Stephen Andrews is a writer based in New York.

His previous work has appeared in Maudlin House, HAD, and other online magazines.

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Fortune Cookie, No Fortune

By Stephen Andrews

The bike is red. It came in a box, in pieces, and I had to put it together myself. There were no instructions and I’ve never done this before, so it could fall apart at any moment. More products like this should exist, though. Where if you don’t understand the components, you aren’t able to use the assembled thing. It would make us better people.

My previous bike was blue. Dad’s Schwinn Continental, manufactured in the 70’s. He flipped over the bars and lost a front tooth on it when he was a kid. Ended up with a fake front tooth that was a slightly different shade of white than the rest, always funny when he smiled. That bike got a little rusty and weathered after fifty years, but honestly I was just bored of it.

The new one fit perfectly in the trunk of my car with the front wheel off and the back seats down, so I took it to the beach for my first real ride. It was easy to dissemble after assembling. And easy to assemble again, obviously.

This may have been a key morning in part of a spiritual high I was on a few Saturdays ago. I didn’t realize at the time. And I might still be on the high if I’m gonna start talking like that. Some deer hung out in the woods off the curvy path. The wind was at my chest. I turned my hat backwards, felt like a kid and thought, Good.

A guy proposed on the beachfront stretch. His lady sat on a rock and he took a knee in front of her. I’m always seeing shit like that but the new bike made it fine, I didn’t cry or film it. I moved on and took a picture of two vultures perched on an abandoned building. Told myself things will cheer up when it gets just a little warmer.

My intentions had nothing to do with the ocean air. I hoped to run into someone I used to know, because Lou said she rides her bike there, and I assumed she might live nearby. I had this whole other idea.

As soon as I heard she rides her bike there, I bought a real bike and became someone who used that as a way to get some exercise. I’ve never needed exercise. I wasn’t gonna ride by her house, and I knew ride number one wouldn’t be as clear and free as ride number thirty-five might be, which is interesting I guess if you’ve never taken up something new. But being a creep doesn’t help anyone.

It’s hard to tell how insane people think I am for doing all of these activities by myself. The bike is red, my life is fake. I did not run into anyone that I half-expected to. The bike is red but I sketched it with a black pen, and the sketches sucked ass. But it was fun zoning out on the spokes thinking, Spokes, for like fifteen minutes. The bike is red and I remember when my mom dropped me off at my first high school dance and said, “You look good in red,” like it was yesterday.

The someone I used to know only gets fifty percent, most of the time. So the other fifty is I’m pacing around the apartment, mumbling to myself, “La bicicletta… è rossa.”

At Easter dinner, Aunt Joyce asked, “Is it electric? Lucia and Finnegan got a couple of those electrics.” The only family member who’s ever bugged me about when I’m getting married. Something happens in the early spring weeks where I think about my life way too much.

Ride number two, back at the beach. Or, inland a little. Took a different path that turned into sidewalks, suburbs. I heard she lives next to the dentist but there’s a couple of dentists. Free cleanings at this one. But they probably nail you for something else.

When we visited my grandparents, my brother and I rode our skateboards down the hill that my dad said he flipped on. Walking back up, we’d point to darker areas of stained pavement and yell to each other, “This is where!”

Same-day dentures, this one advertises. Like if you really needed teeth and kept putting it off.

The crazy thing about a car ride to a bike ride is at some point you have to just, turn around. And go back to the car.

Lou and I went to a rich people bar a block from the boardwalk for some funny cocktails, last night. We argued about something, I can’t remember what, but I told him to take a walk and cool down. He actually got up and left. I wasn’t sure if he’d come back but felt kind of powerful, from that. I looked around and these people felt like good people, the kind who wouldn’t argue with me.

He came back and said he did need to cool down, but nobody wants to hear that so fuck me for saying that. He said he saw Patterson, someone I used to know’s fiancé, while he was walking to the train station, pretending to go home. Then he tried to remind me of a time when I was trying to buy a tub. “A bath tub?” I couldn’t think clearly anymore.

I had a feeling Patterson would show up. I prepared myself for her to show up with him. In my head the fancy people across the room were her new friends. They were waiting for her, too, and I was suddenly against them all. I wanted to leave so bad but nobody wants to hear that. So Lou and I sat at the bar like two vultures, making plans for the summer.

We got spiritually-high wasted and took the train home. It felt like it came out of nowhere when he stopped looking out the window, and looked at me. He said, “You know I told her that you’ll always love her, like two years ago. At a party at Patterson’s, like two years ago.”

He said, “Her eyes like, lit up. You know that look?”

I didn’t know that. But I’ll always love her. I said that when he said that. I was chill about it though. It’s not the end of the world anymore.

I went to the bagel shop this morning because her and I used to go every Saturday. For the past few years, and especially in the spring when I’m thinking about my life too much, I’ve experienced a sort of glitch where I’m hit with the exact feeling of lighting a cigarette as we pulled out of that parking lot, as I light one wherever I am, without her. Today felt like either she would be there, or I could feel that, at least.

I didn’t even want a bagel. She wasn’t there. I put it in the car and put the wheel on my bike and peeled off to the beach. A smoothie place had picnic tables outside. I leaned the bike against one, went in, and watched it through the window.

I got the Summer Sunrise and became a member of the smoothie place. Typed my phone number in and got 15% off the sunrise. Grabbed a straw, went outside, looked across Ocean Ave. The smoothie was too icy. A parking lot being paved to the left smelled like tar and completely killed the vibe. I pretended to look at stuff on my phone, bored, thinking this wasn’t as fulfilling as it should have been.

The ride back to the bagel shop was rough. The wind was stronger than usual, or I needed air in my tires. I thought about taking a break a couple of times but I made it. And this was exactly as fulfilling as it should have been.