bernice.

Bernice was my bicycle, and she was quite a girl. We joked that she had developed a reputation thanks to her antics with the boy (and sometimes, girl) bikes that lined the Parkside exterior.

"Everyone's had a ride on Bernice," we said. 

The more we teased Bernice, the more she seemed to take on a life of her own, consistently providing us with new material. 

One night we returned from a frat party to find her seat stolen. Much to the amusement of the various boys who had followed us home, I hopped aboard anyway. 

I couldn't figure out what was so hysterically funny about this until I looked down to see the bare pole sticking up where the seat had been. 

"I'm not going to sit all the way down, you idiots," I said, but they kept right on howling. 

"Have a very pleasant ride!" They yelled as Bernice and I took off into the night. 

I always hit at least three bushes on the weekend ride home, and once I hit a person, but she should have been walking in a straighter line. 

When I was high I would take Bernice on an extended ride, finding wheelchair ramps and riding up them and down again. 

"Wheee!" I yelled when I thought no one was in earshot. 

On weeknights we would jaunt through campus, Bernice and I, to our favorite gardens and fountains, into alleys over cobblestones and sidewalks into lighted corridors and out again, round and round and round. 

And then by day we would jockey with the throngs of other bikers for a path to class, not remembering whether to keep to the right or the left, and sometimes trying to change sides at the last minute only to capsize or collide with other riders.  

I could never remember where I left Bernice, and sometimes I forgot about her all together. Thus, three or four days after our last ride together, I would be wandering the entirety of campus, checking all the various bike racks, as well as lawns and gardens, restraining myself from calling her name. 

One such night, around 11 or so, I had been to all of the daily hotspots twice over, and was beginning to give up hope. Bernice was not at the gym, nor Bonne and company's apartment complex. She was not outside any of the coffee stops or convenience shops. She was nowhere near the track, or the bookstore, or the student center. She wasn't even over at the University Village shopping plaza. Where else could she be? 

I had a vague memory of attending an art history class, but it seemed like something that had occurred in the very distant past. Surely I had ridden Bernice since then! But, just to be sure, I made my way over to the courtyard behind the cluster of art galleries and classrooms. I always threw Bernice somewhere on the lawn, since I was usually running at least ten minutes late. 

As I rounded the corner, my heart began to sink. The lawn was empty. Perhaps Bernice was gone for good this time. 

But as my gaze continued upwards, my heart began to pound in shock and awe.

Directly ahead of me was a fountain, a pool of water surrounding a large stone statue. The statue was crouched, humble, with head cowering in penitence. And on the head was draped Bernice. She lay completely vertical, with spokes pointed towards the heavens. 

"BERNICE!!!!!" I screamed for real this time, running toward her. 

"Is that your bike??" A random guy yelled from the sidewalk.

 "Ah.... I.... yes.... !" I stuttered, trotting frantically around the fountain, trying to figure out a way to dislodge her without becoming completely submerged. 

"Wait one second! I'll be right there!" He offered, swinging his leg over the fence that separated campus from the outside world.

I was still trying to process what was happening. Oh, sweet Bernice and the scraps you get yourself into. If only, if ONLY I had my camera. 

Now the guy was at my side, and he was all business. 

"I'll kind of straddle the water and hand her to you," he said. "You just wait on the edge of the fountain here."

"Ok," I said, secretly disappointed that my Absurd Experience was being resolved so fast. 

Demonstrating impressive balance and flexibility, the young man swept one leg to rest beside the statue, placing one hand on its head while using the other hand to maneuver Bernice off the arm. 

"Do you do this often?" I felt like asking him as he handed her to me, with nary a splash or drop of water between her wheels. 

Once Bernice and I were properly reconciled and settled on dry land, he was off again, perhaps to find other midnight situations to rectify. As for Bernice, I gave her a long, soothing walk home, stroking her handlebars all the way. Back at Parkside I tested her lock three times, to make sure she would be having no more impromptu adventures, at least for the time being.