I knew there was something odd about the strange bike in the glossy picture; something different – attractive yet on the edge of gloriously wrong…
Also, there was an eerie familiarity about the curves. Not just the fulsome orbs of the 1930 Henderson motorcycle, itself. Something even darker…
Binky said it had arrived as a postcard. With only the word ‘reunion’ written on the other side in dark red.
“I was just staring at it,” he said. “Adoring its lines; and this… mist appeared around the card, and began to pull at me! But I panicked…” He said it weakly, “… and phoned you.” He had coughed, then. “And now we’re here…”
“And now we’re here, eh Binky?” I said in my best sarcastic, gripping his elbow as painfully as I could while we gazed at the far side of that fast disappearing cloud that had taken us both.
The mist around the Henderson cleared slowly – concordant with the deep rumble of its engine. Jazz edged it out of the last wispy tendrils and into the space between us. We knew it was Jazz; no-one else had those crazy eyes, that curl of lips painted inky-black, the enormous assortment of silver hanging from the earlobes.
And a witch… even back then.
She brought the Henderson to a slickly-controlled halt, and placed two booted and spiked heels on whatever passed for ground, this side of sanity. At least I knew what had troubled me about the postcard.
“Coming for a ride, boys?” It wasn’t a question.
I was quicker than he was with a response. I could feel his elbow shudder as I delivered it. “Love to, Jazz. But I’m a married man these days… Binky’s free, though.”
Picture of 1930 Henderson motorcycle from here.
©Stephen Tanham 2021
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.