The feeling was airy; the rising grains of concrete beneath our tires. Yet as they fell, these grains, our bodies heaved- one more clumsily than the other. The road itself seemed repulsed by our presence, as it welcomed us with a bitter tone. Up. Down. Light. Heavy. High. Low. And on it went, the bipolar methods of this peculiar street.

Lancaster Dr winded through a noisy community where neighbor sightings were far and few between. To make up for the chilling atmosphere, were the vibrant flowers growing along the bases of trees- sporadic trees of green that touched the skies above, and a sky of fruitful color. The houses we raced leisurely by had been built long ago, many bruised by the years they had endured. Driveways were riddled with cracks that varied in direction, fences were left to rust over- along with doorknobs and mailboxes. Useless items were left in the unkempt yards, abandoned to the outdoors. The color white was merely a concept left in the past, modernized into a shade of eggshell: a compromise of nature and time. I looked down at my sneakers to find an exact match. I smiled rather slimly- somewhat grateful to blend in.

The bike I sat upon, baby blue and fairly used, squealed beneath my weight. As the time passed, it became more evident that the rain from the night before had been captured in my seat cushion; the water drizzling down my plum colored leggings as I pedaled on Lancaster, my father in tow.   

His heartbeat was merely a few notches shy of echoing in my ears. Hairless, his scalp oozed a sweat so furious that it flowed south, down to his t shirt and soon, through it’s cherry red material. The fleeting air around him must've been difficult to catch, as his breath came out rapidly- in sharp release. He drank the wind, sipping tirelessly, as if he couldn’t get enough. And judging by the unnatural, heated tone that captivated his face, he couldn’t.

A child. A marine. A man. A husband. A divorcè. A distanced father. For the duration of his ongoing life, he’d been plastered with labels by those closest to him- my reluctant self included. At the thought of it, pain struck my heart for it’s two-faced desire to judge, and it ached in response. I continued to question these constricting labels as I rode on- seemingly alone.

Mind in the clouds, body further and further from his own, I circled back to the man I had left behind. His feet were planted on the rocky cement, where he sat upon the bike seat, overheated. We met, once again, and pedaled at a measly pace toward his home- a house I was only borrowing.

For a man of little action, it was abrupt. The way he stopped- slamming his broken-in, veteran flip flops to the ground. The way he turned his head to me- his eyes engulfed in an emotion I had seen very few times. Of those times, were measurements of his self worth and talent as a father: mine, in particular.

“This is sad.”

His voice was soft as his honesty hung over our heads. Suddenly, self-conscious of his remark, he looked out- beyond Lancaster, beyond the oddly placed railroad tracks, to the clump of trees in the distance- as if he’d rather be out there. Away from the tiresome grind of our tires. Away from the increasingly aching idea of activity. Away from his relentless and temperamental reddening skin. Away from me.

“I can’t even make it 10 minutes on a bike ride. I’m just… so sore already. My legs- all over. I-”

        His voice wavered into a sigh and to accompany its fault, his gaze drifted, it’s intensity now settled on my face. A face, that too, hoped to retire to the forest he continued to rely on-  uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, Joebug.”

I shrugged, analyzing my shoelaces and attempting to brush off the overwhelming idea of mortality. They remained eggshell.

Yet, that name. A nickname given when pity was served out loud- as if this softened variation could help me swallow a topic as hard as this one. I just couldn’t shake it’s raw, bittersweet purpose.

Taking note of my standoffish response, he escaped, again, to the trees. And I focused on the grains as I pedaled away-  leaving him to soak in his tomato skin.