Butter is named so because he smooth in every possible way: slick tires, flawlessly shifting gears, a sleek and glossy finish--though less so the more I ride him. Still, I get lots of cat-calls riding him across town. For example:
"Hey, goreous."
"Can I get your phone number?"
"Hey, little girl!" (not appreciated)
"Man, I wish I was that bike."
and the most articulate of all: "ooowwww!"
The funny thing is, however, that the cat calls immediately stop as soon as I cross the border into East Lansing. Some days, I take it as a sign of EL's more repressed, white-collar nature. (Repressed, that is, except for the squirrels, who gorge on cafeteria refuse and fornicate on the manicured lawns to their hearts' content. I have never seen beefier, lustier squirrels than on MSU's campus.) Or perhaps it's simply a result of the fact that the median age has just dropped to 23. As soon as I enter EL I am an old lady. Plus, I don't like beer pong. Two strikes against me.
Other days I take the contrast as a reflection not on East Lansing's repression, but on Lansing's peculiar bluntness. What else would I expect but cat-calls in a town where the capital building is located two blocks from a strip club? And since the GM plant left town never to return, why should Lansing give a damn about propriety anyway? We're just trying to make ends meet, here.
Still other days, I can't decide which city is supposed to be the "normal" one, or if in fact they are both completely insane.
Perhaps, then, it is totally appropriate that the following incident occurred right at the border between East Lansing and the actual Lansing, between inhibition and blue-collar flair, between manicured lawns and burned-out industrial leftovers:
I drew up to the stoplight under highway 127 and heard a car come up beside me, windows down. Stripped of the illusion of escape that a moving bike provides, no matter how slow, I braced for a possibly uncomfortable encounter. What I heard was,
"Hey, you know what? You are really beautiful."
Completely at a loss for words, all I could do was turn around and give a confused smile.
"Yeah, I was watching you pull up to the stop and was just like wow. I know you must get that a lot."
Words returned.
"You know, I think that is the most respectful compliment I have ever received."
And that was pretty much it. The light turned green and we drove off after a cordial "have a nice day." Every time Butter and I cross under 127 we remember that guy, whoever he was, and I tell Butter that I hope I can have that sort of guts, too. I'd like to just say what I think and not try to get anything out of it. Just call a spade a spade and say what I like when I see it without worrying about whether I'll get it or not. That day I was wearing a T-shirt that said "Love Fearlessly," and I think that one way to put that admonition into action is to do just that: speak the truth and expect nothing.
peace!
