Thursday, October 19th, 2017

Zeke and His Hog
by
Zalman Velvel

"Zeke, it's an 80 horsepower you-know-what." Sally remarked while looking at the brochure.
 
"Yes, and don't you think it will look good on me?"
 
After fourteen years of marriage, they still sat at the kitchen table after dinner, sipped coffee, and discussed their day. He studied her while she studied the Harley Davidson brochure. Look at her, he thought, she's almost forty, and she still knocks me over. He watched her push back the tuft of brown hair that fell into her bright blue eyes. When she looked up, he pretended he wasn't staring.
 
"Well, your Uncle would have wanted you to enjoy the money."
 
"Thanks, honey." He reached for her hand under the table.
 
"But a motorcycle," she added. "I don't know …." She let go of his hand.
 
Twenty-five thousand dollars. That was what Uncle Joe left Zeke in his will. The money fanned the fires of a lurking desire, a yearning that smoldered for 25 years. In this fantasy, Zeke was riding a brand-new, jet-black Low Rider. A hog.
 
But it was a very expensive toy. He needed another opinion.
 
"Zeke, you're nuts. It costs as much as a new car." Howard was breathing hard as they came to the end of their jogging route.
 
Zeke accompanied Howard in his war with Mother Nature. The battlefield was the streets of Lawrence, Long Island. Howard's paunch testified to his losses, and his bald head at 41, a bitter defeat. Zeke, at 39, was luckier. He ate what he wanted and didn't gain. His full head of brown hair, his unwrinkled skin, and his supple, six foot frame were the result of genes, not sweat and hard work.
 
"Howie, the important question is this – if I get one, will you get one?"
 
"Only if it comes in red." Howard flashed his three musketeers smile. That was why he was Zeke's best friend – he always there for him. They agreed to go to the Harley showroom after work on Friday. It was a plan.
 
Howard had a heart attack and died Thursday night. That was not in the plan.
 
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© Copyright 2012 by Zalman Velvel Inc.
 
 
You may print this story for yourself, but not make copies without author's permission.
 
 
 

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