Photo by Mikkel Bech on Unsplash
I'm sorry about the time I left you unattended on my patio. Strong with sturdy wheels and a firm lock-you couldn't have been taken so easily. You were conspicuous by your absence. How could I notice you were missing only after three days? Or was it more than that? Black, shiny, and always well-groomed, eliciting looks of admiration, sometimes envy from onlookers. No wonder you turned pale with the arrival of the second one. Wheels sturdier than yours. White with red handles and a hint of unmistakable flamboyance. That's when my attention deviated. I became besotted and obsessed with the new arrival. You turned sicker, crying for my attention.
I walked by you often, my mind elsewhere. I didn't notice the light cobwebs beginning to form around your handlebars. I didn't see your pedals becoming rusty. I didn't notice your chains needed oiling. Or that your tires were starving for air. You asked me what's wrong. Why am I neglecting you? Why don't I take you out anymore? You've changed, you bawled. And I stood there, staring at you, half annoyed, half sorry. Why didn't you understand? I had miles to go before I reached my goal. You couldn't take me there.
I made a mistake when I placed the new one inside my tiny apartment. While you were out there, in the dark and cold. I should have put a blanket on you. I should have been more careful when I received warnings about the patio robberies. It would have been too crowded inside for you. Besides, I thought you preferred the fresh outdoor breeze as opposed to the stifling artificial blast of the air conditioner. The last time I saw you, you were in bad shape. I promised to take you for a tune-up the next day, but I procrastinated. Long hours, work, the incessant Bay area traffic. The entire weekend was spent in bed, catching up on my forty winks. And then when I remembered, it was too late. That space was hollow and void. It was as though you had never been there. How could I be so careless, irresponsible, and insensitive?
I'm sorry. I am sorry. I said it repeatedly until the air was sucked out of my lungs. I stood there blinking as the morning rays pierced into my eyes. Disbelief. Shock. Ashamed. I called out for you. Of course, you couldn't hear me. I should have placed a surveillance camera on you. But I didn't. In the time I waited, hoping you'd miraculously turn up, I would apologize for neglecting you for my selfish needs. I'd apologize for how I was obsessed with doing that 100-mile ride, for not clearing the junk and creating a space for you in my apartment. I'm sorry for that time when I thought you weren't good enough to go the distance. I'd apologize for not treating you well.
You are probably in a better place now. A place where you are loved and appreciated a lot more. Even though you were snatched away from me. Perhaps this is what you secretly wished for. Maybe this is Karma's way of getting back at me. What would I not do just to get that one chance to make amends? What would I not do for just that one chance to hold you in my arms, lock you in a tight embrace and beg for your forgiveness? I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. I keep mouthing this word with a faint hope that you will hear me one day and have the grace to forgive me.
Swetha Amit is currently pursuing her MFA at University of San Francisco. She has published her works in Atticus Review, Oranges Journal, Gastropoda Lit, Amphora magazine, Grande Dame literary journal, Black Moon Magazine, and has upcoming pieces in Morning Fruit Magazine, Poets Choice anthology, Fauxmoir lit mag, and Agapanthus Collective. She has also published a memoir titled 'A Turbulent Mind-My Journey to Ironman 70.3’ which received a special mention at the New York book festival. She was bestowed the prestigious Tagore Literary Award in 2021. She is an alumni of Tin House Winter Workshop 2022 and the Kenyon Review Writers’ workshop 2022.