Bike Trip with Son

Date: 1/18/2025

Husband, G, phoned to say he was stopping at ffVille, and I decided to surprise him by riding my bike there. Good exercise. I stopped in a barn diner, dark and somber, and noticed my son, B, had followed me on his little yellow push truck. Very dangerous but impressive for a two-year-old. I try to call G to come pick us up but he doesn't answer. A local toddler is eyeing B's toy truck but he doesn't want to share. The toddler's older brother asks nicely, but B sits on the curb with his arms around the truck, a stubborn look on his face. I explain that it is good form to share but he is defiant. I decide to leave it up to him. Perhaps he knows something I don't know. Since I can't get G, I decide to strap my son's bike to my own and share the long, banana bike seat of mine, home. I strap his bike to mine but it is unwieldy. I try tying it to the ong shift leading to the handle bars. My bicycle has become a motorcycle, and B's push truck, a tricycle. I am somewhat aware that I can balance it all because I'm dreaming. Inside the diner there is a back room. I am looking for supplies. I see G's jacket that he must have left behind and decide to take it for him. More to carry. There is a duffel bag, like a hockey bag. I see more of G's stuff, a suit, worn and discarded on the half-made bed, books, other clothes. I check the drawers and see pipes and rolling papers. Is this some sort of secret hang-out for him? I fill the duffel bag with his clothes but wonder if I shouldn't just leave them if he comes here often. I have the boy to carry safely on the bike already. The owner of the diner is cleaning tables and has no comment. She is very tired and dull in a grey dress and dirty limp hair. I can feel her fatigue.