Man on a Motorcycle

On my way home from work today I saw a man on a motorcycle. With his nondescript riding clothes, his backpack and his helmet, he could have been anyone, but I had to catch my breath. He looked so much like my beloved – the way he sat on the motorcycle, waiting at the intersection, the way he lifted his foot and rode away. I just stared.

When we first got married, we were definitely not flush with cash. We both worked in the same general area, but didn’t always leave for home at the same time. Since I had the baby with me, I drove the car. We couldn’t afford a second car and the insurance, so my husband got a motorcycle. I loved to watch him ride. He looked so sexy perched up there. We would leave the house at about the same time in the morning. People who know me will testify I do not speed. But, I would speed down highway 1 just to keep him in sight as he wove in and out of the traffic. Since we always had the baby with us when we were together, I rarely got the chance to ride with him; however, I would finagle a ride at every opportunity. I would wrap my arms around him and press myself up against his back. It was wonderful. He would always make sure the ride was perfect. His shifting was so smooth and he would lean so gracefully into the turns. You couldn’t have a conversation like that, but we didn’t need to talk. I knew he loved me because he squeezed my hand at the stoplights and gave me our special sign. In my heart I knew that surely he was the strongest, bravest and most skilled on the road. I put my life into his hands and trusted him every minute.

Seeing that guy on his motorcycle today didn’t make me feel sad; it made me think of my loved one, and that makes me happy. Someday soon, we’ll ride like that again.