Her Two Cents
It’s been such a long time since I’ve found a piece of missed connections writing from Frankie Leone and this story about loss and retribution provides quite a bit to think about. Does stealing from one who has stolen from you make you a thief or an agent of justice? So often we stand adamant in our beliefs or attitudes until someone comes along and throws them all into question. Nothing is ever as simple as black and white. There are often many shades of pink fluttering in between.
Stolen Pink Bicycle
Missed Connections in Manhattan
summer’s out – school’s in by Bui Linh Ngan
*by someone finding freedom
one humbling experience at a time*
(frankie leone, just a man)
*a dollar store fan
missing a blade
blows onto my skin
coated in a thin layer of sweat
clothed only in powder blue boxer shorts
covered with a print of cowboys and indians
and an unfiltered camel burns in these long digits
decorated with cut scars and tattoos
before being put out into an old coffee mug
resting on a small table
adorned with black and bronze mosaic tiles
while i remember*
*she lives uptown
and loved her bicycle
saying it gave her freedom from our city’s
subterranean network of grinding metal
and tired faces
freedom from its control of her time
and stolen moments from the streets*
*someone likely pursuing
powder and liquid relief from reality
relieved her of it
with a pair of bolt cutters
and a relaxed conscience
she’s petite
so her bicycle was pint-sized
pink
and like a child’s
had streamers coming from the handlebars*
*she’s taken the subway to see me in brooklyn
and we walk along an empty north 8th street
as the sun drops
towards my idea of a romantic evening
on the water at east river state park
the sky breathes an easy summer breeze on us
and she tells me more about grieving chloe,
the name she’d given the pink bicycle
moments before we see it
chained to the gate of a building
near the corner of berry street*
*”whoever lives here stole my bike”
she says in wide-eyed shock
in a normal speaking tone
“lucky you”
i respond
drawing a trouble-filled smile
her expression shuffles into irritation
“how do you figure that”
“i know a decent booster
let me call him
if he’s free
chloe will be yours again
in a half hour
if he isn’t
you’ll have your freedom from the m.t.a.
back by midnight
because i have a decent hack saw
four blocks away
in my roomie’s toolbox”
her irritation morphs to surprise
“that’s illegal
you could get in trouble”
i don’t respond
and watch her face go contemplative
she continues
“i guess this is this person’s karma though”
“probably not”
i answer
“what do you mean”
“it’s the booster’s and the fence’s karma
this person was just dumb enough to buy a stolen bike
rich girls in williamsburg
with apartments on the north side
aren’t cutting bicycle locks uptown
to pay rent”
surprise shifts to sadness
“don’t call your friend
don’t come back here later
and don’t ever mention this again”
“what”
i respond
“i’m not going to inflict
the pain i felt losing chloe
on someone else”
“bullshit
you’re getting your bike back”
now she’s angry
“no i’m not
you’re not doing shit
and i don’t want to hear about this again”
my ego absorbs the blows
and i keep my mouth shut
before we walk
the last two blocks to the park
in awkward silence.*
