Ride of his life.

                I often wonder if the hardest thing a person can do is to take step back and doubt their own actions.  It seems to be in our human nature to assume at any one moment that what ever we are doing is the absolute right thing to do. As humans we can’t always be right, and we may realise we are wrong a fraction of a second later, a heart beat later, a day, a year, or a life time. But in any given second we are so sure, so positive we are doing the right thing, when we speak with out thinking, step into a road with out looking, slam the door too hard, press the wrong button, open the wrong door, or make any of the little errors all humans make. If we are lucky we realise our mistakes and learn from them. We might edit the facts in our heads, that’s a human trait too. We don’t realise we are doing it, but as we choose the words in our heads to retell the events we play up the sentences that put us in a favourable light, and play down the ones that hint at our guilt. But here too, we almost always find ourselves snagged in attempts at deception and have to fall back on honesty, even if it exposes our own incompetence. But to do so is always so difficult, that time and again we lamely repeat the same excuse: “But I was so sure.”

                Unless of course we choose not to learn from our mistakes. Some one once told me we all think of ourselves as the lead roles in the plays of our lives. I guess there is some truth in that, and if you look closely you can see the guys who think they are “Action Hero In Waiting,” or “Loveable Comedian,” or more often than not “Handsome Romantic Guy,” or a whole load of other vague and inaccurate roles. The problem there is, that if you are the hero, and something goes wrong, it is far easier to blame a villain. So easy in fact, that you hardly ever find a reason to blame yourself, ever again.

                Robert was sure he was right that night. He was in the role of dashing and handsome hero. He was a living cocktail of James Bond, Tom Cruise and the guy from the Martini Adverts that all the girls liked. He had a winning smile and a cocky attitude and every a cheeky little insult for any one who got in his way. He was fairly sure that at least some of the girls had fallen for the twinkle in his eyes, and he could have got any of the girls purring his name and spreading their legs, if he’d wanted. Or if they hadn’t already had boyfriends. Ok, so it hadn’t been the best night, but he had still been working the magic, sneaking in some crafty one liners and naughty little suggestions as he sipped his beer and eyed the strangers in the bar.

                He had even given one of the girls, a college girl called Kate a lift home, sweeping through the traffic on his trial bike, with her clinging to his jacket. He hadn’t got any where though, as she climbed of his bike she had stood at the bottom of her garden path talking and playing with her hair, but managing to avoid any of his attempts to lean in for a kiss. Then Dermot, the lanky Irish git had driven past in that car of his, with the silly under lighting and the body kit and the stereo with bass that could shake your teeth out. He had thumped his horn and shouted something at Robert that was meant to have been funny, then rolled away with a roar of the engine that could have waken the dead. Robert had revved his bikes engine nice and loud in response.

“Stop that!” Kate had hissed. “Prat! Do you want to wake every one up? It’s well late!”

“Oh who cares.” Robert shrugged.

“Every one!” Kate hissed again, looking up at the terrace of houses along the street, as bedroom lights flicked on, and windows slammed shut, and the rest of the world longed to be asleep.

“What are they going to do?” Robert shouted. “Tell my fucking mum?”

“Rob!” Kate scolded him. “Good night. I’m going in now.”

“Cos of them?” Robert waved his hands at the windows. “What are you lot going to fucking do? Tell my fucking mum?”

“No!” Came a shouted reply from the wrinkled old veteran at number seventy three. “I’m going to call the police.”

“WANKER!” Was Roberts’ almost Shakespearian response.

“Good night.” Kate said again, and trudged up to her path. Robert smiled to himself. She was falling for him. She had to be, I mean did you see her boyfriend? The guy looked like he lived in a bookshop, and was in serious need of plastic surgery or a mercy killing. If a girl like Kate could sleep with him, and not be thinking of some one else (some one like Robert) then there was no justice in the world. It was all a matter of time.

                Robert drove home the quick way, at the end of Kate’s road he hopped up onto the footpath, and around the stupid bollards that blocked the path into the park. Maybe a bunch of the usual were swigging from cans and driving around the playing fields. He quickly found that they weren’t so he revved his engine, opened the throttle and flew across the fields, wove between the trees to the footpath and cranked up the speed as he flew out the opposite side of the park and onto the A-Road.

                He grabbed the brakes, and stuck his foot out as he jarred the bike into a turn and skidded to a halt. There had been a car on the road. A bog standard family saloon with dark blue paint and standard alloy wheels. It blared it’s horn and slowed down as it past, then seeing that Robert hadn’t implanted himself in the front wing the car carried on, having shouted at Robert through the window.

                Now, as an outside observer you would hardly think it was hard to tell whose fault the near miss was. Robert had flown out of the park with out looking and almost landed himself in the side of a car. He had been stupid, he had been arrogant, he had been out right dangerous. But he had been so sure. So very sure he was right.

                “Bastard” He screamed at the car as it rolled away. “Bastard Wanker! Wanky Bastard fucker!” He kicked himself off the pavement and drove as hard as his bike would carry him, it’s two stroke engine whining for all it was worth as he reached and broke the thirty mile an hour speed limit to catch up with the car. He flashed his head light, and beeped the squeaky horn, and made explicit hand gestures at the driver. “You almost killed me!” He screamed. “Are you blind? Are you?”

                The car indicated to its left and pulled to a halt in a parking bay. Robert leant his bike on its stand and jogged over to the drivers door, banging his hands on the window. “Open up! I want a word with you! What the fuck were you doing?”

                I wound the window down, and looked up at Robert, licking my lips a little with anticipation. He flipped the visor up on his helmet, and stared at me with bulging eyes. Beads of sweat were all around his eyes. His breath smelt of stale beer and adrenaline. Of old smoke and tired one night lines and an arrogance that was harder to penetrate than a bomb shelter. I smiled.

“Fucker!” Robert sneered. “Did you not see me? I was on two wheels with a fucking headlight!”

“I was on four wheels with two headlights and a horn.” I thumped my horn, making it bellow. “Remember that? It blared out as you almost drove into me.”

“Fuck of!” Robert shouted, with Wilde like wit. “You almost killed me!”

“You. Almost. Rode. Into. Me.” I said slowly, being sure to enunciate.

“I’ll kill you!” He barked out, once again not thinking. “If I ever see you again I will fucking kill you!”

“Is that a promise?” I asked.

“Too fucking right!” He hissed. “I will fucking kill you. Now fuck off before I change my fucking mind.”

“Promise?”

“Fuck off. Before I fucking kill you.” I took that to mean a yes. And with that I drove away, with a thrice made promise and a brand new hobby.

                I made my first attempt to make him make good on his debt the following Tuesday. I didn’t do anything flashy, I just drove past Robert’s house as he got waited for his lift in to work. I think he recognised the car because he flared his nostrils and screwed a crumpled frown on his face. I drove past a second time, and tooted my horn, leaning out my window to wave at him.

                He didn’t kill me.

                I parked opposite his house, and stood there smiling and waving at his mum and dad and sister as they all walked out to get on with their lives. I know he saw me. He stared at me. When his lift pulled up he climbed in the hatchback and spoke to his friend, and they both stared at me and drove off.

                But he didn’t kill me. His promise was broken once.

                I gave him a second attempt on the next Saturday night. It was a rain soaked night with dark clouds and rolling thunder, and he was in his usual spot at the table, a bottled import beer in front of him, trying to butt his way into the conversation. On that night he thought he was suave and fashionable and wolfish, but he missed all the little looks Kate shot her friend and the way her boyfriend kept one hand on hers and smiled at her slightly every time Robert made his “cheeky” face and cracked a joke.

                I pulled up a chair and made a space for myself between Kate and her friend Amy. “”Hi,” I said, “mind if I join you? I’m a bit new in town and don’t have too many friends.” I looked up, as though pretending to see Robert for the first time. “Oh hello! It’s the man with the dirt bike and the attitude! How’s things?”

“You.” Robert hissed. “Are you stalking me or what?”

“Am I what?”

“Stalking me! You were outside my house! You gay for me or what?” Ah, he had obviously found his muse that night.

“I was waiting for a friend. I was giving them a lift to the hospice. I thought it was you, but didn’t know what to say.” I grinned. “Besides, you promised to kill me.”

“Oh god.” Amy giggled. “Has he been telling you about his days as a bare fist fighter again? Or how him and his mate put some policeman in his place for trying to give him a speeding ticket? Or how he keeps a cricket bat in his coat stand?”

“No, he almost drove his bike into the side of my car, then chased after me to tell me it was my fault he wasn’t looking where he was going.”

                Robert was squirming in his seat, but Kate was giggling, her cheeks flushed by alcohol. I cast a little magic to help it on it’s way. “I have to hear that story!” Amy giggled. So I told it, and many more, with a flirty lilt in my voice and a look in my eye. I leant over as I spoke, and placed a finger on the back of Kate’s hand. Drawing lover hearts and circles as we spoke. Long into the night she stared into my eyes, and blushed and smiled, and played with her hair. Then when I got up to leave she came with me. What happened next probably broke her boyfriends heart, which is a shame, but it had the desired effect on Robert. His blood boiled and his temper sank, and he seethed with anger.

                But he didn’t kill me. The promise was twice broken.

                The third chance I gave him had to be good.

                I went to his house one Sunday morning, rang his door bell, and invited myself in. I spoke to his sister, his mother, his father and his pet dog. I smiled and chatted, and made jokes and conversation. I sat at their breakfast table and drank coffee, and waited for Robert to emerge from his room. Eventually he strolled down the stairs and pushed his way into the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw me.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded.

“Eating toast.” I said. “It’s rather good.”

“Get out!”

“Now dear.” Roberts mum chided him, her voice distant and vacant. “That’s no way to talk to a guest.”

“He’s a nutter!” Robert protested.

“Robert!” His dad scolded, in the same dopey, distant voice. Robert saw them saw how I had charmed them, their eyes glazed, their reactions sluggish, the gormless smiles on their faces. They were in a waking dream.

“Can I have some more coffee?” I asked the sister. She took my mug and started pouring black coffee from a fresh, steaming hot pot.

“Say when.” She instructed me, and waited for me to respond. She stood there waiting as the coffee overflowed from the mug and scolded her skin red raw, the steaming liquid blistering her hand. She carried on with the same smile on her face as the coffee spilt onto the floor and across the room. She carried on until I said “When!” And took the coffee to sip.

“Good, isn’t it?” I said, as I sipped my drink. The three dreamers nodded in appreciation.

“What have you done?” Robert demanded.

“Oh, don’t worry about them.” I waved a hand. “You have to worry about yourself.”

“This is because I shouted at you isn’t it? Well, alright, I’m sorry. Now go. Before I call the police.”

“If you must.” I sipped more coffee. “Though I don’t know what you expect them to do.”

“What is this?”

“You promised you would kill me if you ever saw me again. You have seen me three times now, and not killed me.”

“What?” His jaw slackened more than normal.

“It was a promise. You should keep promises.”

“What?” He repeated, with a rapier sharp tongue.

“You. Were. Meant. To. Kill. Me.” I sighed. “And if you can’t keep a promise, especially one thrice made, you forfeit it.”

“Speak English!” He cried. “What do you want!”

“You to keep your promise. That would be a good thing for the world in general. But, failing that, I want to name my forfeit.”

“Nutter.” Robert snarled, and picked up the phone. “I’m dialling 999, you better fuck off now!”

                I knocked the phone from his hands with the cricket bat he kept in his coat stand. Then I swiped a blow across his shoulder. “How about if it was kill or be killed?” I offered. I took another swing and he rolled out of the way, I swung again, and he darted and ducked and weaved. I smashed the kitchen table, I ruined his tiles and his toaster, I knocked his mother for six, but that was an accident, and I ruined their dresser. I landed another two blows on Robert before he grasped the chefs knife from by the sink and took a swing at me. The knife sunk into my chest and pierced my heart. Any mortal man should have died.

                But I just laughed. Robert took the knife out, and swung again, it sunk in my neck, and ripped my voice box. I giggled at the way his face was falling from fury to dismay.

“What are you?” He screamed. From the looks in his eyes his heart was breaking and his bowels were loosening. “If you want me to kill you, then why aren’t you dying?”

“I’m not that easy to kill.” I giggled. “You really should be more careful when you make promises you can’t keep.” He sliced my chest and arm, before I sent the knife spinning across the floor and grabbed his throat. “The devil is very much in the detail.”

“Please.” He begged, whimpering and crying. “Please no.”

“Oh grow up.” I sneered. “It’s time to take the ride of your life.” I held him by his hair, and dragged him into the shadows. He screamed and swore and begged. But I neither let him go, nor showed him mercy.

                The door slammed shut behind us.