His knees just didn't have anywhere to go so he let them stick sideways a little, beyond the handle bars and just below his ears. He hadn't had trouble with the helmet. That just slipped on. Slick, said his partner, who found the helmet claustrophobic and always thought it would get stuck when he was hot and sticky and then he would be obliged to have a panic attack, helmeted head bouncing off the walls as he reeled around trying to get the damn thing off over his now-swollen, reddened ears. So he didn't ride the scooter.
Our guy wasn't really so keen either. It's cold in this town. And the wind is like a sharp knife most days. Still, it wasn't his fault the car needed repairs. Well, it was. He'd lost concentration and the ice was just so very freakishly slippery. And it wasn't too bad - at least the other car was fine. His bonnet though, now a raised v pointing boldly ahead, instead of the smooth bed of aerodynamic engineering that usually led the way to school.
And so he took the scooter. Let's be more eco-friendly, his partner had said one sunny spring morning, sorting the free-range eggs into hand-painted cartons. Let's reduce our carbon footprint. And sealed with a long kiss, that sounded like a plan. And so that summer they bought a scooter. A classy looking one, of course. They took three days to choose because it did matter. Cream and black. Almost art deco, certainly reeking of a very cool retro. The scooter sat shiny and accessory-ish through the autumn. And it was too cold and dangerous in the winter. Then the storm that started the whole ice car crash situation failed to abate, so it was a few days of embarrassing driving hunched over the v-car trying to pretend someone else had done it.
But with sunshine today, the scooter was singing and he puttered happily down hill to the school, trying to maintain a dignified, well-qualified English professor-kind of aura, managing to look to some onlookers like spider-guy clinging to a toy ride-on car. With helmet. Large helmet.
Actually, I saw him and he looked very cool. Like he was coping. Doing well, in fact. In control. Enough to say, hey, see me? This little horn is mine. Hear it? Like it. Because if the weather sticks around, you might be seeing more of this little beauty.
His partner? He said, text me when you're coming home and I'll meet you at the bottom of the hill. You're not going to get up on that.
He drew himself to full and magnificent height. I can, he stated, get up on anything.