A Sound

A single sound can make all the difference. It’s hot today, hot like yesterday, hot like tomorrow. It’s humid, I don’t move much. Reaching for a cup of coffee while I wait for the oscillating fan to blow another steamy kiss my way, two young boys pass by the café. Their voices are high and squeaky. The café rents bicycles. All bicycles have bells. They can not resist. They ring the bells three times each and work their way down the row of red and blue bicycles with baskets parked in a row.

“Hey, look everybody,” Martini yells above the din, “I’m giving out wings!” Clarence rises above the taunt with a subtle smile. He’s got George Bailey to deal with; the people of Beaver Falls will have to wait another Christmas for their salvation.

The sound of the squeaky voices, the ringing of the bells, the thought that maybe there is an avalanche of wings being handed out to angels in waiting, the memory of Juju’s petals – these things make me smile. One of the little boys returns, alone, a few minutes later. He’s not squeaking and makes a more solemn stop at two of the bikes, this time ringing only once. Perhaps there were a few disappointed angels that he knew had waited long enough. He rings and moves on. I smile again.

The bell on my motorbike is not a bell. It’s not a horn. It’s a dull and tired electric clang like when I took apart the telephone as a child and pressed my little palm against the bell and waited for a call. I didn’t know about the bell on my motorbike until a few days ago. A dog wandered out into the street in front of me. Asian dogs are more savvy than North American dogs in terms of roadside safety. Some wander out into the road, but they all manage to get home safely each night to sleep on the high cool safety of the concrete table. He wandered out into the street, the light would change soon and I wanted to accelerate – not because I really wanted to get through the light, but because stopping for the light would mean 60 seconds of stationary baking in the sun inside my dark red helmet.

Clang. Clang. Clang. The pathetic sound was barely audible. The dog looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and laughed with my passenger about the sorry excuse for a horn. We made the light, the dog got to the other side, but I don’t think anyone got any wings from the affair.