by Appleseed

The pilot known as Shakes eyes me steadily. “Did I ever tell you The Juice Story?”

We're resting comfortably at my dining room table, drinking Moscow Mules in extremely low light. Someday, I'll replace the bulb in the ceiling fan. Someday.

I look back at him, take a sip of my drink and shake my head. I'm instantly intrigued, and Shakes is looking at me with a magician's dramatic grin on his face. With such a simple, unassuming title, The Juice Story could be anything from a comical explanation of how a bag full of fresh fruit and a fall down some stairs gave him the serendipitous discovery of the perfect margarita mix, or a tale as titillating as his one-night stand with the singer of the 1981 smash hit single, “Queen of Hearts,” Ms. Newton herself. I jerk my head back a couple of times in the universal gesture of “spill it.”

“It was a SCUL mission that I'll never forget because it was my first derby win,” he begins, referring to the ultra-mega-secret combat in which SCUL pilots often engage for sport. “September 6th, 2003. First and only win. I beat ConCarne.” I raise my eyebrow and think, “It must've been luck.” She's not an easy pilot to conquer.

Shakes finishes his Mule and I get up to make him another; he continues. “The mission was going well. I was riding USB Lust, that cute pink little BMX frame with the frilly pink handcuffs on the handlebars. We rode around, giving hi-fives. I was still high from my derby win when the mission ended around 1 or 2 a.m.

“I said goodbye to everyone and rode down to Davis Square, slipping onto the Minute Man trail. Sweetest sound in the world, hearing Lust's little wheels on that trail. You know what I mean, that kind of whiz-whiz-whiz-whiz-whiz. It was like that was the only sound in the world that night. That and me singing.” I wanted to ask what he was singing, but Shakes was getting warmed up. I assumed it was Ozzy Osbourne or Oingo Boingo.

“Mile after mile, I just kept going. Mile after mile after mile. Occasionally, I'd slow to have a cigarette and a beer, but I just kept going.”

His glass is empty, so I make him another Moscow Mule and get one for myself. “I get to the end of the trail around 4 a.m. I'm a little tired, but the buzz is still on. I'm hoping to find a general store or something, you know, somewhere I can get something to eat or drink. My beer was long gone by this point. Of course, it's 4 a.m. and nothing's open, so I keep going towards Lexington Center. I know if I can get there, I can get a cup of coffee, take a nap, and eat a donut.”

“I start up the first hill toward the Center, and weariness starts to set in. I'm still feeling good, but I notice I'm not quite as fast as I used to be. The whiz-whiz-whiz-whiz is a little more like whiz-whiz-pause-whiz-whiz. The sun is up and traffic is starting; early bird church goers, mostly.

“I hit the big hill, the last hill before I get to coast down to Lexington Center and boom, it hits me. The whole night of riding on Camels and Schlitz.

There's nothing left in my body to keep the wheels moving. Nothing. I'm not talking a ‘Gosh, I'm tired' kind of tired. I notice that I've got about a hundred yards or less left on the hill, but I just don't have anything in the tank. So I get off and start walking, but it's too late even for that. I'm hunched over the handlebars, pushing Lust up the hill, staggering wildly. Eventually, I couldn't even do that. I step. I rest. I'm dizzy as hell. I'm still loving it, mind you, but I wasn't even sure I was headed in the right direction.

“That's when I notice how inviting that fresh green lawn by the side of the road is. How green and pleasing. How warm and dewy it must be. How nice it would be for a nap. I don't have a choice in the matter, since I can't keep my eyes open, so sleeping seems like the only option. I realize that whoever owns the house connected to the lawn might not think it was so nice to have someone passed out all over it, but this is a distant concern. I topple over and curl up, and time seems to disappear.

“Somehow I come back to awareness. I'd heard a car stop somewhere above, or below, or to the right, or to the left of me. Someone starts saying something to me, a pleasant voice, and I half-open one of my eyes. That was all the energy I had. Not enough to turn my head. The voice is saying, ‘Are you okay? Did you get hit?'

“I told him that I was fine and I just needed to rest - or, at least I tried. I didn't much open my mouth, so it probably sounded more like, ‘Uheererry ah, so'kay.'

“‘Don't move,' the voice said. ‘I'll be right back.' I told him, ‘Ergh,' and slipped back into unconsciousness.

“The next thing I know, there's a box being set down by my head. ‘Here's some juice, man,' the voice said. ‘Juice and something to eat.' I mustered the energy to say ‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.' I still don't have the energy to turn and look up at the dude. I just kept thanking him. He asked me if I was going to be all right. I pulled up the very last resources of energy that I had. ‘Yes,' I whispered, and he was gone.

“I lay there for a while, looking at the box. Somehow, I managed to reach my hand in and grip a squishy container that I knew was Capri-Sun. I pulled it out, fumbled the straw into the little hole and drank the sweetest nectar of the Gods. BOOM! The sugar hit my system and I was up. I felt like Hercules. Maybe I roared.

“I looked around the lawn. I looked at the traffic speeding by. I looked at the spot where the man that had given me the box of Capri-Sun and energy bars had parked. That man had stopped, checked to see that I was okay, had went and bought me some juice and granola and come back.

“My faith in humanity was totally restored, you know. Just that. That's all it took.”

Shakes looks over at me, that magician's grin still on his face. It's a good story. I like it.

I notice that his drink is empty. I'm a good host. I finish mine quickly and get us both another.