Justice
I’m walking to Harper’s, when I notice a truck pulling up alongside of me. For a moment I panic, but then I see the man behind the wheel. He’s my first hero and the man who made all the monsters go away when I was a kid. Dad stops, rolling down the passenger side window. “Where are you going?” he asks, pushing his sunglasses up on his head.
“I was going to Harper’s to get a lemonade. Where are you going?”
“To get some spare parts. Was wondering if you might want to ride with me.”
This is something we did a lot of when I was little. Even though I’ve always been closer to my mom, I was his sidekick in all the running around he did. I coulda given two shits about motorcycles, but I loved to go on parts runs with him. They typically ended up with ice cream, and a promise we wouldn’t tell Mom about it. It’s a split-second decision, and one I’ll make the same every single time. Stepping off the curb, I go for the door, opening it quickly and scooting into the passenger seat.