“Sometimes the truth can be
“What’s your name?” Franny asked biker #2…giving him her customary, blazing smile…which suited her fiery red hair and dazzling green eyes. Franny was something to behold…and most everyone did.
“Bob Nelson”, he answered quite politely. “What’s yours?”
“Cynthia Zimmerman. You can call me ‘Zimmer’ or ‘Zim’ if you like…”said Franny Sherman who…being five feet eight inches tall…found it ridiculously easy to sling her long, slim leg over the seat of the bike and settle herself down behind Bob..
Franny getting on his bike was about as easy as her almost never telling the guys she would randomly meet in bars her real name. It was just her thing.
At some point either during the evening or at a later encounter…she would tell them the truth…if she felt like it.
You wouldn’t know it to look at her but…Franny could be…complicated
I looked up at my guy. I could see he was pretty tall even though he was sitting on his Harley-Davidson…tall with tan muscular arms that flexed every time he revved up the Harley’s engine. Okay…
I gave him my best smile and said, “So…what’s your name?”
Instead of answering, he moved his boot and flipped down a little chrome peg from the side of his bike.
“If you put your foot on that, you should be able to swing your leg over.”
I paused only for a second and then said super confidently…and…sprightly…
“Oh, I know…I’ve ridden before…hundreds of times. In fact, my older brother, Owen, has a Harley-Davidson…not like this one exactly…but still a Harley.”
Point of fact: I had never ever ridden a motorcycle before and I did not have a brother named Owen. But occasionally I stretched the truth a little…but only if absolutely necessary.
I put my right foot on the little peg and then paused…casually looking around for something to grab so I could pull myself up and over and onto the seat.
I wasn’t sure if I should grab…you know…him.
At five feet three inches tall…I did not have the ability or the agility to easily sling my leg over the bike’s seat as Franny had done.
He looked at me for a second…kind of waiting…and then asked me the oddest question.
“So then. You do know how to be a ‘passenger’ on a motorcycle…right?”
I glanced to the left and I could see Bob talking to Franny and gesturing a lot.
Franny was listening and nodding in acknowledgement. I couldn’t really hear what they were talking about…Bob kept revving his bike engine. I looked back at my guy.
“Absolutely! I’m good! I will be the perfect passenger. You will have no problems with me at all.”
Words were coming out of my mouth that made absolutely no sense whatsoever…not even to me.