The Creaking Bicycle

The creaking slowly closed in on him. Crossing the area around the warehouses after dark was always a risky gamble. The soul-bandits lurked around in the dark looking for the weak ones. Cycling at a slow and confident pace, Cyrus took deep breaths, conscious not to let his heart race.

The known voice, as if a subtle breeze, brought comfort in disguise to Cyrus. 

“How have you been?” Noah asked.

Cyrus turned his head to the right to see his old friend cycling right by his side – his bike making the same old creaking sound it always did. In the dim street lights and the little illumination the moon blessed the streets with, the cycle looked brownish, patches of corrosion all over it. Noah wore the white shirt he was wearing when they had a fight. Noah looked to his right though, away from Cyrus as if still guilty.

“It has been a year and I am good. To decide to come and talk after the last time, this is a bad choice of place, Noah.” – Cyrus said, condescending, yet considering. 

“Oh no no, I was just going home, happened to recognise your cycle back at the station.” Noah clarified.

Cyrus did not reply. He couldn’t find it in himself to make small talk with Noah after what had happened. Certain scars run deep. 

“I am sorry. I know that you have not told anybody and I am grateful to you. I am forever going to be grateful to you. Trust me Cyrus, they had enough, they were rich.”

“It doesn’t matter if they were rich or poor. What are you even saying? You hit that lady with a brass vase. You are lucky she did not die. Had that lady not made it, be rest assured Noah, I would have told the police, friend or not.” – his voice rose with anger.

After Cyrus spoke the air was filled with the creaking of Noah’s cycle. Cyrus was in a hurry, He increased his pace, his feet moving with a quiet urgency against the pedals. Noah however rode with ease, his cycle, creaking in a distorted rhythm.

Cyrus clenched his teeth as the grinding of metal on metal ran shivers through his body. He held onto the handlebars and looked straight. The darkness ahead seemed more warm and welcoming than his friend who rode by his side.

“Dad had just passed away and Maa was sick. They were supposed to be asleep. The intention was never to hurt someone. You know, people think it was a robbery that night.” Noah paused for a second before he spoke again. “To me, I just stole my mother’s life away from the inevitable. God gave me an opportunity. I just took it,” – Noah tried to explain – his voice calm as a graveyard that was never visited — his head still turned the other way, as if trying to look as far away from Cyrus as possible.

Cyrus did not speak immediately after. He knew it was true. Noah’s father worked at the railway quarters. They needed a dedicated man to take care of the small needs the officers had. Small needs that were not so small after all. Noah’s father had to go to great extents to get those small needs satisfied. The catch? Noah was supposed to get the job in case something happened to his father. The moment he died of cancer, the work went to one of the officer’s relatives – someone they said had a more suitable skillset for the job.

Cyrus took some time before he spoke, “I did not tell the police not because I care about you. In fact, on the contrary – I just don’t care.” – stern as if every word coming out of his mouth came with the intent to feel like needles. 

“You called me a,” he took a pause before he continued, “You called me a coward for telling you that you were wrong. You still can’t look at me, Noah. You know that you were wrong that night and you are still wrong to this day. So what if you did it for the right reason! ” – Cyrus said, his voice soft yet harsh like the first word that had come out.

In a sleek, shrill tone Noah laughed. Cyrus wiped the sweat off his forehead with his right hand. He noticed Noah stopping pedaling his cycle from time to time; but the creaking never did. It probably came from the wheel.

In a voice softer than he himself ever heard, Cyrus whispered “I have to get home quick. We can talk about this some other day.” The moment the last word came out, he pressed on his pedal as fast as he could.

The two of them crossed the last patch of the warehouse.

Noah laughed again. “ You called me a petty thief and a murderer, while I am none of those things, but that’s alright. Alas, there was but one thing that did make us fall apart.” 

Cyrus did not wish to speak anymore. He couldn’t explain why he felt the way he did. Trying to pedal fast, he slipped. His heart skipped a beat, but regaining control of the balance, he carried on.

“For what it is worth, I am sorry for calling you a coward. You are not, you’re worse – you are righteous.” – Noah became inaudible as the last few words came out of his mouth – as if the wind tried to eat away at them. 

At a little distance, Cyrus saw the light in front of his house. The grey metal light-post he had seen everyday since childhood, only today came as a relieving sight. 

When they finally arrived in front of Cyrus’s house, the dimly lit street lamp threw a pale bluish-white light on Noah as he stood there looking at the other side – his left feet on the ground and his back bent as he held tightly onto the handlebars. 

Cyrus got off his cycle, beads of sweat running down his forehead, his chest noticeably swelling with every breath he took. 

With a little wave that was powered right from the shoulder, Noah said, “Tell me, What would you choose? Your mother or your dignity? Goodbye Cyrus. Don’t be around the warehouses at night though. They asked me to take yours; but you know, you are a friend. It might just not be me everytime.”

“Who?” – Cyrus asked, feeling heavy with every breath.

After letting out a small mocking laugh, Noah jokingly said,”The soul-bandits you fool. Who else?”

As if the cruel joke was what he was there for, Noah rode off in the dark immediately after.

The excessive exhaustion had left Cyrus too tired to think of anything. However, the darkness and the strange joke from his friend made him quickly walk his cycle inside the house. 

The day’s tiredness, the exhaustion of the strange meeting with his friend and the softness of the bed should not have allowed him to stay awake for much longer but the creaking of Noah’s cycle rang loudly in his ears. 

The Sunday morning gave Cyrus time to cherish sleep. After stretching out his hands and a last big yawn, Cyrus got off his bed, freshened up and sat on the table for his humble breakfast – potatoes and two slices of bread. 

His mother put the plate in front of him and said,”Noah went out last evening to see you.” – her voice cracking as the next word out. “He wanted to go see you at the studio. On the way to the station a car ran over his neck. People who saw it said they had tried to take him to the hospital. He died on the spot.” Her voice broke and tears ran down her cheek.

Cyrus sat there, his breakfast in front of him, juggling between whether to mourn his friend’s death or dread his presence.

He slowly reached out to his plate, picked up a slice of bread and took a bite – but swallow; he couldn’t.