JC
 
It sounded like thunder.
No... like an earthquake.
The first time I opened the throttle on the vintage Triumph that I couldn't talk myself out of buying, I swear the rumble made the earth move. That loud braaaap was music to my ears. Good music, too.  
"It's an ‘82," the seller told me, rocking back on his heels, arms folded across his chest. I'd just happened to see the for sale ad in one of the bike rags I started subscribing to. He wasn't too far away so I decided to just take a look. "They stopped makin' this model in ‘83, so... almost the end of the line. You know, before the reboot with the redesigned models, but I'm not into the newer bikes much."
"Yeah, I own a couple of the newer Bonnevilles," I muttered, doing another circle around the bike, an amazingly well kept piece of machinery. "They're good bikes but nothing beats the original line."
"That's for sure. Can take her for a spin, if you like." Magic. Words.
I straddled the seat, then opened the throttle and.... man. I felt like a man on that thing.
I test drove it, whipping through West Hollywood in jeans and a t-shirt like an idiot, pushing it as hard, then harder. It felt good, handled well; natural, already an extension of me, which is how I like a bike to feel. It was old school, chrome and steel, red and black embellishment. Vibrant. It screamed Buy me!
I rolled up the driveway and was almost sad to flip the kickstand down and turn it off. I think Ray, the seller, could tell I was already in love.
"Tell you what, man. I'm not even gonna dick you on the price. It looks great and it runs well. I'll give you asking price if you don't sell it to anyone before I get back with the cash."
He grinned, the dimples in his cheeks showing through a dusky, unkempt beard. He stuck out a hand and we shook on it. "You've got a deal. I'll give you twenty four hours. That fair?"
I flicked my wrist, swiping my finger across the face to check the time. "Shit. I'll be back in a couple of hours at the most."
He laughed. "You must really be in the market for a new bike."
"Tell you the truth, I'm not. I have a couple that I almost never ride. I guess I'm excited about the old line, about riding something vintage. Some meaning, some history." I shrugged. "I don't know, but she spoke to me. And she said buy me!"
I dug my car keyfob from my pocket with one hand and gave Ray's hand another shake. "Be back soon."
"Yep," he said, stepping back onto the sidewalk in front of his house as I headed to my car.

 
Katori
 
I entered the house through the back door, letting the screen door announce my arrival as it slammed shut behind me. I dropped my keys on the kitchen counter and  grabbed up the pile of mail that had been left for me to sort through.
"Nasaan! Are you home?" I called out, flipping through envelopes. I stood over the garbage can so I could tear up and get rid of the junk mail, keeping the important pieces- the mortgage, the water bill, and another notice from the owner of the building that housed my shop. I clicked my tongue, sliding my finger under the flap to open the letter.
Second Notice was stamped across the page in red. I sighed, my shoulders slumping as I read through the letter. He'd been planning to sell the building and was giving me the opportunity to buy it. At least he was being nice and offering it to me before he sold it out from under me. Who knows what a new owner would do to the space I took up. Or how much they'd raise the rent.
I'd love to buy the building;  it was practically my second home. My father owned the shop before he turned it over to me. The goal was for my son to take over when he was old enough. When I thought about where I would get the kind of money I'd need to buy the building, though, I came up empty. Cloudcroft, New Mexico was a small mountain town that only thrived because it was a few miles from a ski resort. The seasonal traffic made up for the whole year for many of the town's businesses, from hotels to restaurants to clothing stores. 
My shop, Nez Motors, was a little out of the way, off the beaten path. You couldn't see it unless you were looking for it, and few people are looking for a small auto & bike repair shop in New Mexico. People roll through here in their brand new Benz, Lexus, BMW and Audis and don't think about Nez Motors unless they need to.
I piled the mail up again on the counter, leaving the rest of it to open later. I headed for the fridge and, pulling it open, muttered to myself, "Well he's been home. I have no food in here."
"What'd you say, Tori?" My sister Kaya rushed past me, dressed in scrubs, her work bag slung over her shoulder. She worked the night shift in the ER at Presbyterian Memorial. We were always like two ships passing in the night. Most evenings she was already gone to work by the time I got home.
"I was trying not to cook but it looks like the fridge monster struck again."  
I let the refrigerator door swing closed and pulled a chair out from the table that sat in the middle of the kitchen. I eased onto it, huffing a breath of relief. The walk from the shop was only a mile, but some days that mile felt like ten.
"Where is Nasaan?"
"With Logan. They want to get their rides in before the snow hits."
She grabbed a set of keys off of one of the hooks nailed to the wall. Then smirked as she picked up my keyring and hung it. My keys never seemed to make it onto a hook.  "Gotta go. See you guys in the morning. Pancakes?"
I nodded. I always had breakfast waiting for her when she came home a bit after 7AM. She'd eat and then roll into bed, exhausted after a twelve hour shift.
I listened to Kaya's pickup chug  to a start and back out of the driveway. Then sat and enjoyed the silence, the peace and quiet of this little house. The air was still, the sky growing dark and grey.  The temperature had been cooling off quickly. I could smell the moisture in the air.  
"Well, I guess I'd better get some food on," I announced to an empty room, then got up to gather ingredients for dinner. At fifteen and growing at a pace of at least an inch a month, Nasaan would be ravenous by the time he got home.
The kitchen screen door burst open and a mud covered boy rambled into the kitchen.
"Hold it right there, young man!"
Nasaan froze, pushing out a frustrated breath. "Mooom..."
"Don't mooom me. You're not the one that mops the floors. Shoes off. Wait... on second thought, go outside, shake off some of that mud and take off your socks and shoes."
He groaned and turned around to go back outside.
"On third thought- take off those clothes and your shoes, then come inside."
"So you want me to stand out here and strip?"
I chuckled. "We don't have neighbors. No one will see you." I laughed while he moaned and complained but removed his mud soaked clothing, wet socks and caked  shoes. "Just leave those outside, let them dry."
He rolled his eyes as he stepped into the house, then dropped a kiss on my cheek as he passed me. "Hi, mom."
"Hi-" I felt something wet on my cheek and swiped at it, then frowned at the swatch of mud on my fingers. "Very funny. Go grab a quick shower, then come down and eat dinner. Why are you so muddy? Did you ride through the river or something?"
"Yep," he said, passing through the kitchen to his bedroom.
It wasn't long before he was back downstairs in a pair of flannel pants and a white t-shirt and dropping into his usual seat at the table.
"Have a good ride?" I dished up a man-sized serving of Stouffer's lasagna, a side salad and garlic bread and set a plate in front of him. He practically dove into it as soon as it hit the table.
"Mmhmm," he grunted, chewing and swallowing, his fork already loaded with the next bite. "Can smell the snow in the air."
Nasaan had long outgrown dirt bikes and ten speeds. He and his friend Logan rode sporty little motorbikes. It would do until he was old enough to ride the Harley that his grandfather left for him, the one we had been slowly upgrading and updating, part by part. The motorbike was too light and flimsy for winter riding, so once it snowed, he parked it.
Snow meant work for Nasaan. He shoveled walks in town and helped the plow company keep the parking lot at the nearby ski resort clear. Some days it was an all day job, but a lot of hours, even paid under the table, was a good day's pay.
"You think it'll snow tonight?"
"Hope so. We still have parts left to upgrade on the Harley."
"Yep. You have to pay for motorcycle classes, too. Don't forget."
"I haven't. Me and Logan-"
"Logan and I..."
He rolled his eyes and swallowed another bite. "Logan and I already have the money set aside. We can take the spring class after I turn sixteen. You said I could get a tattoo when I passed. Don't forget."
"I haven't. I have the money already set aside," I said, smiling. I reached over and ran my fingers through his hair. It was thick and dark, kinks and waves, evidence of a mix of two heritages- my Navajo and his father's African American.
"Mom," he grumbled, leaning away from me, just out of reach. "Messing up my hair."
"It was already a mess."
"No it wasn't. That's the style."
"All over your head is the style?"
He nodded, scraping the last of lasagna from his plate, then using the last bite of garlic bread to wipe the plate clean of sauce before popping it into his mouth.
"Did you want to eat the plate, too?" I chuckled. Watching him eat was entertaining. "Are you still hungry?"
He shook his head, then rubbed his belly as he belched. "I'm good. Full."
I smiled, feeling accomplished at something. It was a hard feeling to come by some days. "Well, take care of these dishes, then get on your homework and into bed at a reasonable hour. K?"
He nodded, grabbing his plate and mine and headed for the dishwasher. "Thanks for dinner,  Mom," he said, after he'd loaded up our plates and silverware and started up the machine. "Heading upstairs, now."
"Mmhmmm," I hummed, poring over the rest of the mail.