Tag: short stories
I was just a biker…
by Steven Buehler on Nov.14, 2007, under Uncategorized
I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk. I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant. I saw you roll up your window and shake your head when I drove by. I saw you frown at me when I smiled at your children. I saw you stare at my long hair. I saw you roll your eyes at our leather coats and gloves. I saw you look in fright at my tattoos. I saw you change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere. I saw you complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be. I saw you yelling at your kids in the car. I saw you reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road. I saw you race down the road in the rain. I saw you run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time. I saw you cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in. I saw you waiting impatiently for my friends to pass. I saw you go home to your family. I WAS JUST A BIKER. A person with friends and a family. But you didn’t see me.
I saw you hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line.
But you didn’t see me put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.
But you didn’t see me playing Santa at the local mall.
But you didn’t see me attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief.
But you didn’t see me driving behind you when you flicked your cigarette butt
out the car window.
But you didn ‘t see me when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless.
But you didn’t see me and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love.
But you didn’t see me and my brothers donate our old coats and gloves to those that had none.
But you didn’t see me cry as my children where born and have their name written over and in my heart.
But you didn’t see me going home to be with my family.
But you didn’t see me when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.
But you didn’t see me pat my child’s hands, knowing he was safe behind me.
But you didn’t see me squeeze my wife’s leg when she told me to take the
next turn.
But you didn’t see me get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to
go on his date.
But you didn’t see me trying to turn right.
But you didn’t see me leave the road.
But you didn’t see me. I wasn’t there.
But you didn’t see me. Because, I died that day you cut me off.







