The Pontificators

That bike was mine, once. It isn’t anymore. Now it belongs to the girl across the street and two houses down.

You taught me to ride that bike. I knew I couldn’t. I was too old, and you said I was to young to think so. You made me pick up my feet and push, but I only walked. Bike between my legs, one foot at a time. Step. Step. Step. You laughed the first time, and then you grew tired.

You made me try again. I don’t know what motivated me, but in the parking lot with the hill I flew. I was so fast. I yelled all the way down.

When I crashed into the dumpster, I made you push me again.

Thanks.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009 at 4:49 pm and is filed under Ashes, Carlie, Nonfiction, Personal History. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.