Bishop

Bennington’s words swirled round in my head for what seemed like ages. Could I really go back to riding for fun? I wasn’t so sure. For so long riding had been about making my father look good. Now that he’s out of the equation, sort of, I guess there’s nothing stopping me, but right now, I don’t even know if I can tell what fun looks like. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything on a bike that could be described as such. Maybe if Jake were here, he and I could…. But he’s not. I keep the picture of us beside my bed. I keep thinking, hoping, that one day we’ll be together. I know it’s me who’s preventing us from being together and I’m working on, well me, I guess, but it’s so fucking hard. It’s not so easy to turn my life around when everything I’ve been working for has disappeared. Yes, I’ve resented my father my whole life, but by riding and playing my part, I was obviously happy to go along with his way of doing things. Maybe it was my way of copping out, and now that I don’t have that excuse it’s all on me. And that’s scary as fuck.

But right now, top of my list is getting these community service hours done so I can get out of here. Not that it’s bad, it’s just, I feel Bennington examining me, judging me, trying to force me to do the things I don’t really want to do. It’s like he can see everything that’s going on with me and it’s creepy as hell.

“Bishop,” he calls out as I restock the small drink chiller we have next to the reception desk.

“Bennington,” I reply as I wait for him to make his way up here from the downhill track.

“I’m having a viewing party here tomorrow morning and was wondering if you’d want to help out? It would count towards your hours if you were willing.”

I shrug. “Sure, it’s not like I’ve got a busy social schedule or anything.”

“Good.” He nods. “Because of the time differences, it’ll be an early start, probably 5:00 a.m. Guests will start arriving at six.”

“What’s going on?” I ask as I continue to put drinks in the chiller.

“It’s the Extreme Games,” he says, and I stop dead. “I, ah, thought you’d realised they were on.”

“N-n….” I clear my throat. “No, I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Guess my invite got lost in the mail huh?” I joke. Truthfully, I’m not sure how I feel about the games. The competitor in me is pretty fucking pissed that they didn’t reach out to the current BMX Big Air and Vert gold medallist to make sure he was coming back to defend his medals. But I suppose having no team and no sponsors is a pretty big indication I’m not in the game—in addition to the whole not riding thing, of course. The overwhelming emotion I’m feeling, however, is jealousy, I think. I’m jealous the games are on and I won’t be there. I want to be there. Not to parade myself around, but to be in an environment where I’m surrounded by the best the world has to offer in my sport. Not so I can watch them and copy their tricks, but to be somewhere where everything else just disappears. Where nothing else matters. But is it enough to get me back on my bike? That’s the question, isn’t it?

“If you don’t want to help—” Bennington begins.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll do it. It means less time having to help you with your workshops.” I throw him a smile, but again, it’s like he sees right through it.

“If you’re sure?”

I nod. “I’m fine with it, really. But if we’re getting an early start, I should probably be getting to bed. Big day tomorrow and all that.”

“Sure,” he agrees.

I go into the room that has become my home. I’ve claimed a bottom bunk, my clothes spread all over the place; my bike and some of the stuff Bennington grabbed are untouched in the corner.

I run my hand over the handlebars of my bike before swinging my leg over and sitting down. How did something that used to be such a massive part of my life come to mean nothing? Sure, my dad pushed me into pursuing BMX, but it’s like Bennington said, there had to be something before that, right? I’m sure there was, I just can’t find it right now. Getting off the bike, I rummage through the bag of stuff Bennington collected. There’s a heap of parts and tools, as well as my Extreme Games medals. I laugh when I see them.

Digging deeper I find the letter Jake wrote when he left. I’m not sure how it got in here, but his careful, precise writing is comforting to me.

Unfolding it, I read it again. I don’t realise I’m crying until a tear drips on the letter. I look up, my eyes falling on my bike once more. Could it really be that simple? Just be myself, and I could finally be with Jake? It seems so straightforward, but I know it isn’t as easy as that. With a sigh, I fold up the letter and get ready for bed. The last thing I see before I fall asleep is the picture of Jake and me.