2024-01-25
Helen awoke to two sharp knocks on her apartment door.
In a daze, she rose from her chair, staggered to the door and swung it open, not bothering to check the peep-hole.
"Johnny, what THE FUCK?", Helen gasped at the sight of an aberration.
Johnny grinned at her, dried blood crusted beneath his cracked aviators. He was soaking wet, rain pouring behind him.
"Hi, Helen," he smirked.
Helen waited a moment for the punch line, but Johnny had none forthcoming as he limped into her apartment.
"Sorry about this," Johnny said, "I wrecked my bike."
Helen took stock of Johnny's condition. His forehead had been hit pretty hard, his prescription sunglasses were cracked, and dried blood was crusted down his face from his temple, across his lips, and terminating in a semi-congealed crust at the bottom of his chin.
Johnny was wearing a sleeveless purple hoodie and lycra biking shorts that barely came up above his knee. His wiry upper body had been spared from the brunt of the damage, veins in his skinny arms were bulging out more than ususal. His lower body was another matter. Johnny's black shorts were semi-shredded on one side, along with much of the skin on the side of his right leg. Fresh blood was running down to his ankle, and one of his previously-white crew socks was a fully-saturated crimson. Fortunately, Helen noted, everything looked like basic surface damage.
Helen could slow things down further, think this through.
"Hey, snap out of it, sister," Johnny laughed at her, still grinning. "We don't need your Jedi mind tricks tonight."
"Johnny, are you okay?" Helen asked frantically, back to real-time in this implausible situation.
"Yeah, I'm fine," replied Johnny, his grin turning to a more somber expression, "my bike is another story though."
"What are you even doing here?," asked Helen, "Did you really bike here from Santa Cruz? In this rain! You're a fool!"
Johnny walked further into her apartment and spun around on his good leg to face Helen.
"To be fair, I thought I could beat the storm," Johnny quipped, "and technically I didn't bike the whole way here. I walked the last few miles with THAT," motioning to her doorway.
Helen looked out her open apartment door to see the wreckage of Johnny's latest carbon fiber racing bike on her patio. Wrecked indeed.
"Turns out it doesn't corner so well in the rain," Johnny grumbled, "I should have ran with wider tires."
"Fuck, let me get that for you," Helen said, pulling the broken mess inside and shutting the door.
Helen was still very drunk, but her adrenaline was flowing and she was both in awe of Johnny and scared for him. Or perhaps a bit scared of him.
"Helen, I missed you," Johnny said as he poured himself a tall glass of Maker's whiskey from her kitchen bar, "and I wanted to talk to you."
"Oh, sure, help yourself," Helen said sarcastically, but really she couldn't disguise how happy she was to see him.
"Helen, I couldn't wait," Johnny stared into her soul with a piercing expression, "Obviously I need to clean myself up after I drink this, but..."
"...but what's this about, Johnny?", Helen asked, transfixed on his sudden seriousness.
"Helen," Johnny replied, "Let's blow up the world, together."
--
Two hours later, it was close to midnight and Helen had resigned herself to calling in sick tomorrow. Like it would matter. After she helped Johnny clean himself up they had spent the evening talking and drinking, catching up on the past but debating Johnny's crazy plans for the future.
At Johnny's request, Helen had given him one of the sleeping pills Dr. Kroeber prescribed her, and she herself had taken one and a half, totaling a quarter of her monthly prescription of ten pills, to be taken "as needed." Well, this was a special occasion, Helen told herself, and they both "needed" it.
Helen sat in her chair and watched Johnny snore on her living room couch. Besides a pair of Helen's thigh-high booty shorts (his request) he was naked, and the drug had kicked his ass. She watched his toned chest rise and fall peacefully in stark contrast to the damage he had sustained across his face and muscular legs. But Helen was happy; he looked so peaceful, so childlike.
Helen sighed. If Johnny were straight—and not such a reckless freak, she might be attracted to him. But for now, she was glad they could still be friends, despite the distance between them.
When Johnny's long black hair started floating in the air, the couch undulating and warping behind him, Helen realized it was time to go to bed.