I’d never noticed his holster before. Perhaps because we were always passing too quickly to see, or perhaps because his unusual riding style leaves us scratching our heads until hewas too far away to see anything else.
But today he had just finished filling up as I pulled into the gas station, and as he adjusted his trademark red scarf over his lean, shirtless torso(an other part of his trademark) and stood up to ride, his feet planted on the bike’s footboards, I noticed that he was wearing a gun belt. It looked like something out of a western, and when he sped away, it was apparent that he was sporting a holster on each side.
Thinking that the chrome-colored firearms might be fake or for decoration, I went into the station and asked my husband, “Does he always carry?”
“You never noticed that?” My husband asked. “He always carries at least one Colt .45.”
“Really?” I was only curious because I knew it wasn’t deer season or bear season or decorate your gun-rack season.
“Well, except when he wears his nickel-plated Colts. They’re pretty cool. But only on special days”
“I guess he’s trying to remind everyone that it’s a special day,” I said.
Today I got a fresh crop of volunteers. I’m just starting to see the first descendants of last year’s veggies in places I didn’t plant them this year. The flowers, however, have arrived! Out come the weeds that happen to be flowers, and into the mason jar go the flowers I never planted (a gift from Irene, maybe?) that are now acting like weeds. But hey, they’re pretty and they’re free.
“What’s senility?” asked the imp at the kitchen table.
“Loss of memory that’s usually associated with old age,” I replied absently.
He laughed and then stopped abruptly, smiling at me at for just a moment. Barely controlling a grin, he looked back at his computer with a strange, happy expression on his face. It wasn’t discretion or valor. It was the smile of someone who is saving something special for rainier day.