The Vicious Cycle

It was, she said, a vicious cycle. It seemed that the bike had decided to be the perfect metaphor for her own life. When she first got it, the bike was fine, just like her life had been when she was younger. Now that they both were a little older, the bike and life had both turned a little wonky. First, there was a rather acrimonious and surprising divorce that left her a single mother without anyone to support her. They had moved just two months before he walked out on them, and they knew nobody at all. As it turned out, the move had been to follow a woman, the very same one that he left her for.

He took the car but didn’t dare take her motorcycle, the only thing that she owned outright, the title in her name and hers alone. He took the money, of course, but he left behind all of the bills. He showed up that one time, his little lass in tow, all dainty and pretty, filing her nails and looking for the life of her like a porcelain doll. A porcelain baby doll, to be exact, because she couldn’t be much more than a whisper out of her teen years, if that. Well, if that is what he would throw away a hard fought family for, then he was welcome to her. His own children ran up the stairs and refused to look out of the windows in the rented home that she was not going to be able to afford for very much longer.

She got a job and every week it seemed something happened either to her or to that damned bike. She hurt her wrist and had to take restricted hours, seriously killing her paycheck. The following week the bike decided to spit out a part that left her sweating and cussing in the driveway, her young son calmly handing her tools and sips of soda as she worked, patting her when she seemed she would never get the thing to slip into place.

Things evened out for a while and then she got the flu, a gut wrenching, kill-me-now version of what was going around, knocking her out of commission at home and at work. Luckily by then she had a job with some sick time, but it was still pretty touch and go for a while. She was just getting back on her feet and thank goodness for her children who had held the fort down as best they could when she got a letter in the mail that knocked her for a loop. That day, the motorcycle decided that a flat tire would bring a cheerful and rousing end to the day.

The man who uprooted the family and then left the family was now suing for the right to have the children with his child bride and their own growing brood. The children, old enough now to speak their minds, did so in court, eloquently and succinctly dismissing his claims to them. The judge sided with the children and the man walked out with an odd blend of anger and relief on his face. The small family came home, helped her fix the vicious cycle and went about their lives, determined that things would be fine.