THE SCOOTER by Lucille Hedges

“Geez Gene, ain’t this a terrific little gadget?” Barry eyed the turquoise three-wheeled scooter and displayed an evil grin. “Hey! This might make for one heck of a ride.”

          “Good Lord, man, start acting like a grownup for once in your ancient life.”

          I watched as Barry straddled the saddle, turned the key, and eased his way out of the shop and into the parking lot. He took a couple of turns around the tarmac and came to a halt altogether too close to my Nikes.

          “Buzzing around on this little jewel is a blast. You ought to loosen up and give it a try. Besides, it’s made fer us old crips.

          “Bye . . .”  He headed across the parking lot with a whoop.

          “Oh my God! The lunatic’s loose.” I rushed past the shop and watched helplessly as the trike and its crazed pilot careened down the street. My last view of the duo was a swirl of dust as my demented neighbor spun wheelies in the intersection at the block’s end, then turned down the dusty side road.

          I leaned back against the window of JANNER’S ABILITY and waited.

          Bert Janner came to the door. “Why don’t you come in while you’re waiting, Gene. The coffee’s hot and the company’s good,”

          “Thanks Bert, but I think I’ll just go home. The game’s on this afternoon, and I don’t want to miss any more of this one than I already have.”

          “Okay. I’ll tell him he’s on his own. He can ride the dang thing home, but your buddy’s gotta put down some serious bucks on that little machine. You know the ol’ saying ‘you break it, you bought it’? Well he just bought it!

          “Good luck with that.”

          It’s not like home is very far. We, that is Mary Jane and I, live about a mile and a half from the shopping center. And today MJ is off with the neighborhood golden girls on what is destined to become a golden afternoon. I make it. She spends it.

          Jessy woofed once, then came to greet me. She followed as I hit the fridge, grabbed a cold one and headed for the sofa. “Come on up here, girl. Kick back with me.” The dog gave a lunge and crawled halfway into my lap.

          About ten minutes into the game my phone rang. It’s one of those phones that tells you everything. And what it told me was that the sheriff’s station was on the other end of that call. Guess I better answer.

          “Hey Gene, don’t hang up on me! This is my one call. The sheriff cuffed me – took me in and impounded the scooter. I need your help. Bad. Puh-le-e-z-e come bail me out.”

          “Yeah, buddy, I’ll be right down.”

          Grinning, I settled back on the couch, gave ol’ Jess a pat and took a pull on my long-neck.

          The game ran two hours.