Dual in the Desert

First Person

Despite our best efforts to live in the realm of sanity, we still choose to live in the heat of Phoenix. The only difference between day and night is that you can't tan as well during the night. Sweat still weighs down your shirt and odor lingers far after you leave. So when Sean and I came out of the outdoor racquetball court, we had a smell to make a skunk shudder. Though really, we were a bit proud of that. That smell is a distinction of a man and to a pair of new teenage boys, that was something to be proud of. I grabbed my water bottle sitting outside by the bleachers, only to realize it was empty. Nothing is worse than running out of water after a game of racquetball. Without much effort, I persuade Sean to walk to the water fountains a bit inside the complex. We talk and laugh about the games we just played with our racquet's in hand as we arrive at the drinking fountain. Sean points out a random guy walking about. We joke he's some crazy serial killer.

Sean and I continue to walk, talk and have a good time to the bike rack and unlock our bikes. The breeze feels like a hair dryer on our bikes. As we peddle down the road, I notice someone else on a bike about twenty yards behind me. Normally I wouldn't give it a second glance, but it is ten o'clock at night and we're the only ones at the park. I motion to Sean and we ignore the issue until we hear his voice. "Why you guys stealing my bike?!" I look at Sean, "Wait... What?" The man peddles closer. "Yeah, you! Why are you stealing my bike!?" I cannot stress this enough, he was riding a bike. Whatever the case, he was getting closer. Sean and I were nearing the end of the street where it cut-off into two different directions. I've gone both ways a number of nights, and each time there was a police officer a bit down the road on one of the sides. The man grabs his jacket and speaks into it saying, "I have the suspects in range. Stop! I was in the military and I'm making a citizens arrest!" I tell Sean to go one way, and I'll go the other. The squad car couldn't be more than fifty yards away in one direction.

Maybe not the brightest idea, but we split up. Sean rides left and I ride right. Of course, the insane man decides follows me. He keeps repeating the same phrase, "Stop, you stole my bike!" He manages to get very close to me, I could tell he was on drugs by his eyes. I look one last time, there was no cop on my side, and Sean wasn't riding up on his side. He then reaches into his jacket, I thought he might have a gun. At that image, I drop my bike and sprint towards on of the blue lights located all around the park. I desperately push the small red button until I hear, "911, what's your emergency?" I snap back, "There's a man chasing after me!!" The operator calmly asks, "Where are you at?" Where am I at, I thought? Shouldn't these blue lights have gps or something? In this emergency I yell, "A blue light! A blue light!" One more time the operator asks, "Which blue light are you at?" If I've ever had an official face-palm moment, this was it. What blue light am I at? "It's a particularly blue one!" Whatever, the man was now walking towards me. I didn't have to time rant at a little box. He yells at me, "Why did you steal my bike?" I yelled back at him, for good measure, "That's my bike!" "Is it?" He incredulously asks. "Yes!" Now I could see my friend Sean riding his bike my way next to a squad car. The man walks towards the officer, Sean and I just ride away.

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Third Person

A typical summer night in the desert. Two boys walk out of a racquetball court soaking wet and ready to go home. Before the start their trip home, they walk to the drinking fountain to fill their water bottles. They're having a good time, doing what boys do. Mainly smelling and being obnoxious. Meanwhile a stocky art student it trudging along the park, doing his best impression of an escaped mental patient. He thinks his interpretation is successful, the two boys at the drinking fountain have noticed him. The artist turns his tape recorder on, he wants to capture the essence of his act for his fellow students.

He follows them from a distance at first, trying to maintain his patient mentality. The boys jump on their bicycles and ride off. Without thinking much - or rather thinking at all - he grabs his own bicycle.

The boys are clearly having a good time, although when the glance back at the man behind, their mood changes. The artist yells at them. They look passively at each other. Another yell from the artist. The boys split up at the fork in the road. The artist, now completely enveloped in his character, speaks into his jacket. The lone boy clearly thinks he is crazy. The artist is pleased, he has accomplished his goal. Now he just reaches into his jacket to turn off the recorder.

Minutes later the artist was trying to explain himself to the officer.