March 17, 2005
There is a guy named Kevin White.He is a jovial man of about 35 with a mental disability who purchased a silver Malaguti scooter from Lake Country Powersports years ago. Originally, the scooter was capable of only reaching speeds of about 30 MPH, but he brought it into the shop one day to have the pipe modified. After the modifications, the scooter could easily hit 40 to 45 MPH. He takes the scooter everywhere and I have no doubt in my mind that the thing has over 100,000 miles on it.
He would stop by the store nearly every week to have something on the scooter fixed and I can easily recall the little Denny's Restaurant sticker attached shoddily on the front with uneven, peeling strips of tape. He would pull up onto the sidewalk, his helmet as crooked upon his head as his balance, with a coffee mug in hand and sticky lines of coffee that had spilled down the surface of that silver scooter. He always stopped to talk to Gorgeous, if the doors were open to the garage, or make his way to the front floor to ask me or one of the other girls out on a date.
He had a high pitched, stentorian laugh that was unmistakable and somewhat crude. The brown hair atop his head was forever muffled like a mop and always in desperate need of a trim, and the boyish smile upon his face never failed to make a poignant appearance. When he was ready to leave, we would all gather to watch him take off like a bat out of hell into that busy one way, two lane street, narrowly missing car after honking car. It is truly a wonder that he is still alive...
But Kevin is very much alive and often passes my window in the afternoon; put, put, putting his way to work on that silver scooter that should technically no longer function. His helmet ever crooked and his equilibrium just as unbalanced as before. I always seem to watch him pass, as the entertainment of his inadequate driving abilities never fail to catch a moment of laughter within my heart.
The other day, I heard the familiar buzz of his Malaguti on this same two lane, one way street. He was in the right lane, as usual, but suddenly decided to quickly change to the left lane, barely missing the two cars that were directly in his path. Cars honked and tires squealed in order to avoid his fearless move from one lane to the next. He pulled into the apartment building's parking lot across the street from mine and rather clumsily parked his scooter so that it formed a T with the truck in front of him.
I watched him as he began to make his way down the sidewalk toward the Food Pantry. I wondered of his purpose as he climbed down the hill and ambled across the parking lot, looking for the entrance of the building and always choosing the door that was locked. He must have stopped four people in his short journey, standing in front of them with wild arms, describing the reason for his visit. I could only watch him with curiosity and speculation.
When he returned to his scooter and exited the parking lot, I laughed out loud as he once again pulled into a busy, bustling street chock full of cars and trucks and semis. He somehow avoided all mishap, as though ever protected by some divine force, and made his way down the street towards Denny's Restaurant.
All the days and nights that Gorgeous and I would make our way to that same Denny's where we would order breakfast, whether it was 3:00 a.m. or 3:00 p.m.. Breakfast sandwiches and Double Covered and Smothered, 'no onions, please.' Sometimes Kevin was working and he would be sure to take a seat next to Gorgeous, despite the fact that he was on the job. Kevin would laugh that hearty laugh as Gorgeous poked fun at him and demanded a free meal.
I still watch him pass, nearly every day, and think back on those days that belonged to only he and I; my Gorgeous man and me. The laughter on the sidewalk, our eyes wide with terror as Kevin eludes disaster with every sharp turn of the throttle, iced tea and french vanilla cappuccinos at Denny's and the smile upon his face. So very many things have changed and simply continue to do so without a single hesitation.
Yet Kevin still sputters by, without a care, incapable of knowing that his singular presence on this street brings me back to some of the best days of my life...