beatings

I haven't been able to recollect my dreams for weeks. Under normal circumstances, I can recall them vividly. This morning when I woke there was blood on my pillow. I don't know where it was coming from. I got the bag of tools and drank some water in the backyard while I read over electrical diagrams. Starter button ain't causing a flicker or a peep, neither is the neutral switch light. I push started her and realized that I'm getting better at it. My legs have gotten stronger. She's running from bees when she's going, sounding good, feeling vivacious, idling a bit better. Clutch switch still needs a bit of tinkering. Think it's gonna be on the motors end, not at the handle. Cable looks a bit slack though, so it could probably use a new one. Messed around a bit more with her pretty parts and then rode Josie to get her first good look by a professional since we've been together. Dustin at MotoClassics made me feel confident in his care for her, and I started walking back in the direction of Zac and Laceys. I estimated it to be about 10 miles but straight through the heart of Austin, from one side to the other. I walked from sidewalk to sidewalk, watching everybodys day go by. Zac and Lacey were sitting in their car in a small parking lot about a mile or so from their house. They had seen me and thought they'd offer me a ride. Back at the house, I began reading Richmond Macabre. Josie had interviewed the two editors/publishers and they had both signed the inside cover. I haven't picked up a book in weeks, and I was breathing more coolly while I read, enjoying the escapism, even during a story set within yards of where she died, although it did make that story much more powerful in its horror. I believe that I have a few of Josie's recorded interviews somewhere in storage. I want to hear her say my name. I want to hear her say anything. The night it happened, they let me back in to see her. She was alone in Trauma Bay 1. A young doctor let me through the curtain and I heaved and moaned on Josie's chest. When my weight would push down on her, air would come out of her ET tube and I would get excited briefly that she had started breathing again miraculously. It happened every time, and every time I would feel hopeful. I still do. I still hope it's some elaborate joke. I'll hopefully get her back tomorrow and she'll be all dolled up and ready for me to ride her out West, might even make it a midnight ride if I keep feeling the way I do.