METANOIA

PHOENIX

Barry was having difficulty typing his number on Taylor's phone, while she was busy saddling up her bike. It had a basket up front in which she put her purse and her remaining flip-flop. As she tied her voluminous dreads in a bun, she turned back to Barry and said with a smile,

"My house isn't far from here; I'll race you."

Barry was busy calling himself from her phone and hung up after a single ring. As he handed her phone back, he looked with reservation at the uncomfortable-looking red bike before him. It was a girl's bike too tiny for the giant of a man he was. The saddle was way too low and narrow, and the bike had a U-shaped top tube to allow the rider to wear a skirt comfortably. Taylor's friend, Sarah, had lent it to Barry. Well, there wasn't much of a discussion. Taylor just walked up to the tiny tattooed girl, kissed her on her cheek, and said flatly:

"This is my new friend, Barry. He's going to take your bike; we're going to my place." She only nodded with a knowing smile and disappeared into the night before Barry had a chance to thank her.

Barry huddled on the bike and almost fell over. Even with the full extension, the saddle was not high enough for his legs. It looked like a large penis, with testicles. With its uncomfortable form, it started to hurt his rear almost immediately. Barry felt like a plastic cock was drilling him a second asshole.

Taylor watched with slight amusement as he struggled to get on the bike. "You ready?"

Barry nodded in acknowledgment.

Taylor winked. "Follow the white Phoenix."

So that's what it's meant to be, Barry thought to himself. Now that she said it, it was quite clear; he felt stupid, but just nodded with a smile.

Down the pit of debauchery they went.

Each time he pedaled, Barry kicked his own stomach. Bent double, he felt like a bowling ball folded in half, his ass stinging as he pedaled on. At least the weed was kicking in and, combined with the alcohol in his system; they dulled some of the pain.

He hoped the ringing in his ears would eventually subside.

The streets were worn out, and each bump he hit pulsed through his body, scorching his chafed butt cheeks. He was desperately trying to avoid any section of the road that wasn't remotely flat, but his blurry vision made it difficult.

With Taylor's dreads up in a bun, the phoenix beneath them was staring at him intently, or so Barry thought. He didn't have the energy to catch up to Taylor, who occasionally had to slow down to make sure he did. Barry was also hungry. His massive body needed sustenance, and he hadn't eaten anything the whole day.

As they pedaled on, there were a number of times Barry wanted to stop, to protest, but it just wasn't in his nature. All he had to show for strength was hesitation. Something about obedience had always appealed to him, but his physical pain, which fused with the one that lay beneath it, was visible to Taylor. After a while, she gave up on the idea of a race and stayed at his pace.

Barry was always the silent follower. His entire life was a succession of chasing after someone. He knew to most people he was close by their backs. The will it took for someone to make decisions had all but vanished in him; although, he was not yet fully aware of this.

Throughout a lifetime of emotional abuse, Barry had been a victim of his loved ones. He took masochistic comfort in being chastised and reprimanded. Terrible parents perhaps, yet they were long gone. There wasn't a single figure to blame; although, he often sought one wherever he went. He looked to Melinda for all the answers now. Unable to make a decision on his own, he had become a coward in her wake. Barry inherently craved the emotional abuse, but he just never realized he was seeking it constantly. He wandered through his life with a sign taped on his back that said: "Kick me." Melinda, however, did see it. To her, it was part of the problem. Barry dragged her down with his constant need to be chastised and corrected. She had been forced into a position in which she had to make every decision for the both of them. It wasn't what she had signed up for. She didn't want to kick him.

The acid from the joint was kicking in. The road scintillated with brighter colors that mapped where it was safe for him to pedal, while a ghostly after-image of Taylor was his guide. He pedaled on. He had always felt noble about being a follower. His loyalty directed toward a person, or an idea for him was something he struggled with. On some level, being a constant sidekick only seemed like weakness. He yearned to lead. He wanted to be in charge. It just wasn't in his nature, and that pained him. On the other hand, loyalty could be testing too. When he was a part of something larger than himself, he felt pride. He fed vicariously from the success of others.

Taylor saw Barry was lost in his thoughts. She misinterpreted his displeasure as boredom and she assured him, "We're almost there."

They approached Taylor's house wearily. It was a large house that had been a bakery once. Taylor was lucky to have found the place. It had offered several new business ventures for her. Despite her aura of irresponsibility, she seemed to be doing fine on her own. When they reached the house, Taylor simply pushed open the unlocked back door.

As Barry entered the house, which looked more like a bakery, the sweet aromas of countless pastries washed over him. It was overwhelming. Collectively, they had become pungent. Various pastries, colorful toppings, and many bright cooking utensils danced about him. Barry walked past a massive oven, or perhaps a furnace that looked like a crematorium, through an oversized kitchen to a large steel door. Beyond the door lay the house; messy, but otherwise unremarkable. He felt like he was in a cartoon in which every item in the house was alive. The acid was doing a number on his system.

It frightened him.

Taylor must have sensed this too; she tugged his giant arm as they walked through the massive steel door separating the rest of the house from the kitchen. They entered a couch ridden living room where all sorts of feline figures dancing about. Barry wasn't sure whether the cats were real or just hallucinations. Taylor carefully closed the steel door behind her to keep the cats from entering the kitchen.

The two of them started talking on one of the couches and then began making out, slobbering. It wasn't long before they made their way into her bedroom. The room was already warm when they entered, and in no time, prompted the removal of various articles of clothing. Like everything else that was happening too fast in his life, it wasn't long before their faces are fused into one and their pink tongues played a graceless tug of war.