Did you call? I ask Drew. I am struggling to provide the transportation support he needs to get to driver's ed and back. I really ought not to be taking extra time from work to ferry him about, and with his wounds, he hasn't been able to walk really.
No. I understand his reticence to assert his right as a paying customer and insist that they treat him better. Two weeks to fix a slightly out of shape bike is too long. Call. I insist. Better to learn to be bold now when the stakes are not high. He calls. He beams from ear to ear. Yes, it is ready. After work, he drives us to the place (my heart in my throat), and I make him go in by himself. I sit in the car. Besides I am still pretty wrung out from Sunday's fiasco.
I watch people wandering in and out of the sporting goods store, amazed at how many overweight people go in there. Of course, I have no leg to stand on. At least they are trying to take up some sport. Soon Drew comes out with the bike and I do not offer to help him mount the bike rack and hook the bike down. He manages quite competently. I rest.
He drives back, but the speed on 390 is a bit much on the bike and we are both nervous, so he exits earlier and we wend our way home at a more reasonable pace. He gleefully recites out loud all the places he can now go without having to wait for a ride. The Library, the store, class - isn't it amazing how mobile a little thing like a bike can make you!
I am happy for him. I am happy for me. I am relieved that the darn thing was fixable and all is well. Then I hear him plotting about how he will go pick up his car - once he is able to save up enough money to buy one after he gets a job . . .
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