A bike, more like a trike. Training wheels. Sparkling pink ribbon. Even a woven basket resting on the handle bars. Purple grips. White tires. It was spectacular. I loved it. I’d ride it on my drive way, the lawn, the patio, Mr. Teri’s lawn, the walk way. I wanted to take it everywhere. I begged my parents to go around the block with me or take me to the park. “One more lap, just one more,” I’d tell them. I liked to go fast. Slow wasn’t bad, just fast was better. I swore the faster I pedaled the more my imagination ran. You see fast had a way of changing the bike, bringing it too life. Vegas. Short trip but a fond memory. The musicians! The vocalists! The lights! The show, what a show! The best part, the dancing girls. Their dresses, the way they’d catch the light. The training wheels would start humming. The tread gave a steady beat. As I sped up the two small wheels began to sing. They would go at it, try to see who was louder. The wind would pick up and the leaves would rustle, they’d jump out of their seats and storm the stage. A standing ovation. Then I’d slow down. I’d build the suspense. Slowly they’d begin to move. Then the ribbons. The main act. They’d twirl to the sound of the tread. What we’d been waiting for. The dance. The Tango. Their dresses would catch the spot light. They’d change color. The pink would gleam out blues and golds. I was just getting ready for the grand finale when the sound of my mom’s voice snapped me back to reality. My beautiful dancing girls fell flat, their act was dropped, they became just plain ribbons again. I really did love that bike. After summer was out and we had to head back to school, I asked my mom if I could take it with me. She walked beside me as I rode. There was a long driveway that lead up to the school. I was at the end when I could just make out my friends on the black top. I raced into their circle. I wanted to know what could be so funny that every one of them was actually laughing. Me. I was the joke. I had training wheels and pink ribbon. Suddenly my favorite gift wasn’t so shiny. It wasn’t so nice. It was painful and teary eyed. I gave it back to my mom. I never rode it again.
Posted on: Wed, 09 Jul 2014 12:44:25 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015