Durango slides away as I twist the throttle, giving more power to the Harley between my legs. I offer a quick two-fingered wave to the biker I pass, his long beard putting mine to shame, and roll on toward home.
Something about the open road allows my mind to wanderand my thoughts to come together in ways nothing else does. It’s not as if it’s the wind in my hair. I shave my head and am firmly in the helmet-at-all-times camp. I can think of exactly once in the last decade I rode without it and I was unsettled the whole time. And it was only because my teenaged niece was riding bitch.
Any other person in the world and it never would’ve happened—the helmet or the riding bitch for that matter. There’s never anyone on the back of my bike. It’s a thing, so there’s no reason to have a second helmet. Mine stays firmly on my head, keeping my brains where they belong.
I refuel in Gunnison and grab a bite to eat. My phone has been dinging, but none are the tones that indicate any urgency. Whoever decided to put a Bluetooth speaker in motorcycle helmets was both a god and a devil. The convenience cannot be underestimated. Nor can the intrusion. It’s come in handy more than once, and I keep it just in case.Just in casehas come too often lately and it’s been worth it. Most times, though, I want the sound of wind whirling around the visor, the roar of the pipes, and nothing else as I ride. It’s my peace and quiet. It’s Zen in the extreme and an escape from my digital tether.
Checking my notifications, only one thing stands out. The women of rock aimed at my walls has come to include Avril Lavigne and Alanis Morrisette. I’m beginning to wonder if Lorien is, in fact, forty-eight instead of twenty-eight, and if she’s angrier than I knew.
How does she even know these rockers? Her mom must be crazy young or something because it’s the all-wrong generation. Nonetheless, she’s pushing it. It would amuse me except I don’t want it invading my home.
I consider this until I get on the road and let everything go. High, bright blue skies above me, mountains—some perpetually capped in white—tower around me, and a ribbon of highway snaking to the four corners beckons me like Alice down the rabbit hole.
And I’m never strong enough not to go.
3
writhe beneath me
Lorien
The phone ringing startles me, such was the level of my concentration. I’mthisclose. So freaking close. If I think on it long enough, I know I’ll have it.
I can practically taste it.
I bobble the phone and nearly lose it among the equipment, gauges, and solutions that surround me. Multiple millions of dollars in equipment could be undone by a spam call.
…Or my brother.
“Hey, Strider. How’s my favorite brother?”
“I’m your only brother, baby sister. And I’m good. Same old, same old.”
Same old, same old isn’tgood. But it will be. It can be. I just need more time.
“Glad to hear it. How’s the family?”
“Good. Listen—” The pause says too much. It says everything actually. “It’s my birthday next month and Mom’s throwing a shindig. I’d love it if you could come. The big four-oh, you know.”
He wasn’t expected to make it to forty. It’s a milestone we only dreamed of. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I’ll send you the details. Now, how’s the new place?”
How do I explain the last week and a half? “It’s been… chaotic.” That’s true at least. “Moving sucks, and I hope I never have todo it again.” And that next time, my neighbor isn’t a grumpy, cheating asshole who’s too hot for his own good.
“Next time you’ll be a rich, world-famous scientist and people can move you. You can go on vacation and come back to everything being in order.”
“I like the way you think.”
Lines and lines of code scroll across my screen. Genomic sequences that reveal countless data sets, and more importantly, how those react to our most recent formulation. My mind follows all the pathways at once. At least it tries to. Each one of these needs to be studied and researched. Every one provides a way to cure so many illnesses, heal so many families.
Families like mine.
Illnesses like my brother’s.
He’s still talking. I wish I knew what he was saying, but the code… The code is telling me a story. It’s writing a symphony I can’t wait to conduct.
“Lorien? Earth to Lorien… Did you hear me?”
