Playing Jacks

vii. Life is a Trade. Part 3

Sophie straddles the black-and-chrome chopper, keeping a precarious balance on her toes. “I thought men weren’t supposed to want anyone to touch their bikes,” she reminds Jacks tersely.

Jacks straddles the front tire and leans over the handlebars. “I’m making an exception.”

“Don’t I feel special,” Sophie quips, then squeaks when the heavy machine tips too far and she has to try to catch it.

“You should,” Jacks smirks. “I won’t even let Jeremy do this.”

Biting her lip, Sophie looks down at the dials and switches.  In truth, she wants to do this.  She wants to be a part of Jacks world, if only for a little while.

If only that world weren’t quite so intimidating.

“Show me the clutch,” he drills again.  She squeezes the left lever.

“Show me the brake.”  Right foot.

 “The front brake?” She squeezes the right lever. 

“Accelerator.” Twist the handle.

“Gear shift.” Left foot.

Jacks leans over the handlebars and rewards his student with a light peck on her lips.  Sophie flushes, still feeling well out of her depth. 

“All were going to do is try to get the bike moving, okay?  It takes a while to learn to coordinate the clutch and accelerator.”  Her expression once again crumples into anxiety and Jacks laughs affably. “You’re going to do fine,” he reassures as he leaves his post, releasing the full weight of the bike into Sophie’s significantly smaller frame.  She stumbles a bit before bracing against it.

Jacks coaches her through the actions as she does them- letting off the clutch so gently that the engine takes hold of the momentum and pulls her forward.  For a nanosecond, Jack sees the small gasp- she’s surprised at her success- and victory in her expression.

Then everything goes pear-shaped.

The bike surges forward- a slow pace, but the engine has an irrefutable control of her momentum- right towards the curb.  She twists the tire- much too far- and loses her balance.  All his quizzing is lost to a moment of panic. He frantically tries to coach her but while as she tries to brace the bike and grapple with the controls, she twists the throttle and, instead of stopping, the engine growls with power and surges forward.

“Jacks!” She screams, in a panic. “I can’t stop!”

The tire meets the curb, and her balance upset, the bike tips and the engine shuts off.  Sophie struggles with the heavy machine and Jacks reaches to save her, but the motorcycle wins and takes Sophie to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Jacks demands, ripping the bike away from her and bracing it against its kick stand.  Embarrassed and shaken, she regains her feet before he is able to gather her up and, in effect, rescue her from the biting ground, as he wants.  “Are you okay?” He demands again, his hand hovering over the perimeter of her figure as if afraid to touch her.

“Yeah,” she mutters, rubbing her arms with her hands.  Her eyes avoid his.

“Look,” Jacks orders, probably a mite more sternly than he intended. “You see this clutch?  Forget the brake.  You’re not going fast.  You pull this clutch and you’ve got control.”  He looks for comprehension, but she won’t meet his eyes. “Sophie?”

Judging from her expression, he waits for the words that declare this experiment terminated.  Instead she inhales a steadying breath and gives him a stalwart nod. “Did I . . . did I hurt the bike?”