Excerpt Rope & Bone (a novel-in-stories)

MESSAGE ’93

By Ginnah Howard
From Water~Stone Review

Mark shifted his messenger bag and veered the bike to the right: catch the fast lane down the center. The bus on his left pressed him. Squeezed him. He banged hard on the door. Fucker moves over another foot, bike’s going to be on the hood of the taxi. He banged again, “Check your mirror, you mother.” He dropped in behind the limousine and glanced at his manifest: 5565 Madison Ave. Suite 816. Rush. He needed a signature. That’d slow him down. He ran the light.

No batteries for the walkman, a drum payment due on the 15th whenever that was. Down to rolling his own. Lyrics for a song: Messenger Blues. Plus the major motif: And my girlfriend’s pregnant. Only four thousand songs exploring similar heartaches. Everybody rolling their own.

Kid about to step off the curb. He swerved to the left. “Look out, Buddy.” 4556, 4560. Next block. Traffic lighter now. He made a U-turn—honking of horns—gave the driver a smile and a wave, flipped his toe clips, and eased the bike to a stop by a good pole. No need to remove the front tire in this neighborhood. Doorman across the way had the eagle eye. He wrapped the chain twice around the forks and pushed hard on the u-lock till he heard the click, then glanced back at the bike while he slid the bag to his chest to keep it from catching in the revolving door. Even though he’d sprayed it black to cover the brand name, to tone down its resale value, a good thief could tell what a beauty of a track bike it was just by its silhouette.

He pressed 8 and stepped to the back of the elevator. The thing was he and Marlene should not have a child. Level of chaos so extreme it’d already zoomed off the chart. Have to X every No on the Ready to be a Good Parent test.

“Excuse me,” he said to the coats and ties and stepped out. His own fashion statement: padded bike shorts over his best navy long johns. His sneakers squeaked on the marble floor. People beavering away beyond the opaque glass. Gnaw, gnaw.  Floating it all over to the big lodge.  812, 814, 816.  Berlinger, Smythe,

Continued...