Saddling an Iron Horse

As I slide each arm into the sleeve, the leather creaks and groans. Each elbow and shoulder slide perfectly into the armored joint. I grab each lapel and and pop the collar out as it inevitably gets rolled over in the process. I zip the jacket up and feel the back plate secure my spine. Each sleeve is then zipped and snugs up to each wrist.

Helmet donned, I stradle an engine and two wheels and make my way north. Across Dallas Highway, then to Barrett and finally 575, leaving the city behind. As I pass Sixes Road, I throttle down hard and leave all I know behind. The wind and roar, they comfort me. They allow me to hide in their lullaby. They take me to meet a friend.

I've known this friend since I was in college. We've kept in touch since then. He's very special to me. His name is Norman. He lives with some other guys in an apartment. He is sweet and never in a foul disposition. He loves because he can and because he enjoys it. He is all that can be defined as good and right and happy in the world. He is also retarded.

I spend about two or so hours with him everynight and I am the one who learns...about a peace born of forced ignorance...about a love born of childish joy...and about pain at the loss of stability. It's fun spending time with Norman and the boys. It's joy and light and, best of all, rest...for I am never without a doughnut and a place to sit.

"Hello, my name is Norman Bulansky. Welcome to my home. Won't you take a seat?