hate it but I do."

I touched his arm. Stopped him. "Why?"

"I have stalkers."

"Shit. That must suck."

"Yes, it does."

We walked in silence for a while. It had stopped raining. The air was refreshing.

I breathed in deeply.

"But who are you...or what?"

"Hey, girl. I am a fucking rock star." He laughed.

I laughed too. "A rock star? Gee..."

"Yeah..."

"Are you a big rock star? I mean...really famous?"

"I guess...."

I stopped him. Stood before him. Stared at him.

"I'm sorry. I don't know you. Ed."

"I'm Eddie Vedder. From Pearl Jam."

I kept staring at him. Thinking. Guessing. I didn't have a clue.

"That's refreshing." He said. "I don't know if I should be insulted or relieved."

Flemish fries with mayonnaise

"Fries with mayonnaise is actually quite good." Ed said surprised.

We were sitting on a bench together. Bent over the large portion of Flemish fries we shared.

"You must dip it real deep into the mayo," I said. "Like so."

And I gave him a big fry with a huge clot of sauce. He opened his mouth and looked me in the eyes as he closed his teeth over the potato.

"Mmm, good, yeah." He mumbled.

I dipped another fry into the sauce. Put it in my own mouth. Then fed him another one.

There was some sauce spilled on my finger and before I could wipe it away he took my hand and licked the mayonnaise off. His tongue was pink, warm. I watched as if in trance and when he finished I put my finger in the sauce and sucked it clean.

"Oh shit." He whispered.

He bent towards me and his lips touched mine. His tongue stroked my bottom lip and before I knew it we were engaged in a deep and gluttonous kiss.

I was the first to withdraw and as I did he softly moaned in protest.

"It is late." I said. "I have to get home."

"Let me walk you."

"No."

He just nodded.

"Will you come to my show?"

"I'm not sure I..."

"I will let Jesse pick you up."

"Eh."

"Please come." He looked deep into my eyes.

"Why?"

He laughed. "To show you I really am a rock star." He made a quotation mark sign.

"Okay," I remembered 'Yesman'. "When?"

"Tomorrow. Get ready at half past seven."

It had started to rain again. I was wet, and despite the hot kiss I was getting cold.

He saw me shivering and put his arm around and pulled me close to him. In perfect rhythm we walked to my house.

"Here we are." I said.

He looked up. "Amazing architecture."

"Thanks. Amsterdamse school. Typical for this neighbourhood."

"Can I come up?"

"No." I smiled.

"Can I get another kiss?"

"What about my bike?"

"I'll take care of that. But if you don't trust me, here is my card."

He put his card in my pocket.

"I must be crazy to trust a rock star." I laughed and then I stood on my toes and kissed him on his cheek.

He put his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. Moved his head so my mouth touched his lips. I sucked in his bottom lip, his tongue moved over my upper lip before meeting mine. It was a long kiss and his breathing went faster. I felt his hips pushing up against me. My hand glided from his back to his neat round ass.

"Goedenavond."

I jumped back when a neighbour walking the dog came walking by.

"Ehh." I looked at my hands, suddenly very shy.

He cleared his throat.

"Thanks for walking me home." I whispered.

"Yeah, well..." He said. "Thank you for learning me to enjoy fries with mayonnaise."

I chuckled. "I will come to see your show tomorrow."

He kissed my forehead and turned around. "I hope you will."

"Goodnight...Ran."

"Goodnight...Ed."

And I went inside.

Bike: Part two

At half past seven the next day the doorbell rings.

I go downstairs to open. As expected it is Jesse. He is holding an exact replica of my bike at the handlebar. A brand new replica.

"Sorry," he says, "your bike was irreparable."

I'm speechless. I didn't expect that. Wordlessly he hands over the spare set of keys, while I place the new bike in the rack in front of my house.

"Thank you." I say.

"I hope your knee is alright." A concerned frown on his exotic face.

"A bit stiff, but it was just a scratch."

"You were so angry."

"Yeah."

"Are you ready to go?"

"No."

"I'll wait."

"No. Don't bother. I won't come."

"Ed will be very disappointed."

"It's just not my thing; rock concerts." I smiled apologetically.

"What can I tell him?"

"Tell him I'm a snob. Like I said, it's not my thing. Rock or rock stars."

"Shall I force you?"

"I'll make a scene."

He laughs. "I know you will"

"Bye Jesse. Take good care of him."

"I will."

I try to read the book while I'm listening to the CD I have put on. But my thoughts keep on going back to that kiss of the day before. Do I regret not coming with Jesse?

I'm sure I will only regret going. I can only imagine sitting there, among other guests, groupies, what? Will he even acknowledge me. No. This is best. Just a nice memory of a special evening. Not to be spoiled be an awkward meeting at some after party or whatever those meet and greets are called. He is probably married also.

I yawn.

Time to go to bed. It's early. I know.

I unlock my brand new bike. It is exactly the same. I'm impressed. Even the saddle is the same height as the original one. But because it's so new it cycles so smooth and without hardly any effort I am in the centre of the city, in front of the museum.

I walk pass the cue of tourists and other visitors without a 'museumjaarkaart' and put my coat and bag in a locker.

Today I will pick some paintings from the permanent collection.

Who’s Afraid of Red, Yellow and Blue.

I do what I usually do. I walk up to it. Very close. As if to challenge the painting. I'm not afraid. Red. I take some steps. Nope. It never works for me. That painting. But then, why do I feel like I am trying to conquer agoraphobia.

I know the guard is watching me like a hawk. So I move on to the next painting.

The colours are so intense. I guess he is my favourite painter.

I stand so close to it. I almost drown inside the brush strokes and the pigmentations touching each other.

With a deep breath I take a step back.

And feel a firm, warm, soft obstacle. I mumble an excuse. Sometimes I forget that there are other visitors enjoying the art as well as me.

The deep voice of the obstacle mumbles something back. I move to another painting.

Get absorbed into it again.

Warmth.

A magical moment.

The moment that you feel you share magic with another human being.

I know I am not alone in the room. And I know it is not the guard. I move from painting to painting. A ballet with the other person. Trying to ignore that person yet feeling a bond. A togetherness.

Step back, step forward.

I turn.

He stands close.

He stares at the painting behind me.

"I missed you yesterday."

"Ed."

He looks down at me.

"So you are a snob."