of historic townhouses, restaurants, and clubs that were slowly encroaching on the real working-class neighborhoods farther on. I parked in a garage under a six-story brick building, elevated to the fifth floor, and knocked on the one door in the small lobby.
After not too long of a wait, the door opened. Eric’s blurred eyes stared at me a moment. Then he grinned.
“Jason!”
“Let me in,” I said.
“Yeah, come on.”
The maid did a good job keeping up with him. The living room was neat, and nothing was out of place in the kitchen.
But it was uninspired-no better than his old wardrobe. No theme, no color plan, too many textures. Leather and brass sofa and matching chairs circling an unmatching slate coffee table with heavy wood legs. Thick, deep green carpet. One whole twenty-five-foot wall a single huge entertainment center with five televisions. Not a thing on the walls. Tsk, tsk. He didn’t even realize he was living in squalor. Someday Katie would have to turn her attention to this place.
“Do you want anything?” he asked. He didn’t get to be host very often. He’d been eating breakfast, a bowl of cereal in front of one television.
“Orange juice,” I said. He poured a glass and brought it to me.
“So,” he said as I drank it, “did you mean it?”
“That’s why I’m here,” I said.
“Wow. Okay. So when should we go?”
“When you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.” He took his bowl to the kitchen, emptied it into the sink, rinsed it, and set it on the counter by the dishwasher. His maid had him well trained.
He was well trained in general, always doing what he was told. For today at least he would be in charge. “You drive,” I said.
“Cool.” He appreciated it. I never rode with him. “How far?”
“New Hampshire.”
“That’s where she was from, right?”
He wouldn’t have dared to ask Melvin, so I was the only other person who could have told him anything.
“Why didn’t you ever ask before?” I said. “I just thought you knew.”
“Well…” He hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to know.”
I just waited, and he went on.
“When I was little, when we were off at school, I liked to pretend I had a mother back home, like everyone else.”
“Sure.”
“If I didn’t know anything, I could still pretend whatever I wanted to.”
“Are you okay with going today?”
He nodded. “I want her to be real now.”
“Here’s a new rule, um, Number 90. Don’t ever be afraid to talk to me about anything.”
“Unless you’re mad.”
“The spaghetti was a special case. I said I was sorry.”
“And you skipped Number 89.”
“I’m sure we’ll get to it soon.”
Eric had opened a closet, and he took down a bright green helmet. He held it out to me. “Here you go.”
I would maybe wear a helmet when he was driving, but that was not what he meant. This was a motorcycle helmet.
“Uh… okay,” I said. Bright Kool-Aid green. Couldn’t it at least be any other color?
“And here.” It was the matching jacket. “It’s cold. Do you want the pants?”
I was supposed to be Motorcycle Man? Eric waited for me to not decide.
“You want the pants. And the boots. Why be cold when you can be cool instead? And if I drop you, it won’t hurt as much.”
Eric In Charge was a new experience for both of us. I submitted to his directions, and there we were, Evel and Knievel, tromping through the garage past my perfectly comfortable car, past all his perfectly comfortable cars, to the Boyercycle Zone.
He selected the largest horse in the stable, a two-seat Honda Goldwing. He put on his helmet, and so did I. All systems go, Houston. Ready for countdown.
Eric stuck his hand under my chin and moved a switch.
“Can you hear me?” he said inside my head. The helmets had speakers.
“Yes.”
“Cool. I’ve never had anybody to talk to before.”
Not that we would much, but I wouldn’t have to pound on him to get his attention.
“Don’t kill me, Eric,” I said.
“Is that Rule 89?”
The astronauts climbed into the space shuttle, Commander Eric first, Navigator Jason second. Five, four, three. The engine roared to life. Two, one. A jerk (the motion, not the passenger). Blast off.
We made a wide left sweep toward the exit, then right, faster and tighter, into the road.
“Lean into it, Jason. Don’t fight the turns.”
The rocket sped down the quaint and historic road. “Have you ever had a rider before?”
“No. It’s different.” Right turn. I leaned into it. “That’s better,” he said, then gunned the engine. “Hold on.”
I held.
He twisted the handle grip and the motorcycle accelerated hard.
But not too hard. Lots of people drive these things, so they couldn’t be too difficult. I could feel his skill, though, and his confidence, and his exultation. He wasn’t going to drop me.
Lean right into the entrance ramp. Around the circle, the concrete twelve inches from my shoulder, moving very rapidly. Onto the highway, back to straight ahead, back to vertical, back to fast. Increase to real fast.
“You still there?”
“Right behind you.”
He gunned the engine. “Get ready.”
I couldn’t judge the speed. We passed cars and no cars passed us.
But he knew how to do this; he’d never had a ticket.
“How do you like it?”
“It’s real sweet, Eric.”
He did this about every day. Just following the roads, every paved mile in New England, two wheels or four wheels, whatever he felt like.
We crossed into Massachusetts. “Where are we going?”
“You know where Laconia is?”
“Yeah.”
No map. He knew the way. This was his life, or his escape from life.
How were he and I alike? The boat and the bike were both speed and power, but sailing was a contest, me against the sea and wind. He was master of this machine and the road under it, no contest.
This was his world to be in charge of. He’d never been in charge of his life-always shuffled from school to school, told what to do, never certain of what would be permanent. I was his only permanence.
And I was always in charge, of him and everything else. I hated anyone telling me to do anything, so they didn’t. Maybe I got along with the wind because I had to respect it. There isn’t much else in my life I have to.
This was the same wind we were cutting through. My brother didn’t respect it, he reveled in it. He was the wind. He was a Boyer as much as I was.
What a wonderful bright day we were in, and there were mountains around us. I’d missed the New
