Her hair is braided into two pigtails, bound tight beneath her helmet and flowing out behind her in the wind. You know this because you handed her the helmet to wear before you both climbed onto the bike, you know this even though you don't remember it at this very moment. You know that her pigtails are whipping around in the warm air behind her right now, you know this without seeing it for yourself because you are both travelling at nearly 80 miles an hour over a highway that wraps the coast of Maui like a seaside snake, coiled and ready to leap into the Pacific Ocean at the drop of a hat. The highways are ready to leap into the sea, that is, you and Maya are hugging the curves of the road on your speed bike as you both hurtle through space and time as one, moving forward to a destination that is unplanned, unknown.
Maya's arms are wrapped securly around your waist, her breasts pressed up against your back. You can feel them against your skin, through two layers of cotton t-shirt, hers and yours, you can feel her warmth over the heat of the sun beating down on the two of you as you careem around the twists of the road. With each twist and bend of the road she squeezes you tighter, and every time you pull back on the throttle to accelerate through the turns you can hear her squeal and shout in excitement.
You love this. You love her.
Nothing exists right now except you, her, the speedbike, the asphault, and the bright blue skies above you.
You wish this trip would never end, but you know that a few miles ahead of you lies a stop sign, and beyond that, slower roads and maybe even traffic.
You dip lower into the bike, feeling as though you, your woman, and your machine are one being, racing through time without beginning or end.
