Stop the World

Many months ago a guy called the shop I work at to see if we could make him a special bicycle. I happened to get the phone and we got to talking. He told me he was stationed in Afghanistan, and planned to devote himself to helping kids with muscular dystrophy on his return. I think he mentioned having a relative with MD, but I could be wrong. The bike was to have a seat in the front so he could take kids riding with him. I told him that would be no problem, and booked the bike into our build queue.

He called fairly frequently after that, to talk about his bike or just talk. That bike seemed to symbolize the civilian life he was looking forward to so much, and he said he thought about it all the time. Once I asked him what it was like in Afghanistan. He was quiet so long I thought the connection had broken, and then he just said that you get used to it. I always wished him luck when he rang off.

We finished the bike, but there was no word from him. He'd said he was sometimes hard to reach, so we just hung the bike up and waited. But weeks turned into months and I got concerned. I googled his name, but it's a common one and I felt like a creeper and stopped.

Then today I read an email from him. He'd been severely wounded and implied that he didn't expect to ride again. He asked if we could sell his bike for him. 'It sucks, but that's war.'

I had to hide my face in my arms for a minute. It's easy to dismiss the military as jingoistic and bloodthirsty, especially with all the news about sexual assault and brutality against civilians. But one forgets (I forget) that these are just young people like myself, with passions and idealism and dreams that they cling to to get through hard times.

I'm glad this guy survived. I hope he does manage to ride again.

No pictures or goofiness today. I'm just feeling weary and sad with the world, that sends its young to get blown to bits and lets its wealthy and powerful commit extraordinary crimes.

This world is too much with us late and soon...

Isis

Never mind, a picture: if you happen to be in Pennsport and you meet a hairless cat, he needs to go home.