Back on the Bike

      When I was a kid, I wanted to be a trash man or an astronaut.  Now I know that’s just silly kid stuff.  Ever since I learned how to ride a bike I knew that’s what I wanted to do.  My whole life.  Mom’s always askin’ Dad what he’s gonna do with his life and he still doesn’t know.  Betcha that’s hard.  Not knowing whatcha wanna do.  Not sure what my Dad does, but he hates it.  When he leaves for work, he looks like someone told him to eat a hundred lima beans.  He never does what he likes.  That’s not gonna be me.  Nope, I’m gonna ride my bike.  Not to brag or nothin’ but I’m probably the best bike rider on my street.  ’Cept for maybe Ronny.  But he’s older’n me.  He’s almost nine and a half.  This street is perfect for ridin’ a bike.  The curbs are perfect, too.  The way they slant down for each driveway to make a perfect ramp for cool jumps.  The best part is we didn’t even have to build ‘em so we can’t get in trouble for it.  My friend Will, he tried to make a ramp out of wood but it broke on the first try.  Will’s Dad got mad that he used the wood.  His dad’s always mad.  Most grownups seem mad at something.  Like all the little stuff we kids do is a big deal.  They’re always sayin’ stuff like “You ruined the wood!” or “You spilled your milk again!” or “You have grass stains on your pants!”  I’m not sure what the big stuff is but its gotta be more important than scrap wood, wasted milk and stained jeans.  Like grownups get mad at the little stuff ‘cause they can’t control the big stuff.  Anyway, last year right before school started I wrecked real bad on my bike on the curb right in front of Kenny’s house.  Well, it wasn’t my bike.  It was Kenny’s.  He’s my next door neighbor.  I was trying to jump off the curb into the street.  Kenny’s bike’s too small for me but it’s got cool hand brakes.  My bike’s only got foot brakes.  Next year I’m gettin’ a new bike.  Probably a Huffy…maybe even a Mongoose.  Dad says we’ll have to see when my birthday comes.  Grownups tell us to do things “now” but they do most things “later.”  So, I’m ridin’ Kenny’s bike and I’m goin’ real fast…I can go faster on my bike but Kenny’s is pretty fast too.  I tried to jump off the edge of the curb but right before I jump I lose my balance.  I hit the ramp and the bike goes flyin’! Kenny’s bike lands in the street.  I land on the edge of the curb with my right under arm and rib cage and I scrape all the way down the curb. 

        Man, I never had a bike wreck like that my whole life!  My whole side, my leg, my knee even under my arm was nothin’ but a big scratch, no skin anywhere.  You know what?  I didn’t even cry.  I never had so much pain I couldn’t cry before. I got scared.  But just a little bit.  I started to walk home.  Every step was like swimmin’ in fire.  Kenny got mad about the scratch on his bike but you couldn’t even see it hardly.  I couldn’t say nothin’ to him.  I couldn’t cry.  I couldn’t speak.  I was scared Mom would be upset about my ripped shirt.  She saw the blood and asked me what happened.  I tried to tell her about the jump but all she was interested in was the landing.  She said I was lucky I didn’t hit my head.  Then she asked me if I hit my head.  I shook my head not knowing what a head was.  She told me to sit down so she could clean out the scratches.  That was worse than the wreck.  Every time the cotton soaked with alcohol touched my skin I yelped and she said she was sooo sorry.  She said maybe I shouldn’t ride my bike for a while.  Then I got worried.  I cried.  Just a little.  I was supposed to ride my bike my whole life and now I couldn’t.  What was I supposed to do now?  I’d be just like Dad, not knowing what to do with my life.  Or doin’ somethin’ I hated.  I saw how it bothered him.  I was lucky.  I already knew what I was gonna do.  Now it looked like I’d have to do something else.  But what?  What else could I do?  What else was there to do?

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        For a long time I thought I’d never ride again.  While I recovered I thought about what else I would like to do.  I couldn’t think of nothin’.  Kenny and Ronny came to see how I was.  After a while no more friends came to see me.  Kenny didn’t say much.  Asked how I was.  I said I was ok.  I told Kenny I was sorry about his bike.  He said don’t worry. Said he forgot about it almost right away.  I didn’t.  I kept thinking if I would’ve been on my bike, I wouldna wrecked.  I musta gone over my bike wreck a thousand times in my head.  Maybe Dad and other grownups are still thinking about a bad bike wreck they had a long time ago. 

        In the time I didn’t ride my bike I could hear kids outside ridin’ theirs.  They didn’t know how lucky they were.  They weren’t serious about ridin’.  Not like me.  Every day I tried to ride better than the day before.  Every day I was gettin’ better.  Then I wrecked. What if I wouldn’t ever be able to ride the same again?  What if I never rode my bike again?  I thought about that for a long time.  But then I thought maybe it isn’t a big deal.  Maybe I could ride my bike again.  Maybe not like before but at least have some fun with my friends.  After a long time, the alcohol in my scratches hurt just a little less than the scratches.  I got back on my bike again.  It took a while, though.  Mom says it was only twenty minutes, but I know it was almost a whole half hour.