Notions of a Bicycle (part one)
The big rise in temperature only puzzles me. It is unlike anything I have ever encountered up until this very moment. But the mystery continues to go unanswered, for I am enveloped by a restrictive darkness.
Also, I notice that my parts have begun to emit a mix of curious odors. The fresh red rises, sharp and pungent. It feels powerful. And the black, an exotic blending of synthetics, calls for action. But then there are the relaxing motes of aromatic oils swirling hypnotically around me.
My shoulder was dislocated earlier; loosened out of necessity, as I understood it. Now only this cramped night surrounds me. Strange vibrations keep me guessing and alert. Muffled thoughts and snatches of conversations come and go. I lay here, content simply to note things.
Reflecting on my brief past (while occupying this cavity) is a way to busy the mind. I am somehow internally entertained by my study in the dark. Many more questions are beginning to form.
The others and I met earlier, and there we communicated as one body before this current journey began, but rumors then began to spread concerning our fate. I thought of the introductory ideas as fanciful, as well as plenteous and unhelpful. Some of them admittedly sounded interesting, but too far-fetched to be true. After a time, several began to reverberate as absurd meanderings with no sound beginning or any sort of plausible finish. At the end of our encounter, however, not a one of us could exhibit any type of authority in this regard.
Certainty and useful knowledge eluded our entire lot. Many of us were frightened, I knew. All of us were, from the outset. Several tried to hide behind bluster and false bravery. Some even complained.
Those and their disquiet disturbed me for a time, but then I found myself being drawn to the positive thinkers. We connected, them and I. With that group I found myself in total agreement on every point brought fourth, and even they with me. Our corner soon became the encouragers of the bunch.
I then began to realize how we few were the exceptions among the many, yet I felt not one hint of arrogance nor any self-love among any of our company. That attitude still remains intact.
I point out that I also sensed no self-pity from the others. Only the original fear. And then wonderment. Curiosity too. Soon a multitude of concerns and doubts were expressed. All of the brothers and every sister each gave a voice in turn, and as a group, we studied and we contemplated, one after another, as each issue arose.
We stood the entire night as ideas flew (the place naturally went quiet when the objects who traveled on two sticks had all left). Our collective huddled together in the dim light, and we pictured to ourselves in our fashion.
At one point, I thought.
I look forward.
The idea sprung from me. One brother agreed as another nodded in silent accord.
It is what I naturally want to do.
I could have halted there, but compound negative responses began to emanate from some of the others, compelling me to reason and justify, so I continued.
It makes perfect sense to do so. All about me is order of a particular fashion. It denotes purpose.
Several brothers agreed again.
I am not made for waste.
No, you are not, they thought in unison.
I am not designed to be static, or to be unused.
No, no, no.
Look at my construction. There is no doubt that I am but a wonder.
You are indeed a wonder.
A sister whimpered. I hushed then, so the group shifted their attention to her. She began to first describe an uneasy future she foresaw, all in grand detail. Qualms she envisioned; troubles and doubts. Unfulfilled needs arose; a dismal cry for proof of purpose that left each of us with no answers, yet we stood at rest and took it in. No one disagreed outright or argued, nor did anyone offer any support for her lament.
But then I saw how she took pleasure from the complaining, and complain she continued to do. She carried herself elegantly too, throughout the long remonstration.
We all have various skills. Some are learned. Some must be inherent, as hers seemed to be.
A brother (one whom I might describe as having a shoddy build, were I a faultfinder) took up the sister’s cry before bewailing about his own situation. Several of my kin immediately identified him as a crossover, an aberration; yet we allowed him to run with his odd thinking, and without judgment or harsh discrimination.
He has certain rights as we all do.
His greatest fears we understood to be expected abuse, and then abandonment. He shared with us inner feelings of inadequacy, and of his inability to last any length of time under the perceived strain. He also expressed a desire to be something entirely different.
I could not relate.
Then another brother, a small replica of myself, interrupted the rant with noticeable glee. An obvious impatience for life gripped at his small frame, but his exuberance gave some of us considerable relief from depression (his feet, although several sizes smaller than average, appeared to be much fatter, which I think might have encouraged some of his lofty ideas). But all minds turned to him in unison as he began to blow his own horn, and we all listened attentively while he asserted his imagined future upon us.
The places he would go, the fearless daring he would show, the steep mountains he would eventually climb; all this I understood, yet at the same time his over-confidence and pretentiousness began to rise over the top, and his new bearing made me want to lurch backwards. The others and I held back any council, however, and so allowed him to continue in his swagger.
He bragged about tours he would certainly take someday, and of records he would most-assuredly break, when a string of lights above our collective heads began to flicker and buzz. Then as we stood bathed in the sudden brilliance from above, we realized that the objects who moved on sticks had returned.