I’m not sure I should even be going back out, not with the state my body is in right now, but I need to. I need to get my head on straight and this is how I do it. Not in Dad’s shitty Prius.
I take to the road again, gloveless, jacket on, helmet tight, and navigate through the small amount of traffic.
I go up and down and around before hitting the dirt path I took yesterday, but this time I turn right instead of left and follow it to a point I marked on my phone map. It’s not too far from the reservation but I don’t care. I like playing with fire, I like the burn, I love the chase, I envy the power.
Plus, it’s the only place close enough to home that looks bumpy enough to ride around and it’s clear, so I won’t get any little fucktards with rope trying to snap my neck from behind the trees.
Pussies.
My anger at them comes forward and I pick up speed, skidding around a sharp bend on the footpath before careening off course and almost losing myself over the edge of a fucking cliff.
“SHIT!” I curse, breathing heavily as my heart rapidly beats behind my ribs.
That was way too close.
I need to control my fucking temper, but God I want to hammer them into the ground so hard for what they did. It remains prevalent even as I try to figure out where I went wrong and how I got so off course.
I rip my helmet off and look over the cliff edge, the tip of my toe hanging over the edge. I get a delirious jolt of adrenaline from being so close to the edge of death, a good hundred-foot drop between me and the coarse ground below.
What a thrill.
I sit, letting my legs dangle, digging my fingers into the moss that is covering the smooth rocky surface.
This place truly is beautiful. I can see a branch of water coming from the Columbia River which is miles to the west.
I take out my phone and snap a picture to send to Willow. I wish she could sit here with me.
Willow: Wow. Amazing. But foggy. You should be careful.
Smiling, I tuck my phone back into my zip pocket and stand on the edge again, spreading my arms to feel the gentle wind flow around my body and through my hair.
I count the tops of the trees and the rocks and count my heartbeat against the sound of the water as it flows.
Its tempo is now faster than my heartbeat.
So soothing. So wonderful.
“If you jump, there’s a high chance you’ll survive and break every bone in your body,” an unfamiliar male voice calls from the tree line behind me.
I turn to face the intruder, spotting a man not much older than me watching me carefully. He’s leaning against a big leaf maple, his arms folded over his chest, his biceps bulging against the fabric of his short-sleeve blue shirt that’s wide open at the front. His chest is bare, hairless, muscular.
He looks like Nokosi, but I won’t say that for fear of them not being related and then I’m just low-key racist.
“I’m not on the res. I got a local map and marked it off.”
“Didn’t say you were,” he replies, smiling now. “Nice bike.”
I step away from the cliff edge and move to my discarded green pit bike. When he lifts it off its side to an upright position, I’m sad to see the paintwork has scratched on the rocky ground when I skidded to a stop. I’m lucky I didn’t tear my leg up though these jeans aren’t faring much better than the paintwork of my bike.
“How is it?” He motions to the leg I’m checking over by peeling back the torn flaps of my pants.
I rub it down and peel apart the small rips to check for damage to my skin. I got off lightly. “This place is trying to kill me.”
“Is that so?” He pushes a hand through his short black hair. “Or maybe you’re taking unnecessary risks riding your bike like a lunatic through forests you don’t know?”
“We’ve all got to die sometime right?”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t try to delay it for a while.”
I grin at him, figuring this dude isn’t so bad, I don’t completely feel like I want to avoid him. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Laughing gently, he swings his leg over my bike and kick starts it with a powerful push of his foot. I tense, wondering if he’s about to leave me out here but he just makes it roar, startling birds from the trees and other creatures into deeper woods.
“You going to steal my bike?” I ask and he pats the space behind him. “You’re kidding? I’m not riding off into the sunset with my friendly neighborhood native.”
He laughs louder this time and holds his smile as he pats the seat again and assures me, “I’m not about to kidnap you, but I will take you some place better than this part of the forest. Somewhere you’ll appreciate.”
I hesitate, wishing he’d just get off my bike and fuck off back to his hut or whatever.
Now that was definite racism.
But then he taunts, “What’s more thrilling than something as random as climbing onto a bike with a complete stranger?”
And I conclude that he has a point. “Fine.” I grab my helmet and yank it on my head, he watches me click it into place. “You ever ridden one of these before?”
“Best rider in Oregon.”
I roll my eyes and swing my leg over. I’ve not done this since my dad used to take me out on his as a little girl. I don’t know what to do with my hands.
“What’s your name?” he calls, his voice deep and gravelly.
“Lilith,” I reply. “Yours?”
“Nash,” he answers and waits for me to grip the seat. I’m not about to wrap my arms around him.
“Where are you taking me, Nash?”
He smirks at me over his shoulder. “You’ll see.”
We jet forward, taking the path that I skidded off. I squeak, not used to the feeling of not being in control of my own bike and very soon my hands leave the seat and grip his bare waist. I feel him laugh at me and resist the urge to pinch his skin.
We whip through the trees, zigzagging on rocky paths that completely batter my parted thighs and rear. I slip forward without meaning to, my chest against his back. It’s so uncomfortable in a really comfortable way.
Maybe this guy can scratch my itch?
We ride for another ten minutes, I try to pay close attention to where I am but after a while all the trees, rocks, green bits, and streams become the same.
Finally, the trees break apart and we enter a massive clearing, this one mostly dirt and there are a few people on quad bikes and a dirt bike flying over steep inclines into watery, shallow trenches.
“No fucking way,” I squeak as indigenous people look our way. “We are definitely on the res now.”
“It’s okay, we’re not white-people-hating devils out for your blood,” he retorts in jest as I yank my helmet from my head. “You’re welcome to come here whenever you like.”
I push back the hair that has escaped my braid and hook it around my ears, watching dirt bike guy get squirrelly for a second as he tries to land a move beyond his capabilities. Yikes.
“You don’t know me, why are you being so kind?”
He ignores my question and climbs from my bike after securing its standing position.
I change my question. “How did you know I was there anyway?”
“Fate? I don’t know. I was planning on going for a swim, there’s a lake near where you were.”