Scooter

The Scooter

The scooter was just sitting there, asking to be knicked. It was parked
against the curb right in front of me; bright metallic blue, it's
spoked wheels glinting in the sunlight. I could hear the 'tink tink' of
the exhaust as it cooled. An open-faced helmet hung from the
handlebars, the word ARAI plastered in white on the shiny black dome.
The keys were in the ignition, a skulls-head keyring still
swinging.

I looked around briefly but couldn't see where the rider had gone.
There are only a few grungy shops and a launderette in this bit of the
street and there was no sign of life around any of them. I didn't
hesitate any longer; I just thrust the helmet on my head, fed the strap
through its buckle and pulled it tight against my throat. A quick turn
of the key, flick of the footrest, blip of the throttle and I'm away
into the road. Looking back through the mirror on the handle bar I
don't see anyone rush to watch a disappearing scooter. Not like last
time.

How could I do this so easily I can hear you ask. Well my brother had a
scooter just like this one, except his was older and a bit rusty and
had a smashed mirror. He used to let me ride it around the waste ground
at the back of our house sometimes and sometimes I used to take it
without him knowing and ride it a little further. I could always ride
it better than him anyway. He's come off it loads of times, I haven't.
I must have natural balance or something.

It's just not believable, I can hear you say. Well life's like that.
Sometimes you can't believe the coincidences life chucks at you, except
normally the coincidences are against me. It's like when you decide
you're going to nick something from a shop. You look around to see if
you'll get caught and no-one's taking a blind bit of notice; you could
just pick something up and walk out with it and no-one would be any the
wiser. But you don't, not this time. You case the place for a few days
and it's always the same: people walk in and out without a second
glance, the bloke behind the counter's too busy reading the girlie mag
he's got hidden under a newspaper. Then you decide to go for it, pick
it up and make for the exit and there's the bloody shopkeeper looking
straight at you with a stupid grin on his face like he's known all
along and has just been waiting for you to make your move. His fat
finger pointing to a sign that says 'A free ride in a police car for
all our shoplifters' and that's exactly what you get.

Well I've got a free ride now, only this time I can go where I like,
not down to the nearest nick. I think I'll leave the area and then
cruise around for a bit. Just an hour or two and then I'll dump it and
maybe burn it; watch as that shiny paintwork bubbles and cracks before
the fuel tank explodes. The gauge shows the tank's almost full and
although the helmet's a bit tight and is making my ears hurt, it's not
enough to stop me having a bit of fun.

My brother never guessed I knew where he kept his keys, never noticed I
used to take fivers from his wallet to pay for the petrol I used. For
months I got away with it and had enough cash left over after buying
petrol to keep me in fags for ages. Then the little kid goes and spoils
it all. Little sod just runs into the road chasing his ball or a cat or
something and I hit him. Well the mirror hits him, bang, on the side of
the head and he goes spinning down to the ground. They reckon little
kids' heads are soft and that's why they can fall down stairs and off
swings and things and never get really hurt. Well this kid had a head
made of something a bit stronger because the mirror shatters and the
chrome rod bends almost double making it difficult for me to keep
riding. I look through the other mirror and there's two women and a
bloke watching me ride off. Another woman's knelt by the kid, who's
lying still on the ground. I can hear them all shouting, though the
blood running through my head is making my ears ring.
Although my brother's almost two years older than me, I'm the same
height and build as him already. When the police call round to find out
whose scooter's in the shed with a busted mirror (they'd checked it
before they even rang the doorbell) he can only deny all knowledge.
They don't believe him of course, it's not the first time he's been in
trouble with the boys in blue either. When he gets sentenced, he just
looks over at me and I shrug. Thinking back, I should have owned up to
it but if he'd hidden his keys or money better or never bought the
scooter in the first place, it wouldn't have happened, would it?

I'm just thinking this when another kid runs out in front of me almost
exactly as before. This time though his mum is close enough to pull him
back before he gets hit, but my natural balance lets me down and as I
weave to try to avoid the kid, the front well slides to one side and
the scooter drops to the ground. As it goes down I try to leap off it,
but my flares get caught on the brake lever and I go down hard with it.
The scooter and I go sliding up the road for what seems like ages. I
can feel the skin being shredded from my arm and the helmet banging on
the road. We come to a stop rammed up against the back of a car and I
can't move as my legs are trapped under the scooter and my arm's bent
behind me and has gone numb. I lie there with my head throbbing waiting
for someone to come and lift me up. A few inches in front of my eyes
the keyring is swinging again and I'm sure the face on the skull's head
is grinning at me.