Me and My Bike

            One day I was staring on my motorcycle, an orange Supra X 125R manufactured in 2006. As I was standing and staring at its shabby body while looking for my writing idea, a conversation started to echo inside my brain.

            Me       : (Staring blankly)

            Supra   : Hey dude what are you doing?

            Me       : Nothing, just staring at you.

            Supra   : For what? Is there something strange with me?

            Me       : Nothing, I’m just going to write something about you.

            Supra   : What are you going to write about me?

            Me       : That’s exactly what I’m thinking about.

            Supra   : You just don’t know what are you doing, aren’t you?

            It has been ten minutes since i stepped to the parking lot. I have been walking around the corner to find something to write about until I stopped at this place. Perhaps because this 4 feet height    thing has been accompanying almost all the time, my heart is unconsciousnessly bounded, and I just walked to its side. Now ‘Supra’, that’s what most of the people including me called the Supra-branded motorcycle, is talking back at me.

            Supra   : Hey dude, have you finish staring at me yet? I have an idea for you.

            Me       : Great, what is it Supra?

            Supra   : Why don’t you write down about how do you treat me?

            Me       : Mmm..that’s a good idea. Why don’t you just tell me to make it more objective?

            Supra   : Okay pal. Suit your self, i’ve been holding this inside my heart for a long time.

            Me       : (Preparing my pen and book)

            Supra   : You really make me upset, look at my body, it’s so dirty. You are rarely get me washed as I deserve to. Everyday you let me burned down by the sun, washed down by the rain, sometimes the birds dumped their poop on me.

            Me       : Well if you got pooped on, that’s not my fault. It’s a normal thing for a parked vehicle like you.

            Supra   : I know, but you never do anything good afterward. Now let’s take a carefull look on me, some of my parts are terribly scratched and you do nothing about me. Don’t you care about my appearance?

            Me       : Well I actually do care. If I don’t i won’t spent my money on you in the first place.

            Supra   : That’s not the only ones. You are rarely take me to the monthly maintenance even it doesn’t cost a lot, the oil inside my body is getting rotten, i oftenly choked up every time you turn me on. You only spend your money for your self, you don’t care with me. I’m getting sick of this. Just sell me out to another people or maybe just dump me away. I better get dumped and crushed instead of living like this.

                        I was just keep writing as the imaginary conversation continued. Then a man walked in front of me, perhaps he was also wondering about my i was doing by sitting on the ground while writing down something.

                        Several minutes have passed and I stopped writing. The conversation suddenly ended when i realized that it was almost time to go back to the class. Then I just walked away from my motorcycle, wondering why such theme tuned out to be an imaginary conversation, perhaps since what Supra said came from the reality of how i treated him. My pace was getting faster and surprisingly something came up on my mind: I gotta take my Supra to the maintenance next week!