Traitors.
The teenager left for community college.
Studied physical therapy assistance at first.
Everybody assumed the collision had inspired him.
He hated that narrative.
Eventually he changed programs.
Civil engineering.
He simply liked bridges.
Good.
Not every future needed to become symbolic.
The Biker continued riding.
His beard grew grayer.
The Little Girl grew taller.
The diner changed owners.
The outdoor metal table remained.
At thirteen, the girl came to him with a problem.
A boy at school kept offering to carry her backpack whenever her leg hurt.
At first, nice.
Then annoying.
He refused to accept no.
The Biker asked:
“You want advice?”
“Yes.”
“Tell him exactly that.”
“I did.”
“Then what?”
“He says he’s helping.”
The Biker frowned.
“Helping after somebody says no is usually something else.”
She nodded.
“What do I say?”
“I'm not writing your script.”
She groaned.
He continued:
“Tell him what you told me that first day.”
“What?”
“Please don't be mad.”
She stared.
“That doesn't apply.”
“Exactly.”
He smiled.
“You knew what you wanted then.”
“You know now.”
The girl thought.
The next day, she told the boy:
“I know you mean well, but when I say I can carry it, stop asking.”
The boy stopped.
Easy.
Sometimes boundaries worked.
Sometimes they did not.
But worth trying clearly first.
At sixteen, the girl volunteered at the same rehabilitation clinic where she had once spent painful afternoons.
Not as inspiration.
Administrative volunteering.
Water cups.
Activity supplies.
Helping kids choose stickers for braces.
She liked younger patients because they rarely pretended.
One six-year-old told her scar looked weird.
She said:
“Correct.”
The child asked if touching it hurt.
She said no.
The child moved on.
Simple.
Adults could learn.
The Biker visited once.
The clinic staff recognized him from years earlier.
The girl introduced him to a patient using crutches.
The boy stared at the tattoos.
“Are you a criminal?”
The Biker laughed.
The girl nearly fell over.
“See?”
she said.
“Kids are honest.”
The Biker told the child:
“No.”
Then paused.
“Not currently.”
The therapist glared.
He corrected:
“That was a joke.”
The child loved him.