Biker's Virgin

Brent got me a beer, and while he was at it, he got himself another, too. He sat down beside me and took a long swig. “So, how’d she look?”

“Who?” I asked distractedly.

“Anna, of course,” Brent said.

I looked at him in shock. “Dude.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t really paying attention to Anna.”

“Are you just saying that because you’re dating my sister?” Brent asked.

“No,” I said firmly.

“Geez…” Thankfully he didn’t persist.

I had drunk half my beer when I realized that Megan wasn’t coming home anytime soon. She had obviously gone somewhere else to try and let off some steam. The only problem was that I hadn’t the faintest notion where that might be.

“Does Megan like to hang out anyplace?” I asked.

“Uh…no clue,” Brent replied, with a shrug.

I put down my beer bottle in annoyance. “She’s your sister,” I reminded him. “Maybe you should take an interest.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked, completely unconcerned.

“My problem is that she’s been working her ass off trying to pay rent, keep this place clean, and keep you fed, and you don’t seem to appreciate her.”

Brent narrowed his eyes at me. “Hey, dude, I’m not the one she ran from tonight.”

I felt my anger deflate just like that. Brent must have seen it because he took another swig of beer and threw me a bone. “Try the park two blocks down from here,” he said. “She might be there.”

“Really?”

Brent shrugged. “She mentioned walking by the park on her way to work each day…and something about going there when she has a minute to spare to think or something.”

“Thanks, Brent,” I said gratefully, as I made a beeline for the door.

“Wait, you’re leaving?”

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“We haven’t hung out in ages.”

“Another time, man,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”

I sped out of the apartment and headed straight for the park. I had actually driven past it in on my way here, but I hadn’t given it a second glance. There were plenty of parking spaces around the area, so I parked quickly and walked around looking for Megan.

I found her on the swing set, surrounded by trees and masked moonlight. She cut a sad and lonely silhouette, and my body ached for her all of a sudden. Her hair flowed gently in the wind, cutting off half her face from my view. She was looking down, pensive and distant.

I walked over to her quietly. She saw me coming at the last possible second, but she didn’t seem surprised. Her eyes caught mine for just a moment before she looked away again. She didn’t say a word, and I didn’t, either. Instead, I sat down on the swi

ng beside hers, reached out, and took her hand. I thought she might resist, but to my surprise, she didn’t.

We just sat like that, hand in hand, swinging in tandem with one another. I realized suddenly that this was the first time in my life that I could remember being on a swing at all. It was a strangely sad thought, and I felt the need to share that with Megan. When I looked towards her, her face was turned towards me, but she was looking off in the distance at something I couldn’t see.

She was so beautiful that I finally understood what people meant when they spoke of muses. I could understand the inspiration behind painting a beautiful woman and wanting to commit her image to history forever. It felt almost like a public service—beauty like that needed to be seen and appreciated. I wanted to kiss her again, but I also wanted to talk to her. I found it amazing that the two things could be mutually exclusive. I had always believed that you got one or the other.