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Old, tired and broken, I helped her with her task, brought to me a remnant of her fading past. Bike’s quarter century while woman’s three-fourths, told me of her frailties while studied bike ghost. Broken in many ways machine from ninety; handled bike lovingly but was wreck you see: Tires, original, from rims falling off, brake calipers broken, they too would be tossed.

Listed all bike’s problems, tune of four C-Notes, suggested brand new one to replace old ghost. Lips and jaw trembling as tears filled her eyes, opened up the flood gates, sorrowful reprise. “I hate it here,” moaned to me, ref’rencing South, “bugs, snakes, humidity!” poured forth from her mouth. “Nothing’s right, nothing’s good ‘cept for grandbaby. I miss Pennsylvan’a. Wish they’d let me be.”

Shared with me tale of woe being plucked like weed; missed her house and friends, extended family. Eight months in the making her public meltdown, my heart understanding, sympathy abounds. Slowly we’re decaying as time steals our youth; longed for old certainty in sea of new truths. Commiserated problems, know well her score, fore though she’s elder been down her path before.

Nothing’s good, nothing’s right, nothing familiar; fixing old bicycle’s talisman of cure. My patience is not feigned as she gathers strength, we try her on new ride; failure at great length. Bicycle selected makes her say, “Granny,” as it she disparage not yet meant to be. Easier by ten-fold then her aged ride, her head knows right path, heart can’t let go of pride.

She came to me hopefully leaves in dismay do some contemplation, decisions to weigh. Bicycle time machines surely slow the clock, hope her journey re-finds time and distance took. Great Sphynx asked a riddle of proud Oedipus, four legs, two legs, three legs, good Lord where’s the bridge? No bridge leads us back to our great yesterdays: Where’s the we of memories as fade to gray?

Old, tired and broken I helped her with her task, brought to me a remnant of her fading past. Broken in many ways machine from ninety; handled bike lovingly but was wreck you see. Tires, original, from rims falling off, brake calipers broken, they too would be tossed. Bike’s quarter century while woman’s three-fourths told me of her frailties while studied bike ghost.