Shattered in 32 Places

by jota

Posted to Stories on 2003-11-08 04:35:00

Miggy gunned the bike and slipped into the next lane, the houses on both sides of the street streamed past in a blur.

Burning down the road the roar of the Harley’s engine vibrated right through his ass cheeks and up his spine coming out of his mouth making his teeth jiggle. Miggy crossed back to the right lane. He had the road entirely to himself. He laughed out loud.

He couldn’t explain it even to himself. Just a few moments before, he’d been sitting next to Roy, his new drinking buddy, when Roy bent down and put his head down on the bar and quietly passed out. Moira the bartender was at the other end of the bar arguing with a fat guy complaining about the music being too loud.

All Miggy had to do was reach down and slip his hands into Roy’s leather jacket and grab the keys to Roy’s bike.

Maybe it was the seven double shots he’d thrown back with Roy, or maybe it was the Vicodan that delivered the giddy courage to do something loco like taking Roy’s bike for a spin. Ride the Vike, Ride the Vike, Ride the Vike and take Roy’s bike. Miggy’s inner voice kept up the singsong chant until the next thing Miggy knew he had hopped on Roy’s bike and zoomed right out of MacGoo’s parking lot into the fading light of a Friday afternoon.

It had rained earlier, and puddles reflected back the weak blue sky that tried to emerge from behind the scudding gray clouds. The trees were bare, and dog-shit colored leaves covered the ground. Miggy laughed again as he shifted gears.

He eased back on the seat and opened the throttle full out. Soon the houses gave way to countryside. Cattle grazed behind fenced farmland but Miggy could barely see them. Telephone poles sprang into view like a line of popsickle sticks that instantly appeared and disappeared into the twilight sky.

The road cut through a valley and now started to rise upwards. Miggy felt something fluttering over his heart. He looked down and suddenly remembered the slip of paper in his pocket. The paper was about to fly out and Miggy sharply tried to catch it with his left hand but it was too late. The bike lurched forward and the front wheel slipped. Miggy tried to straighten it out but he overcorrected and the bike descended to the ground. Miggy could see himself as he fell as one with the bike skittering down the rain-slicked road. For the longest time Miggy dreamed he was floating just above the pavement.


“Thirty-two places,” the attendent was saying to someone out of Miggy’s view. “Right at the base of the ankle. Never seen anything like it. Fool’s lucky to be here.”

Miggy tried to open his eyes wider but the pain was too blinding. He remembered the slip of paper. He tried lifting his hand to reach his shirt pocket and that’s when he noticed he was cuffed to the bed. Now he realized what the message was. It was too late. He was back in Rockville.