White. Hot. Blinding pain.
She glanced down through squinted eyelids and saw the torn knee on her jeans. Red already began to ooze out and to stain the loved pair. She bit her lip to hold back a cry and blinked rapidly to keep her tears at bay.
It's just a scratch, it's just a scratch, she chanted over and over again in her head. She didn't like it that she cried so much even if she had a perfectly good reason to.
Nothing might have changed if right then she hadn't looked up. She would have continued to be the shy, clumsy, child that she was, and grown into a shy, quiet, clumsy teenager who was very self conscience. She would have taken what life gave her and let the whole world walk right over her.
She would have become one of those women you see in out of the way coffee shops with a book in their hand as if it held life's answers. And not in a good way.
Her sweatshirt would have been too big, hiding what was underneath and eliminating any chance of guessing what was. She would have had her naturally curly hair past her shoulders with no apparent style, limp and neglected.
She would have been one of those people who you never noticed, one of those people you bump into and yell sorry over your shoulder and you catch a glimpse of them but would never recognize them, or even remember them. But when you did notice them, you would see them and you would be reminded of a child who was too afraid to crawl so never learned to walk, one of those people who are afraid of ever striking out.
As it happens she did look up. Her tears blurred the playground and the children playing there. The sun made it hard to see and the wind carried sounds of laughter and shrieking from the children. But what had made her look up was a loud rumbling sound; an engine revving.
Wiping the tears away with the inside of her palm she focused where the sound was coming from. What she saw made her eyes widen and she took in an involuntary gasp of air.
Just parked outside of the school was a bike glistening red with an engine that roared loud. She didn't know it at the time but she was looking at a ZX-9R Crotch Rocket.
The beauty of the machine distracted her enough that she didn't even notice the dull throbbing her knee was doing. She was as entranced as a tourist at the Grand Canyon for the first time. She just stared.
Her eyes became focused again when she noticed someone step off of it. The person fascinated her almost as much as the bike.
They were wearing a black leather jacket unzipped to show off a grey cotton t-shirt with low ride blue jeans, mixed with brown lace up boots. One hand was draped over a helmet held at their side, while the other went to ruffle their hair.
She couldn't tell who or even what gender that person was for the sun was glaring right above their head, but she did know that she was captivated. She watched transfixed as the person strode across the street and into the coffee shop there.
Their back disappeared through the door with a jingle and was gone from sight. She didn't even realize she was still staring till the bell ringing knocked her out of her trance.
She didn't know who that person was or what they were like, but she did know she wanted to be able to ride a bike like that and have the confidence to move and not care what others thought of her. She didn't want to be too scared to try something different.
She pulled herself to her feet, momentarily remembering her scraped knee, and winced. Heading for the door to the school she glanced once more at the bike and something in her was decided. She wouldn't know what that was for years to come.
Elementary school after elementary school, she had been to more than five. She would spend maybe a year in each before her mom decided to just pack up and move. Trucks full of boxes, the smell of fresh new paint, and brand new neighborhoods; it was nothing new to Isabella.
Most girls her age would complain and whine and scream when their mom decided to uproot their lives and take them away from the cute blond boy they were crushing on. Not her. Not Isabella.
If anything she was happy. Every place her mother took her, she met new people and learned new things. She conversed more with her teachers then the other kids in her class, helping her speech tremendously and her outlook on life.
It didn't matter where she went though. She was always looking for a specific type of person. That person that walked into a room not knowing who's in it or what is going on inside and yet still being able to hold a confidence that fascinated her so much that she craved it. She craved what that confidence brought. Knowledge. Intelligence. The ability to believe in themselves and yet admit to defeat when they were wrong.
That type of person.
Subconsciously of course, she didn't know she was even looking for anything most of the time. Only when someone would show an inkling of that persona would she realize she was seeking something. But then it would turn out to be a fluke and her attention would switch to the game at hand or what someone across the room was saying.
Isabella never forgot that shiny bike that triggered something inside her. No matter where she went, she searched the surrounding area for a bike like that, and every time she caught site of one sitting outside of a building or racing down the highway, her eyes would sparkle with suppressed glee and she would grin a full toothy grin that made others wonder what she was thinking if they caught site of it.
She would dream about it, and about meeting the person that rode one of them and what they would be like.
And her dream came true.
They were living somewhere in Arizona close to the boarder of Nevada when her mother Renee took her to the grocery store. It was a Saturday and hardly anyone was around. The day was blinding hot, only cooled of by the breeze that swept by. Her mom had asked her to stay in the car being that she was in eighth grade and could take care of herself.
Isabella just stared out the window watching the wind carry the dust around and a few pieces of trash that someone was too lazy to throw away.
She was in the middle of wondering if the sand that flew by could be from the far end of a desert or if it was from the ground beneath her mom's car when she heard the rumble of an engine. Normally she wouldn't have looked up, but over the years her ears had become fine tuned to the sound of a bike revving.
Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed in on the bike parking a few spaces down. It was sleek and shiny, and it drew her in. She watched the person set the stand and slide of the side of their bike. They moved to the back of their bike where they fiddled with the buckle on the bag attached to it.
Unbeknownst to her, her hand had reached up and opened her door while her feet pulled her in the direction of the magnificent machine. Her body came to a halt as the person turned around and faced her.
Isabella stopped and held her breath, just staring at the tinted lens of the person's helmet. When they reached up and tugged it off and released a cascade of bright red hair that fell past their shoulders, and unleashed startling blue eyes, almost the color of the sky, she let out her pent up air.
They stared at each other for a second before Isabella mustered up her courage and offered her hand and the greeting "Do you feel alive when you ride it?"
For a split second she thought the woman wasn't going to take her hand, but then a smile curved her lips and she grasped Isabella's hand and offered the reply "Like the wind."
Isabella grinned at the unexpected answer and questioned the young woman about the machine she could hardly take her eyes off. The woman, who she later learned was named Marissa but went by Duckie, didn't seem to mind talking to a thirteen year old.
Isabella who thrived with talking to Duckie was pulled out of her conversation by her mom calling to her from their car. Isabella reluctantly bid her goodbyes to the woman that had what she dreamed of.
A few feet from her mom, Duckie called out. "Hey Isabella!"
Her body turned and she looked back Duckie. "Find a word that suits you for who you really are, not what your parents named you." And she walked away.
Isabella watched as she went into the store, carrying herself like the world couldn't touch her. Her mom called her and she got into the car.
That was the final thing that helped Isabella reach clarity. If she would have met almost anyone else other than Duckie, then she wouldn't have turned out as she did. If she would have met someone who radiated arrogance and was major hard core with stuck up qualities, then she would have let that dream die. But she didn't.
She met Duckie who was like a breath of fresh air and talked and walked as if confidence and self-assurance was in every pour of her being, giving her a glimpse of the person that she wanted to become.