2pm. July.

No lights are on. The house is silent, except for the basement, and only in the very back corner of it. The whir of pedals, moving a steel wheel, all in one place. There’s sweat dripping down it’s sides. There’s controlled, heavy breathing alongside.

He’s barefoot, the rider. No one would care to see though. It’s only him and a bike. No light. No music. Nobody. Young. He’s like, 14… 15… I forget. Unkept hair, even when he’s not on this bike, in this basement, with the lights off. I don’t remember how long he’s been there either. Maybe two months; Not on the bike, in the house. The bike has been thirty-two minutes, forty-seven seconds. I don’t remember what he was thinking either. Was he preparing for something? Hiding from somethi — a knock… upstairs… from the outside door.

His feet leave the pedals, the inertia following, the whirring slowing. The dusty basement floor meet the black bottoms of his feet. An exhale is heard, as he slicks his greasy hair back, only for it to fall forward once again. The stairs creak on his ascension, and at the very top, he grabs a shirt to cover his pale skin.

“Hello?!” from outside. A female voice. He doesn’t recognize it. He cracks the door, just to take a peak. The sun blinds his eyes as the heat rushes through. A sigh of relief from the woman’s voice. “Are you Robert?” On second thought, that sigh of relief was more of a sigh of pity.

“…Yes.”

“I’m Sarah, someone called. Are you alright?”

“Called who?”

“CPS… Child Protective Services — is your mother home? Can I come in?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if she’s home?”

“If you can come in.” The woman, Sarah, looks over him, the very little bit showing through the crack.

“How long have you been here?” He doesn’t answer. He looks at her clipboard, and then her eyes, green, followed by her hair. Tied back, brown and some streaks of grey. “Are you ok?” He looks down, then darts up.

“Yeah. Yeah! Yeah I’m alright, I’m sorry what was your name?” He opens the door, and reaches out to shake her hand.

“Sarah… Can I come in?”

“Maybe another time.” He’s suddenly professional, with a smile. He’s lacking the pants to match the gesture.

“Robert, I need you to be honest with me, are you ok?”

“I mean, I’m alright.”

“You have food?”

“Some money on the table for some takeout. Chinese maybe.”

“Ok… I’ll come by again.” She looks at her watch “If you need someone, here’s my card.” She hands it over. In bold:
Sarah Rockwell

“You have a nice day Sarah!” She smiles, but sighs the same sigh as he promptly closes the door. He takes off his shirt, descends the stairs, climbs back on the bike, and continues his stationary workout.

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