I Was Wrong About the Man on the Bike

Last week I drove a few hours to a book signing for one of my favorite living fiction writers. When I go somewhere, I’m typically early. This trip was no exception. I was an hour and a half early. The sun was beating down like a sledgehammer. There was no escaping its oppressive heat. I’d killed all the time I knew how. I slipped into little shops and wandered through the aisles aimlessly.

It seemed no one had adequate air conditioning or proper hideaway spots. Didn’t they know I was coming? I stopped in a coffee shop and bought an iced coffee I barely drank. It was too fancy to stick around. There’s something about furthering my dehydration amid a heat wave that likely doesn’t denote superior intelligence. Since I brought a book as a gift for the author speaking at the event, I ducked into an alley near the event space and read. Even though the “shade” was not much more than a placebo, I at least had somewhere to sit and read. Not a bad way to kill the rest of my time.

The book I brought to give my new friend David Joy—the author I drove to see—was Lola by Tim McLaurin. It was the only narrative poetry book McLaurin wrote and has become one of my recent favorites. It’s also one of the few books that made me cry at the end. Tim McLaurin is a native of North Carolina like David Joy and me. There’s just something special about that to me. David Joy and I discussed McLaurin’s writing at a local event a few weeks prior. I felt it was prudent to bring one of my extra copies as a gift since I currently have around six copies of this book. I’ve read everything both N.C. natives wrote. The tragedy is that I found out about Tim McLaurin years after he passed away from cancer.

It’s a shame because I identify so much with his writing. Despite its relatively predictable ending, Lola punched me right in the gut. Most of McLaurin’s books are out of print, and I’ve been buying them up as I see them online or in used bookshops. Since they’re all used copies, I’ll occasionally get a signed one and add it to my collection. Sometimes I give away the unsigned ones, as in this case.

As I was rereading the book in an alleyway, a man on a bicycle rode past and caught my eye. We made eye contact, and then he circled into the alley toward me. Despite every interaction in this idyllic little town being overwhelmingly positive, I prepared for the worst. In past experiences, when someone with a certain “look” comes up to me when I’m out in public, they feign interest only long enough to ask for money.

The man on the bicycle rode up to where I was sitting and asked what I was reading. In my mind, I was preparing for a follow-up question that never came. I told him the name of the book. I gave a brief synopsis of the storyline and explained why I was in town. When his follow-up question wasn’t “Can you spare any change”—or something like that—I was shocked.

The man—AJ, I learned—said that when he sees people reading books, he always likes to stop and ask them what they’re reading. It caught me off guard in the best of ways. People I know rarely take an interest in the books I’m reading or have read, and here was this stranger on a bike asking me questions about literature.

He asked me my all-time favorite book. I replied that I know it’s cliché, but I love Lord of the Flies and have read it many times. I further explained that I enjoyed the works of C. S. Lewis, and my favorite of his was The Magician’s Nephew. We spoke about literature, history, faith, and other literary topics. It was one of the best interactions I’ve ever had with a stranger. It left me saddened by my initial guarded responses.

They say you can’t judge a book by its cover. That’s another cliché that proved true here. The man may or may not have been homeless, but we had a genuine conversation that I didn’t want to end. I felt horrible for my initial presupposition. Living near a larger city and doing work with the homeless in the past jaded me. I prepared myself erroneously for a negative interaction. I unintentionally denied his humanity at that moment by putting him into a category in my mind. I almost allowed past experiences to rob me of a moment I won’t soon forget. I’m ashamed that I nearly let my hypervigilance prevent something extraordinary. I hope that the next time I’m in Belmont, N.C., I can track down my new friend AJ and talk books again.

So, let me ask you… What’s your favorite book?

Be sure to check out David Joy’s newest book, Those We Thought We Knew:
https://www.citylightsnc.com/book/9780525536932

_____________________________________

Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker currently living in Bethania, North Carolina with his wife Jess and their house full of animals. He split his time growing up between chasing wildlife and screaming on stages in hardcore bands you’ve never heard of. He has been published by Dead Reckoning Collective, The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, and many others. He filmed and directed a documentary called “Hammer Down” about his 2005 deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in with Alpha Battery 5-113^th of the NC Army National Guard. You can find his books, collected works, and social media accounts at www.stanlakecreates.com

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.