Nevermore, Baltimore

His bike broke down on the way back home. It wasn’t the first time, and that’s why he kept asking his father to buy him a new one. This one was old and overused, although for some reason he still cared about ‘her’. He called it a ‘her’ because in his opinion, every bike was a ‘her’. Like the Enterprise in Star Trek. ‘Steady as she goes,’ he whispered as he was tagging along the broken bike, trying to keep ‘her’ steady. The bike didn’t help at all, ‘her’ handlebar being stuck in the wrong direction.

He stopped near the noisiest yard on the street, just in time to hear the very familiar voice calling up to him.

“Hey, Johnny-boy, your bike fucked up again?”

Mr. Parsons was fixing his car in front of the garage, for the third time this week. He used to talk dirty every time kids were passing around his yard. He was harmless, despite being vulgar sometimes, and he always said he believed kids should get to know the world they live in, so they needn’t be ‘protected’ from words that some adults find inappropriate. Mr. Parsons was the center of attention for all the kids in the neighborhood, although not that much loved by some of their parents.

“You saw my wrecked bike, and you raised me a wrecked car, Mr. Parsons? It seems your old lady is also in trouble”. Old Man Parsons used to call his car ‘lady’, which held some influence for Johnny, who went all starship-like on his bike because of it. They had an unwritten agreement to respect each other’s vehicles, so Johnny called the car Lady and Mr. Parsons called the bike using feminine pronouns.

“Saw her, Johnny!” said Parsons, “And I raised you a most rebellious Lady. I refuse to say she’s wrecked since I feel it’s too tough a term to describe a Lady, whatever state she finds herself in.”

Johnny disagreed.

“I think you should have seen Susie Colt at the disco last night.”

“I think YOU shouldn’t have.” The old man said, smiling. “Why were you at the disco? You’re just fourteen years old.”

“Um... Hidden camera on Jenna Kent? I was conducting some research on social behavior and what effect drinking has on it, and she helped me with the field work.”

“Wow! Nice save, kid! We can add stalking to the resume as well.”

Johnny smiled, detecting the sarcasm. He stopped his bike momentarily to chat with the old man. He wasn’t in a hurry to get home, and he kind of liked to talk to Mr. Parsons, so he was enjoying this.

“So, what’s wrong with the Lady?”

The ’68 Camaro was in Mr. Parson’s yard since Moses and The Great Flood. The car’s problems reached an unprecedented level this week. Apparently, it was “The Week of The Faulty Vehicles”. The car, the bike, and even the school bus got a flat tire the day before yesterday. Johnny felt something was ”cookin’” as Bugs Bunny used to say.

“I mean... what’s cookin’?”

“What’s cookin’“, said Mr. Parsons, “is that the damn steering wheel just stopped steering all of a sudden!”

“Did you try, you know, steering it - with your hands?” replied Johnny in a sarcastic tone.

“No, I was driving with my nose,” said Mr. Parsons, keeping it the same. “Course I did, doofus! How do you think I found out she had a problem?”

“I take it that’s a bad one,” Johnny said.

“Well, technically, it can always get worse, you know? Like, for example, this kid can show up with his bike, asking stupid questions while I try to work here.” Mr. Parsons smiled. “Now let’s see what’s wrong with the bike. Maybe I can help you with her.”

“Her handlebar is out of place. I fell on the side at high speed and, well, the rest is history.”

Mr. Parsons took a couple of wrenches from his toolbox, checked to see which one would work on the handlebar, and began adjusting it. Johnny always wondered how the old man could find the two most suitable wrenches in the whole toolbox every time he needed something tightened - probably through experience and eye-measuring the problem. Mr. Parsons had a lot of the first and did a lot of the second.

In almost no-time, the bike was as good as... well... next to new.

“Thank you, sir!”

“You’re welcome, kid! Just stay out of trouble and take care of it next time. Also, don’t do drugs, and never do things that involve girls and hidden cameras. You can get sued in an instant.”

Johnny shook his head, a bit perplexed.

“And, kid...?”

“Yes, sir?”

"You shouldn't use your headphones while riding your bike." Mr. Parsons pointed to the MP3 Player Johnny had at his belt. “You could get into an accident.”

He smirked.

"I assume that's not Sinatra, is it?"

"No, sir!" said the boy. "It's hip-hop."

“Back in my day, music used to be good,” Parsons said. “Now it’s all noise, it’s aggresive, it’s a freaking violence fest in your ears.”

Johnny smiled.

“Agree to disagree, Mr. Parsons. Although... I did hear my fair share of that as well, I believe.”

Even though Mr. Parsons disagreed with modern music, he liked the fact that Johnny was standing his own groun.

Johnny waved and turned around to leave, but suddenly stopped for yet unknown reasons.

“Hey, Mr. Parsons? Do you have any clue why your neighbor’s mailbox is missing? It was there when I passed through this morning.”

Mr. Parsons rose an eyebrow and spoke, in a lower voice: “I’ll tell you if you promise it will stay between us.”

Johnny nodded in confirmation.

“The damn steering wheel just stopped steering all of a sudden.”