Beyond Moniac

Seven bicycles sit in various places. Basso and Miele, the road bikes with the Campagnola Athena grouppo in the tool shed. Both chrome moly lugged steel, one Italian the other Canadian. The Trek Mountain bike that belonged to Roger Sessler in the pool house. The Giant Mountain bike from Eric, Jessica my niece husband on the back porch. The various other three in sheds and places, one with the child carrier, two others with parts missing, used to keep others functional.
I will go out and air up the tires, check the chains for rust, spray some WD on them. Used to be a time when daily I would rotate about, riding each at least once weekly. Now, they sit and wait my return.
Much sits and waits my return. It has a been a long descending that I have done since leaving JCPenney on that unexpected Friday in April when they said they were 'letting me go'.
It hit like a sledge hammer then and the numbness continues well after ten plus years. I have never quite recovered. I had come to the conclusion back then there was not much in life I was cut out for, and when I was able to provide somewhat of a living for my family being a retail manager, well, when that ended, I was just not prepared after nineteen years. I tried with Sears for six years and when that store closed unexpectedly in a August, again, I languished. I so feigned starting anew. A one year stint with Florida Power was the latest venture I undertook and that was a year ago.
And so another year has gone and the return has not taken place. Will I ever return?
There was a time when my friend Roger was living, that in times like these, he would come over, like clockwork, and we would plan for the next days long ride. There was a purpose, an anticipation, a looking forward to it. It would often take 70 to a 100 miles to sort things out, but by the end of the ride, things were usually put back in perspective and they did not seem quite so out of balance.
It is going on nearly three years since Roger passed on on that terrible night in October when Allen his son in law gave me that broken phone call, that he was gone. Never to return.
And so I attempt myself to return. In the wanting so much wanting others in my life to return, it grows more and more difficult with each passing day.