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Riding on Shorter's motorcycle is probably one of Ash’s favorite things to do.
Ever since Shorter started saving up for it—working extra at the restaurant and putting actual effort that even shocked Nadia—the red used motorcycle was all he could afford to buy and yet, it became both of their favorite thing.
The memories they have had with that motorcycle was a load for sure. The red, chipped paint motor had been with them through it all. Stealing, shoplifting, chased by cops, escaping dangerous fights and running away—away from New York City. That damn red motorcycle had been with them through everything.
From the Brooklyn bridge he could see it all—smell it all. Mixed in with the scent of Shorter he could smell youth, tourists, alcohol and sweat. The lower east side was as vibrant with young people as ever. That place was always crowded. Always.
Ash hated it with a passion, which is the reason why he decided to rent a rundown no ac no laundry no nothing egg of a fucking apartment on the west side. Wasn’t much, that was clear, but he had a bed and a tiny ass restroom and Central Park was just a few blocks down so it was okay. Not that he liked Central Park much but between Madison Square Park, he’d take Central Park any day.
Nonetheless, Ash hated it. That’s why he was riding on Shorter's motorcycle. Down the Brooklyn Bridge and towards whatever place they would stumble upon. They didn’t know yet but that’s the thrill of it, right? Like when he ran away from the coast of Massachusetts for the city. He had no idea where he was going—running towards. Or maybe he did.
But it didn’t matter. Not now. The skyscrapers got smaller and smaller, the lights from the open windows of some floors shone like stars. Even in late nights, some lights from the top of the skyscrapers never went out. The pit was light. The tip was dark. Ash could sneer in disgust.
He showed up just minutes before closing. Shorter was cleaning up—apron and all—he offered Ash some food but he declined. He could admit to himself that he was indeed hungry. He looked like it too. But the answer was always, mostly, the majority of the time, no. Especially this time, when he was sure Nadia had already cleaned the kitchen. He didn’t want to be much of a hassle. Especially since how nice Nadia has been to him—letting him sleep under her roof and eating for free and all. Damn did he love Nadia.
They were out in the back smoking a cigarette. Shorter was done for the day, said that Nadia would close the restaurant.
They stared at the brick wall, the warmth of the smoke drifting through the air. Ash stubbed his cigarette out on the wall behind him, “Let’s go out.”
He was happy he could leave. Temporiraly.
It was the closest thing he could get to freedom and he was doing it with his best friend. Getting away from the crowds, the young jocks and clingy prostitutes, the noise and the cars—it was like a breath of fresh air.
He hugged Shorter tighter, placing his cheek on his friend's back as he breathed out all the worries that had been weighing on his mind.
Ash figured that right there, right now, he was okay with dying. He always had a weird relationship with death. At times, he would wish to die. Mostly when he got beaten to the pulp by some degenerate fucker who didn’t know limits or when he would get fucked straight in the ass without warning. Even after many years of the same old same old he never got used to it. How could he ever get used to something like that ? Who would even get used to a life like that ? No one. That’s the answer.
And Ash knew that better than anyone. He knew the deepest pits of hell where devils were born. He felt it. He's experienced it. And to hell, he’ll probably join it in the afterlife if such thing exists.
Seeing his brother, Griffin, getting fucked up because of the war reafirmed him that death really is the only answer. In some ways. Some parts.
Griffin was a live corpse. “Living”, well, that he was not. But he wanted Griffin to be breathing. Even if it was pure selfishness. Even though he knew death would be the better choice for both of them.
“Where are we going ?” Shorter interrupted his thoughts.
“Hm ?” he hummed, “Wherever. Anywhere is fine,” Ash's voice became lower and lower with each word spoken. Where did he really want to go ? That was a good question.
He thought about it, now more than ever. The thought of the east made his stomach churn with disgust. Even going to other boroughs and escaping Manhattan wasn’t enough either. He thought about California, Los Angeles, but it was just, yet again, another city. He hated cities. But he also hated towns.
Dino offered him wealth and shelter—a vast mansion and lands from coast to coast. But Ash didn’t want that. He knew those places weren’t, and would never be, a home.
Even the house back in Cape Cod. He didn’t miss the sea side smell and grass from the coast of Massachusetts. He didn't really have a home or anywhere to claim as his own. That house was his father's. He hadn’t seen him, let alone talked to him in years, ever since he ran away.
No ocean, no cities, no towns, no green grass, no hills. Just plain old terrain. Cow shit and dry grass would fulfill. He could be a cowboy. Learn how to ride horses down in Texas. Or live by a lake in Louisiana. And Shorter could take care of the animals. He’d build cages and Ash would be happy to just get away from it all.
To speed his way to that idea of happiness. Like how Shorter was doing right now. Speeding right through Adams Street and heading god knows where. Speeding through life. Maybe that's what he really needs. Damn, that Shorter. He’s a total epiphany.
From the street pavements alone he sees red hues reflecting onto the dark paths, reassuring to the fact that maybe Shorter was actually going really fast. A bit too fast.
Not that he cared much, so he just turned his head the other way and enjoyed the chilly winter New York breeze messing up his hair.
They zoom by probably the very last double decker bus still roaming around the streets. God, he hated those things. Stupid buses. They were fucking huge.
He remembered that when he first came to the city he was walking right by one and it looked to be tilting towards him. He almost pissed his pants. Imagine dying that way? Hell no. You can’t blame him though, buses like that weren’t something you’d see in a small town. Even in Boston, which he’d never visited, he figured those kinds of buses didn’t exist.
As a kid, he’d never been anywhere beyond his crappy hometown so he wouldn’t know.
On nights like these, he wishes they would never end. He wishes that he’d finally grow some balls and tell Shorter to not drop him off by Dinos place or anywhere in the city. He wishes that they could spend all of eternity at Brighton Beach or browsing vinyls at the record shop in Sheepshead Bay.
“Heading to Prospect, is that fine ?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“You sure?” Shorter asked, ”You don’t wanna go somewhere else?”
“Nah…I don’t care where. Anywhere is fine.” Ash asserted. Maybe he was being a bit too mean. In truth, he was tired as shit. But he wouldn’t allow himself to sleep. Not now.
So long after they reached Parkside Avenue. It was dark as fuck for it being the second most popular burough but whatever. Ash got off first, then Shorter, who walked towards a small plot of green grass which was surrounded by dry plain and laid on it.
He patted his side, inviting Ash, who was smiling judgmentally at him, to lay next to him.
He scoffed slightly, taking his place right on Shorter's side.
This is why moving to other boroughs was not enough. If in Manhattan you can’t see anything but light pollution, in Brooklyn you get the exact same. In The Bronx and even in Queens. And before you say anything, no, Staten Island does not count.
They looked up at the beautiful gracious gray cloudy polluted sky. Not a single star in sight. Not even the streets were as bright as lower Manhattan. The Only sight to see were some old apartments and buildings on the left and fat green trees on the right. Ash sighed.
“What’s up?” Shorter asked, glancing at Ash. Their eyes met, a strong grip squeezing Ash’s heart as he took in the warmthness of comfort he was feeling now at this very moment. “If I died right now, I’d be happy.”
Shorter eyes widened at the words leaving Ash’s mouth. He was momentarily stunned, his mouth moving without words as he struggled to process what he’d heard. Ash chuckled softly. He’d tell him more but he knew Shorter. He knew he’d be weirded out if he said more. Not that he cared anyways. Shorter wouldn’t understand. And that was okay.
They stare at the sky in silence until Ash speaks, “You know…?”
Its Shorters turn to hum now. He does so while turning to face Ash once more. Ash’s face is a silhouette against the night, those green eyes burning through the darkness, so piercing that they light up even nights as dark as these. It’s like he’s caught in a trance, the words spilling out before he can stop them, before he hears Ash in what he was going to say—“There is a light in your eyes,” he interrupted, “…and I hope it never goes out.”