Chapter 6 - THE ALIGNMENT OF TRUTH
The metal end-cap of the handlebar approached the scratch.
The man moved with surgical precision.
He slotted the torn blue tape directly into the groove of the scratch.
It was a perfect, seamless fit.
The height matched.
The color matched.
The trajectory of the tear aligned exactly with the gouge in the metal.
He held the bicycle steady with one hand.
He didn't look at the scratch anymore.
He turned his head and looked directly into the woman’s green eyes.
"Don't move that."
His voice was low, vibrating with quiet authority.
The camera snapped to the woman’s face.
Her green eyes were blown wide open, the pupils swallowed by the iris.
Her lips parted slightly, freezing in the middle of a breath.
The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her freckles stark against pale skin.
She stared at the blue handlebar tape resting perfectly inside the silver wound.
She remembered squeezing past the car that morning.
She remembered the slight resistance, the screech of friction she had ignored in her rush.
Her shoulders slumped.
Her hands hung limp, the fingers twitching slightly.
She slowly turned her head to look at the toddler.
The boy was no longer crying.
He was looking at the yellow truck, which the man had placed gently on the hood of the car.
The boy walked over to the truck.
He reached up on his tiptoes and pulled it down.
He hugged the plastic toy to his chest.
"The sun doesn't hurt the sky," the boy whispered to the plastic wheels.
The woman squeezed her eyes shut.
A single tear broke loose, cutting a warm path down her pale cheek.
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She didn't wipe it away.
She just stood in the heavy heat of the driveway, completely silent.
