The Christmas Bike (1518 hits)
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Rating: 1.85 on 41 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2004-12-24 14:47:41 EST
Ed had always liked Christmas Eve.
As a kid, he was always drunk with anticipation, unable to sleep that night, waking early, burning up a week's worth of adrenalin tearing open his presents, and falling asleep on the couch beside his dad before Christmas dinner.
As an adult, he was... just drunk.
In fact, Ed was shit-faced. He figured he had earned it, glaring at the mechanical bastard he had created and feeling like he had just been through a war, but he'd nearly fallen off the couch a minute ago reaching for his drink. How far gone did you have to be to fall of off a fucking couch?
Christ, he hated Christmas Eve. He looked at the clock. Midnight was an hour away.
*
He had been divorced from the wood-chipper nearly a year (he liked to say she had chewed him up and spit him out), and it looked like he was going to spend Christmas Eve in a cramped studio apartment, sipping Old Crow and channel surfing for a rare TV program that didn't have a seasonal theme, something to take his mind off of the present.
When he had first found himself moving away from his wife and kid his single buddies had assured him that real life was gonna start now, that batchin' it was a blast.
In truth, the single life sucked. He went to work, stayed in front of his monitor all day like an automaton, went home, opened a can of product X and tossed it in a pot, ate, watched some tv, and went to sleep. He could not remember the last time he had felt inspired or excited about anything, until he saw the bike.
It was in the window of a hardware store around the corner from Ed's apartment. The store specialized in retro fittings and furnishings, and the bike they had on display a few days ago brought Ed back to his childhood. It wasn't a mountain bike. It wasn't some ergonomically-correct eyesore.
It was a Schwinn 2005 Deluxe 7. It was a work of art.
His son would love it.
Ed knew that Will had been asking for a bike all year. His Ex, who had custody, wouldn't allow it. She thought it was too dangerous, too risky. The kid could get hurt.
What horseshit. The kid was almost ten years old and he'd never had a bike.
For the first time in a long time, Ed felt fired up. He had gone into the store to buy the bike. He was told they were selling like hotcakes, and a shipment was due in soon. They could deliver the bike to Ed's home before Christmas.
What the hell, Ed had thought, handing his credit card to the clerk.
Fucking hell, Ed thought now, sipping bourbon and staring at the box. He hated the box. The only way he could hate the box more was if his wife was in it and it didn't have any air holes.
The bike had shown up at Ed's building just after six on Christmas Eve. He had run downstairs to let the delivery guy in, and that's when he realized the bike was in a box. The hated box.
Ed snapped at the guy making the delivery. "What the fuck is this?"
"You bike, meng."
"I don't see a bike. I see a box. A fucking big box. I saw a bike in the store window. I bought a bike. Not a fucking box."
"Fuckin' chill, dude. These bikes are made in China, right? Cheaper to ship 'em like this. You assemble, you ride."
Ed had given the guy the finger. "No, you ride, asshole!"
The guy shoved the box out of his truck, onto the sidewalk. "Later, dick."
Ed watched the guy get behind the wheel of the truck. "Where the fuck are you going? You aren't taking this fucking box upstairs?"
The guy put the truck in gear. "Runnin' late, homes. I got a load for yo momma."
The truck pulled away from the curb.
It took Ed twenty minutes to get the box up the stairs to his fourth floor apartment.
I'm a fucking Human Resources Information Specialist, he thought defensively, not a fucking steroid case.
Ed had dragged the box in front of the TV, pushing the coffee table out of the way with one foot. He was sweaty, and covered in the same musty-smelling dust that coated the big box.
Ed tried to tear the box open, without success. He tore one flap from the top of the box, and came away with a length of cardboard studded with massive copper staples like some medieval weapon. He threw it on the floor.
He went to the kitchen and got a knife to cut the straps and packing tape that sealed the box. The knife moved a half inch and then the blade snapped in half. Ed got a bigger knife. The straps turned out to be tough, sharp-edged metal, so Ed sawed a massive hole in one side of the box to get at the bike.
Green and white metal tubes and whitewall tires tumbled onto the carpet along with an assortment of other odds and ends, each in its own little sealed plastic bag.
Ed pulled the metal straps off of the box and threw them aside in a tangle.
Ed laid the parts across the floor. There didn't seem to be any assembly instructions. He returned to the box and turned it upside down, and then awkwardly lifted it over his head and gave it a shake. The instruction booklet fluttered to the floor in several parts.
While Ed was marveling at the fact that it was indeed a booklet of instructions and not just a single folded sheet, a heavy, old-fashioned chrome bicycle bell dropped out of the box and whacked him in the eye. He staggered towards the couch with his hands over his eyes and collapsed, forgetting he had moved the coffee table. The table shattered under him, and several small splinters were driven into his buttocks.
Ed was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. Even if he got this bastard of a bike assembled properly and gave his little boy an actual bike instead of an Incredible Disintegrating Death Machine, how could he be sure Will would even see it? His Ex might not even let him through the door with it.
Feeling his chest tighten with increasing stress, Ed got a glass and a bottle of Old Crow from a cupboard and pored himself a snort. Just one. A little something to help him calm down and focus.
He went back to the bike and started unwrapping all of the parts. Christ, there were an awful lot of them. He realized he would need tools and went to the box in the closet holding the rarely used implements. He found a small hammer, two screwdrivers, pair of vice grips and a massive pipe wrench that he could not remember buying.
Ed picked up the torn instruction book. A few pages fell to the floor. He put the pages in what he hoped was the right order. He was ready to proceed. He stepped into the kitchen for another knock, and took the bottle and glass with him
TANG PART #122A TO HOLD. INSERT YOURSELF INTO PART #4
What the fuck is this? Ed turned a page and read more of the instructions.
GROM UPRIGHT TUBAGE (A7) AND FIXACLE TO GORE MECHANISM WITH SCREW IMPLEMENT. WHEEL TO FORK AND AGAIN.
"Jesus!" Ed poured another drink. He grabbed the TV remote, flipped over to CNN, and then got down on the floor and went to work.
The ordeal lasted hours. At one point Ed let out a scream so loud his neighbors hollered about the noise and threatened to call the police. Ed's scream had been followed by gibbering curses as he rocked on the floor in a fetal position. With the half-constructed bike balanced upside down, Ed had been squatting on the floor and using the heavy pipe wrench to hold a nut in place while he screwed a hex-head bolt into the nut with the vice-grips. The pipe wrench had slipped out of his grip and slammed into his left testicle.
When Ed was putting the finishing touches on the bike, sliding the seat into place and attaching the chrome bell that had given him a black eye, he stepped on the piece of cardboard he had torn off of the box and thrown onto the floor. Two of the double-pronged copper staples pierced the bottom of his right shoe and were driven up into the tender arch of his foot. Already half in the bag, Ed had shrieked and danced on one foot for a moment, and then he had fallen over, landing on the tangle of metal straps he had pulled off of the box. The straps lashed at him like knives, making shallow but ugly cuts across his face.
Ed had crawled onto the couch and curled into a ball, fighting back a sob. He was a complete fuckup, as a father, as a husband. He should just give up.
*
Now there was an hour left between Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day.
Ed looked at the bike and wondered if his own dad had gone through as much hell way back when. Probably not. The old man had been tough, and Ed could just see him assembling that long-ago first bike in under an hour.
Man, what a thrill that had been. Ed smiled, remembered how cool it was, seeing a bike, an actual bike, beside the Christmas Tree. He had begged his parents to try it out, just in the driveway. His mom said no, because of the snow and ice, but his dad had given a 'what the hell' shrug.
Ed had raced outside with the bike, rode about twelve feet, and then wiped out, slicing his chin open on a ridge of black ice.
Sitting on the couch, running his fingers over the scar on his chin, Ed realized that had been a great day. He got to his feet and faced the dreaded Schwinn.
"Damn it to hell," he shouted, "My son shall have his bike!"
From next door came a muffled, "Shut the fuck up, you homo!"
Ed got down to the garage as fast as he could. He eased the bike through the hatchback of his car and slid behind the wheel. He clipped two cars on his way out of the garage.
The drive was short. He lived near his ex-wife's house because it made things easier on the weekends Will was with him. Snow was falling, each flake flaring briefly in the headlights.
Ed pulled into his the driveway and staggered out of the car. He looked at his watch. Less than alf an hour to go. He knocked softly on the door, and after a few minutes the wood chipper opened it.
"What do you want?" Her voice was almost a hiss. She looked like she was ready for bed. "It's late!"
"I have a bike for Will. I have a bike for my son."
"We discussed this already. Go away. You look like shit."
The door was closed. And locked.
Ed was incensed. "You harlot," he whispered. "You harpy. You harridan."
He trudged through the snow to his car. The bike beckoned to him with a wink of chrome.
Ed looked up at the roof. A thread of smoke was rising from the chimney.
Ed grinned, grabbed the bike, and began to climb the trellis beside the front door. The trellis went up to the roof. In summer it was green with ivy.
Ed wasn't so toasted as to think he could climb down the chimney with the bike. But Will's bedroom window was close to the trellis. Ed thought maybe he could ease open the kid's window and sneak the bike inside. It was worth a shot. His son was worth the effort.
God damn, Ed thought, this is one heavy motherfucker. He was holding the bike with one hand, climbing the trellis with the other. His muscles were trembling and he was out of breath. He looked down. He was about four feet above the ground. The trellis creaked loudly.
"Damn you!" He screamed it again. Screaming at himself. "Damn you, you will do this! You will do this for your boy!"
He saw a flicker of movement at his knees. The wood chipper was glaring at him through the front window. Holding up the phone. Dialing nine one one.
Ed put everything he had into his climb. Catching his breath, he hooked his arm through the trellis and looked at his watch. 11:55. Something snapped, a little wooden sound. Ed climbed further, until he was about twenty feet up, and right outside Will's bedroom window.
Colored lights flashed on the windowpane and Ed looked over his shoulder. Two cops were getting out of a cruiser, and his ex-wife was running down the walk, a coat thrown over her robe.
She started haranguing the cops. "Arrest him! Shoot him down! He's dangerous! He's threatening us!"
The cops were shaking their heads.
Ed heard a noise and turned his head. His boy was looking out the window. Ed smiled and raised the bike as high as he could and then the entire trellis ripped away from the wall.
*
Ed was on a backboard, wearing a neckbrace. He was swathed in bandages, and just about everything hurt. He was set on a stretcher. One of the cops called him a crazy bastard. His ex-wife called him worse than that.
As the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance Ed saw Will. His boy was picking up the bike, wheeling it down the walkway. The Schwinn was dinged here and there, but otherwise it looked fine.
"This is awesome," Will said. "Thanks, dad.
Just before the ambulance doors were slammed shut and the vehicle pulled away, Ed called out, "Merry Christmas, son!"
User Reviews
Submitted by swimmingbirdblue (user info) at 2006-12-13 22:41:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Nice. Warm and fuzzy-like.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-12-13 17:46:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by bigdicrick (user info) at 2006-12-13 16:31:33 (#)
Ranking: 2
I can relate to this, that boy will remember that bike forever!! Fucking whores!
--
Holy fuck.
Submitted by bigdicrick (user info) at 2006-12-13 16:31:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I can relate to this, that boy will remember that bike forever!! Fucking whores!
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-12-13 15:42:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
actually, this was 2 years ago
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-12-13 15:27:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I missed my ex-wife, so I reloaded.
Submitted by wookie (user info) at 2006-12-13 15:15:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
From next door came a muffled, "Shut the fuck up, you homo!"
That line was gold.
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2006-12-12 23:03:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
awwwwwwwwwww
missed this
Submitted by Cyrus (user info) at 2006-12-12 20:23:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
excellent!
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2006-12-12 19:11:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2006-12-12 18:31:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Entertaining
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-12-22 13:43:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by leilani (user info) at 2005-11-26 04:46:32 (#)
Ranking: 2
DUDE, it reminds me of bukowski, as do some of your other writings, but WAY BETTER
and i love bukowski
so that is COMPLIMENT
--
Isn't that, like, the 'Ascent of Man' dude?
http://www-groups.dcs.st-and.ac.uk/~history/Mathematicians/Bronowski.html
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2005-11-26 04:55:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
great!
Submitted by leilani (user info) at 2005-11-26 04:46:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
DUDE, it reminds me of bukowski, as do some of your other writings, but WAY BETTER
and i love bukowski
so that is COMPLIMENT
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-03 11:26:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Supreme Overlord damage control...
Submitted by Supreme_Overlord (user info) at 2005-07-21 22:17:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
shite
Submitted by thaumaturge (user info) at 2005-01-05 15:58:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2004-12-29 19:00:20 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
It only works once, dipshit. Or don't you know THE RULES?
__________________
Apparently not. BUt it's still fun!! LOLLLLORZZZ!!!1111!!!!!!!!
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2004-12-29 17:45:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2004-12-29 14:48:16 (#)
Ranking: 0
Hey, thanks for intentionally seeking out my only recent post with a perfect rating and busting it open out of spite.
--
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2004-12-29 15:56:55 (#)
Ranking: -2
Here, have another.
--
It only works once, dipshit. Or don't you know THE RULES?
Submitted by Girlwithaclue (user info) at 2004-12-29 17:36:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was an excellent story. I could picture that poor sorry son of a bitch putting together this bike for his only child. Brought back some memories.......
Submitted by Heather (user info) at 2004-12-29 16:38:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2004-12-29 15:56:55 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2004-12-29 14:48:16 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2004-12-29 14:36:03 (#)
Ranking: -1
No Comment
--
Hey, thanks for intentionally seeking out my only recent post with a perfect rating and busting it open out of spite. Let me guess...
-5'5"
-110lbs
-At last four zits in plain sight on any given day
-That undescended left testicle is starting to bother you
-You hate it that girls share their secrets with you because "You're just like one of us."
-You are actually proud of the fact that you have always been the only kid with no drool on his chin in all of the 'special programs you have been in
-Bathing only once a week has endowed you with the raw, earthy scent of feces
___
Here, have another.
Submitted by drfeggphd (user info) at 2004-12-29 15:09:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I missed this one.
Glad I saw it this time.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2004-12-29 14:48:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2004-12-29 14:36:03 (#)
Ranking: -1
No Comment
--
Hey, thanks for intentionally seeking out my only recent post with a perfect rating and busting it open out of spite. Let me guess...
-5'5"
-110lbs
-At last four zits in plain sight on any given day
-That undescended left testicle is starting to bother you
-You hate it that girls share their secrets with you because "You're just like one of us."
-You are actually proud of the fact that you have always been the only kid with no drool on his chin in all of the 'special programs you have been in
-Bathing only once a week has endowed you with the raw, earthy scent of feces
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2004-12-29 14:36:03 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
No Comment
Submitted by beer-turtle (user info) at 2004-12-26 01:10:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
well done.
for some reason I picture Ed looking like Al Bundy 'cept more pathetic
-Turtle
Submitted by Genko (user info) at 2004-12-24 21:56:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well done.
I could really feel Ed's frustration over that stupid box.
Submitted by Buckeye14 (user info) at 2004-12-24 20:39:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by AvrilLaPete (user info) at 2004-12-24 20:31:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good story. Nice looking bike.
Submitted by DonovanMD (user info) at 2004-12-24 19:23:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Could use a brushup, find a few better words to use in some places. Otherwise very well done.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2004-12-24 19:14:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
SOMEBODY CALL THE LIFETIME CHANNEL!
I forsee a made-for-tv movie in this story. Thanks a lot, asshole.
Submitted by shandythedog (user info) at 2004-12-24 18:27:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
an excellent concept (this resonates with deeper themes)and well executed with many great lines.
i chuckled several times, and also felt myself becoming sympatheticaly enraged over the carboard box.
probably could do with a little tightening, but great stuff.
Submitted by ICO (user info) at 2004-12-24 18:25:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Miss Doubt-fire-ish in both length and main theme. I did, however, enjoy this littly diddy.
Submitted by IronChef (user info) at 2004-12-24 16:56:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by MickGinny (user info) at 2004-12-24 16:50:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
really cool story.
and that style of bike is my favorite without all the bells and whistles though. just a basic 5 speed schwinn beach cruiser. remember the rust colored ones? that one model that only came in the rust color?. it weighed about 100lbs, a freakin tank!
Submitted by krootons (user info) at 2004-12-24 16:31:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
So much suspense for such a simple plan. Well done.
Submitted by stardamage (user info) at 2004-12-24 16:06:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Great stuff.
Submitted by mikethescottish (user info) at 2004-12-24 16:03:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Simply awesome.
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2004-12-24 15:56:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I have an old cruiser-style Huffy like that. Surfside, I think it's called.
I love that thing.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2004-12-24 15:46:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I hate Xmas and this was STILL one Grade A fucking good story.
This can't get in Reader's Digest? Or The New Republic? Or "Swank"?
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2004-12-24 15:41:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was already getting a +1 just for using the neam "Ed" as your title character- there's something funny to me about two letter first names like Ed, Al, et.al. (get it?) (neither did I.)
But this was good shit.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2004-12-24 14:48:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
A morning quickie... so to speak.
Merry Christmas everybody.