Jolene Wright
London, England
Bishop Motorcycles Dealership
April
My family moved to London when I was seventeen. My little brother was almost sixteen at the time, and he took it much better than I did. He and I were both born in Philadelphia, but our family had lived in Georgia for so long that we all considered it home—at least I did.
We had lived in the UK for six years now, and while we had no plans to leave, it still felt temporary to me. It's not that I didn't like London, because I did. I just always felt like I belonged back home in the States. My brother, Luke, on the other hand, never mentioned going back. He was flourishing in London. He had a girlfriend and a job he absolutely loved.
He was born with a mechanical mind, and his passion was engines, so the moment he was old enough to join the workforce, he got a job at Metro Motorcycles. He was barely seventeen at the time, but his managers quickly noticed his determination, and what began as a part-time, temporary job quickly turned into something more permanent and full-time.
Metro sold a wide variety of motorcycles and scooters, and Luke loved them all, but he was particularly fond of the Bishop brand most of all. It was for this reason that last year, when Bishop Motorcycles opened a dealership in London, Luke quit work at Metro to take a position there.
He was one of their youngest mechanics when he took the job, but his work ethic and passion spoke for itself, and now, after only a year at Bishop, he was an indispensable asset to their team. I knew this because I had heard my mom reiterating this point to my dad many times during the conversations where my dad complained that Luke needed to cut back on his hours "at the repair shop" so that he could attend the university.
Luke had no interest in going back to school, however. He wholeheartedly loved his job and insisted that he would be able to move up within the company without a degree. It was definitely a point of contention between him and my father.
Unlike my brother, I had done my father proud. I graduated college at the top of my class and was now working full-time at one of London's most prominent design firms doing graphic design and animation for marketing. My path truly pleased my parents—both aspects of it—the fact that I graduated at the top of my class, and the fact that I was an artist. My father was a college professor who taught Art History, so both of those things were near and dear to his heart. He was an eccentric guy who made time to dabble in lots of hobbies, but he had a real passion for fine arts and was a dedicated professor. He had taught in Savannah at SCAD for over a decade before transferring to London.
Dad didn't resent Luke for not going to college—he just thought that his life would turn out a lot better if he did. You would think that, as a lover of art, my dad would sympathize with my brother following his heart, but for whatever reason, Luke being a mechanic didn't seem to resonate with Dad. It wasn't a dream that my dad felt worthy of Luke chasing. I hoped that my brother was prepared for another one of these persuasive conversations because we were having dinner with my parents tonight, and the subject of college would, no doubt, come up.
"Luke's in the back," a man said when I walked into the dealership. He had a thick British accent just like everyone else around here.
I thought his name might be Ed.
He was an older, portly gentleman with rosy cheeks and a thick mustache. I had met him once before, which was how he knew I was looking for Luke. I smiled and hesitantly pointed toward a door that I thought might lead to "the back". I had been to Luke's work several times before, but never had I walked in without him, so I wasn't sure if I had the liberty to go into a back room by myself. My reluctance must have been clear by the way I hesitated because the man who had greeted me crossed the room with a smile as if heading over to help me out.
"Aren't ya Luke's little sister?" he asked.
"Yes sir," I said. (I didn't add that I was his big sister.)
"He's in the garage," he said, still walking toward me. He turned a little and pointed with a thumb over his shoulder at the door I had originally suspected would take me to Luke.
"He said I could go in through the back, but it was all closed-up back there, so I wasn't sure. I figured I'd come in this way."
The man's smile broadened as he approached, and I could tell he was thinking something as he regarded me. I wondered what it was.
"I like your accent," he said. "You sound like your brother."
I smiled. Comments on my American accent were something that happened regularly, and they always made me smile because, to me, it was the people over here who had accents.
As he came near, he motioned for me to follow him, which I did. Jolly. That was the word I would use to describe him—jolly. Like Saint Nick without the beard and outfit.
"I know we met once before, but you'll have to forgive this old man for not remembering your name."
"Jolene," I said.
"That's a pretty name for a pretty lady," he said.
"Thank you." I stared down at my own appearance. I still had on what I wore to work—navy slacks with a dressy, floral blouse. My long brown hair was still pulled up into a tight twist, and his comment made me remember that I had a dull headache and should probably take it down on the way to dinner.
We walked a few paces in silence before I said, "You'll have to forgive me as well. I know I learned your name last time we met, and I think I know what it is, but I'm not positive."
He chuckled. "What do you think it is?" he asked as we walked.
"Ed," I said, cringing a little.
He smiled but shook his head. "You're close," he said. "It's short and it begins with a vowel—it's Al."
"Al," I said, nodding. "I remember now." I pictured Al Pacino, one of my mother's favorite actors, in an effort to help lock the man's name into my memory.
By this time, Al and I had walked across the showroom (past rows and rows of motorcycles and a retail section where they sold things like t-shirts and leather jackets) to a set of swinging doors on the far side of the room. There were a couple of other employees in the showroom, so Al didn't think twice about escorting me to the back. He stepped through the threshold, holding the door open so that I could walk through. We went down a hallway, passing offices on our way to the garage where I knew we would find my brother.
At the far end of the hallway, there was another set of doors, and once we reached them, Al again held one door open for me. I could hear music playing the instant we stepped inside. It was a nice size room. It wasn't quite as big as the workspace at Metro, but it was clean and seemed to have new, state of the art equipment. There were four or five mechanic's stations and an area off to the side with about ten motorcycles lined up like they were waiting their turn to be serviced.
My brother was standing near his station with another gentleman. I could see them, but not in detail on account of the lighting in the room being dim. It was after 6pm, and while the showroom was still open, the shop was closed. Most of the lights in the room were off, save the ones right over my brother's station.
"Luke, you've got a visitor," Al called just before he turned to walk away. He smiled at me with a little wink, as if confirming that I was able to go the rest of the way on my own.
"Thank you," I said.
"Absolutely," he said as he walked away.
My brother and the other guy stayed in place as I began to make my way toward them.
"Sup JoJo, I thought you were coming in through the back," Luke said. "I had Amos leave the door unlocked."
"I didn't even try it," I said. "It was dark back there, so I just parked in the front and came in that way."
By the time I finished my statement, I was halfway across the room. I could see Luke and his companion more clearly now that I was closer to them. I couldn’t believe my brother was still covered in grease. I barely spared a glance at the other guy because I was so focused on Luke who was still very much in his work attire.
"I thought you were gonna be ready to go when I picked you up," I said.
"He is ready," the other guy said in a teasing tone.
This made me glance at him. He was a bad boy if I ever did see one. He was wearing ripped jeans and a t-shirt with a fitted leather jacket. He didn't have on the same uniform shirt that Luke or Al wore, but he leaned casually on a stool like he was completely at home in the shop. He wore a confident, mischievous grin that made me level him with a somewhat skeptical expression. We held each other's gaze for a long moment. He continued to smile wryly at me, and I gave him a questioning glance as if asking if we knew each other. I felt like he did look familiar.
"Wes came in a little while ago asking me to take a look at his bike," Luke explained, causing us to break our trance. "He was having trouble getting it started." Luke's words came out somewhat indistinguishable as he strained to tighten something on the motorcycle.
He let out a sigh afterward and stood, smiling at the guy named Wes. He set down his tool before wiping his hands. I watched as Luke straddled the bike, and fired up the engine, revving it a few times and then nodding at Wes before turning it off again.
"I think that'll hold you for a while," Luke said, tossing Wes the key before he got off the bike. "You really need to bring it in for a total overhaul, though," he added. "Or better yet, you could just get a new one."
Wes let out a little laugh. "Why get a new one when I have this beauty?" He gestured at the motorcycle my brother had been working on, which was not a beauty at all. In fact, I didn't even think it was a Bishop. It didn’t have the emblem on the gas tank like the other ones did. It was old, and not in a charming way. It was rusted in spots and parts of it were being held together with electrical tape. I was partially distracted by this and partially distracted by his American accent.
My brother wiped his forehead with his forearm, smiling at Wes. They had the sort of familiarity that made it seem like they were good friends, which was weird because my brother had never mentioned him. His accent made me wonder if he was someone Luke knew from the States—maybe that was why he seemed familiar to me.
"I'm gonna have to take a rain check on that dart game," Luke said, still talking to Wes. "I didn't realize how late it was." He shifted to stare at me. "I have a change of clothes with me. I'm just gonna take a minute to wash up and change."
"Do you have a shower here?" I asked.
"No. But I don't need a shower. We have shop towels and soap in the restroom. I'll get by. I'll be presentable, I promise."
I wanted to add that he better be presentable because if he went to Mom's birthday dinner smelling like a greasy mechanic my parents would never let him hear the end of it. I didn't say that, however. I just held my tongue and nodded. Luke turned and began straightening up his station.
"I thought your girlfriend's name started with a 'C'." Wes said.
"It does," Luke said, still cleaning. "It's Chasidy."
"You called her JoJo," Wes added.
Luke glanced up looking slightly confused for a second before he realized that Wes thought I was his girlfriend. He smiled. "This is my sister," he said, pointing at me.
"I was going to say… I met your girlfriend once before and I thought she was a redhead." He tilted his head at me, inspecting my appearance. "I thought maybe she could've dyed her hair, but I wasn't sure."
I looked nothing like Luke's girlfriend in the face, but I wasn't going to point that out. I just smiled and crossed my arms in front of my chest, signaling that I was content to quietly wait for my brother. Wes took a step toward me, extending his hand for me to shake.
"I'm Wes," he said. "Wes Bishop."
I shook his hand and smiled. "Bishop like the motorcycle?" I asked.
"Yeah, but don't tell anybody you know that," my brother said. "He's the poor one."
"I'm not poor," Wes defended. "I'm just not rich."
"Okay," my brother said. His tone was sarcastic, which made me curious. The two of them seemed to be sharing some sort of inside joke, but I didn't feel comfortable prying.
Once my brother felt like he had sufficiently straightened his station, he picked up a duffel bag and hung it on his shoulder. "I'm going to change," he said, looking at me. He shifted to smile at Wes and held out his hand for him to shake.
"Thanks so much for helping me out," Wes said. "I really do appreciate it."
"No problem," Luke returned. "I'm pretty sure you know where to come when you finally decide to let me do an overhaul on it, or just get a new bike."
"I do," Wes said.
Luke pointed at the outside wall. "You know how to open the bay door, don't you?"
Wes nodded. "I do."
"You can just leave it open. I'll make sure it's all locked up before I leave."
Luke walked away, headed to the restroom to freshen up and get dressed. I thought Wes would get on his bike and drive away at that point, but he hesitated. He shot me an easy smile. "I had my heart set on throwing a few darts with your brother if you want to take me on while you're waiting." He gestured at the dartboard that was hanging on the wall at my brother's station.
It did not belong to Bishop Motorcycles.
It was definitely my brother's. He had one just like it in his bedroom, and my dad had another one in our garage. I had one of them in my own office—all were the same brand and were utterly familiar and comforting to me.