The Squid

"Hello, Squid," I said, replacing the nozzle on the fuel pump.

The boy, clad in baggy shorts, a muscle shirt, and untied sneakers, looked up from his old Suzuki GS500. His bike had raw scratches on the tank, and his muffler was flattened along its entire length.

"Wha's up," he mumbled.

"Nice day for a ride, hey?"

"Ummm ."

"Your GS running well," I asked.

"Yup..... new rubber......faster 'n it looks......."

"I believe it, " I said and walked inside.

I handed the lady my card and pointed at the boy at the pump.

"I'll get his, too."

After she had rung the sales, I used the men’s room, and came out to find the boy waiting for me. He leaned against his bike, dangling an old, badly painted plastic helmet. He stared at me.

"Why'd you do that," he asked.

"Do what?"

"Pay for my gas........" He shuffled his sneakers uncomfortably.

I looked away up at the faint blue line of the Rockies, and then back at him.

"Oh, a long time ago," I said softly. "I ran a Honda 305 twin..... used to go hungry and smokeless and beerless trying to find money for gas..... I don't have to do that, now.... no big thing...... more for me than you....just thought I'd help some."

Red came out of her restroom and walked toward us, smiling.

Seeing her coming, the boy noticeably relaxed and pulled on his helmet with one smooth motion. He held the shield up for a moment, and then said, "ummm......well....... thanks."

"No problem," I said. "Keep your rubber down."

He slammed the shield home, gunned up the old bike, and left us with a smooth accelerating turn out unto the highway.

As Red got ready to climb aboard, I looked up again at the Rocky Mountains -- and at all the memories behind them.