The Wanderer [1st Draft]

Memories of the Past

Springdale, Arkansas

December 23, 2007 – 12:47 P.M. Central

"Christmas is almost here," the girl at the counter said excitedly. She couldn't have been more than eighteen, with rosy cheeks and a bright smile. She wore a Santa cap on her head, Christmas tree earrings, and had a sparkling 'Happy Holidays' pin on her shirt.

Everything about her grated on Reed's nerves.

"Yep. It sure is," Reed muttered unenthusiastically. "I've got pump three," she told the clerk, "and this stuff," she added, tossing jerky and trail mix bags on the counter, then a couple of water bottles.

"Not a fan of Christmas," she asked, sensing something off about her customer.

"Not anymore," Reed answered vaguely.

The girl nodded, looking troubled at that answer, as if she couldn't imagine why someone would stop loving Christmas, of all holidays.

"Well, wherever you're off to or whatever you do, I hope that it goes well for you. Just remember, God is always there for you, no matter how bad things are."

Reed nodded, looking away. If it weren't for the sunglasses, the girl would have seen the tears welling up in her customer's eyes. If she had even the slightest clue the kind of year Reed had, she'd drop it, but no one knew. She didn't talk about it, or anything else with the countless strangers she encountered. In fact, she was about to take herself into the woods for the next week or two and avoid all the rest of humanity during the holiday season. All the brightness and cheeriness was making her even more depressed than she already was.

"Thanks," was all she said to the girl. She had a million other things she wanted to say, but she would just break down crying all over again or lashing out in the anger that was far easier to feel. It was better to save that for when she was alone, where no one could see or be hurt by her viscous words. "Enjoy your holiday."

"I will. You take care of yourself, alright," the girl said as Reed began to walk away.

Once she was outside the door, she strode over to her bike, well aware there were several people looking at her. She kept her back straight, her eyes forward, and her chin up. She walked with purpose, hoping to avoid the sleazy remarks she often heard or the 'what's a girl doing...' blah blah blah. When she reached her bike, she unzipped part of one bag, tucking the junk food and water inside on the top before zipping the bag closed. She couldn't miss the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Reed sighed inwardly and stood up straight, grabbing her helmet.

"That is a beautiful bike you have there. Did you do the restoration?"

Reed was taken aback at the unexpected question. "No, actually, my uncle was the original owner."

She saw a man in his late 50's with a bit of a belly, standing in overalls and heavy boots, with brownish hair was now disappearing into the silver. His eyes lit up at the answer.

"Was he? Well, good for him. I miss the days where I could handle riding one of those. Did you freshen it up? Looks pretty clean," he said with a smile.

Reed nodded, smiling a bit. "Yeah, I had the tank repainted and the body steam cleaned. I had to replace the leather seat, though. He road this baby a lot."

"Well, clearly it landed in the right hands," the man said with admiration. "You really take good care of it. When did he get it?"

"A week after he returned home from Vietnam," Reed said with a crooked smile. "I carry the picture of his unit with me, out of respect."