Green Card

This time last year, our oldies (family elders, that is) constantly reminded me and Tyrone to limit-- if not avoid-- our outdoor activities lest we'd encounter some sort of mishap before our wedding. Superstitions or just mere precautions, we welcomed them anyway. It gave me the perfect reason to unwind and be free of the errands of the day.

So there I was between meditating and reminiscing in Dad's room while looking through old pictures of Mum, when I suddenly heard the motorcycle coughing from below my window. As I know, the only people who have a "green card" to drive it is Dad, my brother Koy, and our driver/houseboy/all-arounder Musoi. But Dad was at work, Koy in the city, and Musoi was mowing the lawn. Grrrrrrreat. That meant it could be my man.

For days since meeting the old pair of wheels, he had been full of anticipation in riding it "through dirt, sand, mud and grass". Well, the fumes of anticipation that it could be him escaped my ears, knowing there would be no one else anyway who had the courage to do
so-- that is, ride it without the permission from Dad. I looked out the window, and as if expecting I would be doing so, he smiled at me wider as he made the engine scream louder. He said he was going for a spin around the compound and down the dirt road leading to the river. I motioned for Musoi, who said that he didn't know how to not let Tyrone but had warned him to ask Dad first.

I was worried of inviting wrinkles again on my then supposedly relaxed skin if I started a discussion, so I thought it was best to stop him right on his tracks. However, before I could even dash downstairs, Tyrone had already sped off downhill... and I was instead Rapunzel left at the window watching her Prince gallop away. But like Jill "tumbling after" Jack, I did race downhill too and found him parked outside Dad's office. Hmm, he didn't think he'd get lucky, right?

Now, you see, getting the "green card" from Dad is no different from going through immigration itself, so if I were him it was better to abandon the idea. Dad was taking it really cool anyway and with a controlled laugh under his breath, calmly told Tyrone he can do all the mean riding after our wedding. Pleading only led him scratching his spotless head and finally yielded. We still had to take the motorcycle back home, and that meant riding it again. This time I thought I'd ride with him so he'd be slow and careful. What was I thinking? Of course he'd take advantage of that one chance. And so we raced through that short stretch from the feedplant to our house with a lot of swerving through the rougher edge of the dirt road. It was bloody wicked! Yeah, I was with Prince Charming, but I don't think any of those fairy tale princesses screamed like I did.

P.S. Tyrone got his green card after the wedding, but he was allowed to ride only within my visibility. Too bad, I'm nearsighted.