We’re Screwed Then

The Risk

I had forgotten what it felt like to have fun.

Then he appeared.

Dion.

Messy hair.

Crooked grin.

Eyes that looked tired in a way I recognised.

What stood out to me most was he didn’t try.

No abs.

No quotes about loyalty.

No fish photos (thank God!).

Just… him.

Unpolished.

Slightly off-centre.

Intrigued, I messaged him back. Our texts weren’t exactly sweet or even flirtatious.

Pretty much the written equivalent of two people poking at each other with sticks.

He disappeared for a few days.

I noticed.

Filed it under red flag.

Then came back one afternoon with a “hey” so casual it was almost offensive.

But rather than being offended, I felt something like respect.

I thought, here's someone who has as much mis-trust and derision for these dating apps as me! How cool that his approach to dealing with that is to take it so un-seriously. He must feel free, I like that.

And underneath that, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: amusement.

I smiled. A small crack.

A version of me I hadn’t felt in a while.

A spark.

And when you’ve been in the dark long enough, even a glimmer feels like salvation.

The Ride

He turned up a few days later wearing a stained hoodie and torn jeans, straddling a perfect, gleaming red Ducati Monster SP.

Another perfect contradiction! This time on two wheels.

I was hooked instantly: the mess and the shine, the way careless abandon could appear as a deep and wonderful mystery.

The bike was trying to impress; he quite pointedly, wasn’t.

I read it as depth, confidence, someone so sure of himself he didn’t need to perform.

“You pick where we’re going,” I said.


“Oh no,” he grinned, “I’m terrible with directions.”


“So am I.”


“Well,” he said, grabbing his helmet, “we’re screwed then.”

I led, because someone had to.

Sunlight flashed between trees, the air sharp with eucalyptus and petrol. The road stretched like a dare. I rode just far enough ahead to make him chase me. Every mirror glance showed him still there. Steady, playful, proving he could keep up.

We got lost half a dozen times. My Harley’s turning circle is roughly the size of Saturn, I took the u-turns praying I wouldn’t drop the thing.

He just laughed, like lost was his natural state. It was easy for him. It seemed the world rearranged itself around his carefree wanderings.

I found that kind of freedom intoxicating.

He let me walk ahead of him into the pub. I was very aware of his eyes scanning me as I sauntered in. My face warmed.

We stood at the bar, jackets tossed over our arms.


“Food?” I asked.


“You pick.”


Fish and chips. Safe, easy, shareable.


When it arrived, he said, “I don’t like seafood.”


I looked at him, then at the plate.

“Then you're in luck. This isn’t seafood. It’s mystery meat deep-fried.”

That laugh again.

That unguarded sound that cracked something open in me.

I’d chase it anywhere.

We ate, joked, let the afternoon slide away. Light filtered through vines in the open roof, turning the table gold. Maybe, I thought, someone actually gets me.

The ride home was pure exhilaration.

Finally someone who could keep up!

Wind whipping through my jacket, the world blurring past.

He ran a red light to catch me over the bridge, grinning like a delinquent angel.

My heart leapt.

For a moment, I wasn’t a mother or a business owner or a woman trying to hold everything together. I was just a girl flying through sunlight with a man who made the world feel free.

By the time we reached my street, the air had cooled.

Mum’s car pulled in behind me, tyres crunching on the gravel. The boys spilled out, loud and laughing, chasing each other across the driveway like they always did. Real life, in full colour.

I smiled and waved him over.

Just a small thing. A hello. A step forward.

He didn’t move.

For a second, I thought he hadn’t seen.

Then I saw it, the flicker.

His eyes moved between me, Mum, the kids… like he’d taken a wrong turn and found himself somewhere he hadn’t meant to be.

I laughed lightly, like it was nothing. “Come say hi.”

He didn’t take the helmet off.

“Ah, I might head off,” he said, already reaching for the throttle.

“Oh okay,” I said, hiding my disappointment.

The engine cut through the moment. And just like that, he was gone.

I stood there for a second longer than I needed to.

Then Mum was asking something about dinner, the boys were tugging at my sleeves, and the driveway filled back up with noise and movement and responsibility.

I slipped back into it easily.

Later, when the house was quiet again, I sent a message.

Sorry if that was awkward.

I watched the screen longer than I’d admit.

Eventually:

All good.

That was it.

No question. No follow-up. No curiosity about the people who made up my life.

The Sketch

The next day, my phone lit up around lunch time.

A photo.

A drawing.

Me, on the Harley. Hair wild. My soccer-mum-van in the background, slightly off to the side, showing the contradiction like it made sense.

He’d noticed everything.

All these parts of myself, each so different and misaligned, he'd seen and somehow understood.

I stared at it, looked again and again.

No one had ever drawn me before.

Not like that.

Not with the contradictions blended together in a way that made sense to so few.

Something worth capturing.

I smiled.

And just like that, everything else went quiet.

I didn’t fall for him.

Not really.

I think it's more true to say:

I fell for who I got to be in the space he held for me.