Don’t drive my Harley while I’m gone, Roger warned Rodney before he and Ramona hit the road to try to sell some artwork—Roger’s copper sculptures, Ramona’s woodcuts. Within the hour, Rodney had found the red wine stashed under the sink in the old cabin that belonged to Ramona’s father. Rodney and I shared a sleeve of saltines, drank the wine, and considered the setting sun. An evening drive, staying on the property for safety’s sake, seemed the obvious choice for entertainment. We grabbed our helmets, and as we climbed onto the bike, I felt momentarily guilty, but mostly buzzed to be riding on this northern Michigan summer evening. The overgrown acres behind the cabin rolled and bucked as Rodney gassed the Harley over hill and dale. I jerked and bounced but hung on as he sped. As we turned back to the house on a straight path, I saw a patch of long, wet grass grab the front tire, the skid slinging the bike sideways, then down. Rodney jumped off as I was thrown from the back, still in a seated position. I completed a perfect aerial back flip before descending, knees bent, arms out, my helmet meeting the ground whooshing up.
By the next morning, a purplish, egg-shaped knot had appeared on my forehead. Rodney had surveyed the damage to the Harley. In our teenage wisdom, denial seemed the sure way forward, though that was slippery, too. Greeting our older friends at the doorway, we were all confident grins. But Roger just looked hard at Rodney, asked, What happened to her head?
is the author of two poetry chapbooks: Busy Being Eve (Bass Clef Books, 2022) and Mother was a Sweater Girl (The Heartland Review Press, 2016). Her work has appeared in a variety of publications, including Drunk Monkeys, The Galway Review, GRIFFEL, The Main Street Rag, ONE ART, Santa Clara Review, The Swannanoa Review, Wild Roof Journal, The Write Launch, and elsewhere. She lives in Kentucky.
