Bike

Bike

By: Tamra Aslan 2010

Yesterday was my eleventh birthday. Dad surprised me with the best gift ever, a bike! Today I get to ride it. As I ride it around the neighborhood, I admire the way the red paint shines in the sunlight. It is brand new, and it is all mine. The squeak of the breaks as I ride down the hill on Rio Verde Dr is like a sweet song playing a tune in my ears. I love just circling around in the cul de sac on Green St. The wind brushes through my hair and whispers in my ears, “Julia, you are free.” I felt free. Free as a bird in flight. The faster I went, the more I felt this boundless sensation. I could go anywhere.

I had learned to ride a bike when I was eight years old. I had gotten my brother’s old bike that he had long outgrown. The musky grey paint had mostly chipped off. The metal was rusted, and the gears were stuck. I watched as my brother wiped off the cobwebs that had come from years of abandonment.

When I was six, I remember finding his bike hidden in the shed. I had thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world. But, I was forbidden to touch it because it was “dangerous.” You can imagine my excitement when my mother and father finally agreed I was big enough to ride it. And, my brother Billy was happy to teach me.

At the time though, I never felt that feeling I had now; the feeling of freedom. When I was alone I was tied to our driveway. Even on the bike, I was not to leave that spot. Circling the concrete pad was fun at first, but I became all too familiar with each crack and bump in the pavement. Familiar with Billy’s handprints in the cement on the southwest corner, dated March 1962. Billy was three years old when the driveway was repaved, and Mom insisted that Billy place his hands in the wet muck as some sort of memorabilia. I was not born until 1965, so it made me sad to look at those prints and think of a time when I was not a part of my family’s world.

Sometimes Billy would ride his newer bike with me, and we would ride around the neighborhood streets. He taught me to always ride on the right so I would not get hit by a car. But there hardly ever were cars around our quiet streets. I loved spending time with Billy. I looked up to him. To me, he had all the wisdom and I was just a dumb brat that had everything to learn.

Mom and Dad were always too busy with work. Mom was a nurse at the hospital, and Dad had the store to run. By the time I saw them, they were too tired to give me any attention. Sometimes I felt as if I had disappeared when they entered the room. They would argue about money or some other useless thing, and the more they argued the farther and farther away they seemed. I felt like the ghost in the room, the fly on the wall. No matter how hard I screamed, my voice was not heard. However, Billy looked at me as if I existed, and that look meant the world to me.

Billy and I were riding around North St. when his buddy Joe showed up on his own bike. That was the first time I felt alone. “Jewelry you have to go home.” Jewelry was Billy’s nickname for me. Every year on my birthday, he’d give me a candy bracelet to go with my name. Unfortunately this time when he said the name, it was not so sweet. In fact, it stung. Billy wanted to hang out with Joe alone, and I would just slow them down. At first I tried to follow, but Billy wouldn’t allow it. As they sped off, I could not follow them anyway, I was too new to this whole bike thing. It wobbled underneath me as I tried to ride up the hill after Billy. I lost my balance and fell. I cried as I looked up seeing that Billy was already gone, and I was just that bratty little sister; not important at all. I picked up the bike and walked it home.

That was the day I met our neighbor Earl. He was a nice guy, in his late thirties. He was driving by when he saw the tears in my eyes. “You ok hun?” he had asked in a southern accent. Earl had just moved here from Texas. “I’m fine.” I sniffled. Earl offered to give me a ride home in his white Toyota pick up truck. I explained my home was only on the next block. Earl could see something was troubling me so he turned the engine off in his car and got out. “I know I just met you and all, but it looks like you need a friend.” I do not know why I accepted Earl’s offer that day; I was always warned not to talk to strangers. It may be because I was upset and I did feel like I needed a friend. I sat on the sidewalk and talked with Earl for a while. He got me laughing, and we started playing games as we talked about the shapes the clouds made in the sky.

After that, I would see Earl often. He was always driving his white truck around. Even playing in my front yard, I would see him coming around. I would wave at him, and he would give me a wink and a nod.

I forgave Billy and we continued our rides around the neighborhood. Of course Joe would show up more and more often, and I would just walk home. Billy was never supposed to leave me alone, so I began to enjoy these walks. Finally I had time away from that chain I felt shackled to my whole life. And, sometimes I would even run into Earl and have fun interesting talks with him.

One day I was riding around with Billy. He looked at me with that gleam in his eyes and said, “Race you to the lamppost!” With that, he took off high speed, leaving me in his dust. His old bike squeaked and yelped as I pushed it to its limits. I only had the bike for eight months, but I felt as if I had mastered it. However, Billy’s bike was superior to this hunk of metal between my legs, and Billy was an experienced rider in comparison to me. The lamppost was only a few yards from where Billy had made the start, but it was too far for my little bike to handle. The chain broke, and I felt like my heart broke with it. I didn’t even care when my body slammed into the pavement, and the blood gushed from my knee. I just looked at the bike in tears; the back wheel still spinning. It was broken. I had killed it. I thought, “I shouldn’t have pushed it so hard!” Billy rushed over to me and tended to my knee. But I just cried out for the bike. He explained, “Don’t worry Jewelry, we can fix it.” But I knew it was gone.

When we came home, Dad and Mom were there. It was Saturday and they both did not have to work. Mom immediately tended my wounds, and Dad scolded my brother. It was not his fault, but he was blamed. Even though Billy pleaded, Dad had refused to fix the bike. It was an old bike that needed to be thrown away. I was sad.

I was not able to ride a bike after that. And, without a bike there was no reason to leave the front yard. I felt trapped and confined to my home. Painted White and ugly, it was more like a jail than a home.

So, a year and a half went by before I got this new bike. And now, I was old enough to ride it on my own. Say goodbye chains, hello freedom. I did not waste a second. My brand new shiny bike was ready for the road. I gripped the handlebars tight, loving the feel of the soft rubber in my fingers. The tires touched down onto the black road, and I was off.

I was so excited I could not even think. Then, I saw Earl sitting on his front porch reading the morning paper. I rode my bike to him; I could not contain my excitement. “Look Earl, my parents bought me this bike! Isn’t it a dream?” Earl smiled and nodded.

“To what occasion deserves such a grand present?”

“It’s my birthday.” I said with a newfound authority. “I am eleven!”

“Your birthday. Why that is a mighty occasion indeed. We must celebrate!”

“I am.” I explained. “Just riding my bike is a celebration!”

My right leg was in mid-air ready to leap back on the bike when Earl said, “Oh honey, that’s great. But I must give you a gift as well. C’mon inside, I have just the thing for you!”

I beamed with excitement. This day could not get any better. More gifts. But as I stepped up the porch, following Earl inside, I realized how unfamiliar this place was. The wooden steps creaked beneath my feet, and I realized I had never been in Earl’s house before. I had known him for a couple years now, but no one else in my family ever spoke to him. I never spoke of Earl to them either; he was like my secret friend, someone I could talk to when I felt alone. But now, I thought, maybe I do not know Earl as well as I thought. The house was dim even though the sun was out. Earl’s curtains were all drawn shut. The carpet was a dingy brown that seemed awfully stained, and honestly the place was a bit of a mess. Dishes piled in the sink, socks thrown over the sofa.

“I have the perfect gift for you!” Earl beamed. “It’s just down here. I’ll need some help carrying it up these steps though.” Earl was leading me to his basement. I was somewhat curious. My house did not have a basement, but I was more excited about the gift. What could be so large that I needed to help Earl carry it? He was so strong, and I often admired his muscular arms. The size of the gift made it even more significant. “It must be grand.” I thought to myself.

“Sorry,” Earl mumbled turning towards me. We were halfway down the creaky old steps, and the light from the room above was hardly reaching us. The basement was dark and musky and it smelled as if something was rotting down there. I could not see the object Earl was now holding in his hands, but I knew it could not be the present he was speaking of. My eyes began to adjust to the dim light, and I could make out the shape of a baseball bat. Then I felt the cold metal smash against my head and my body falling limp.

______________________________

Earl’s perspective:

“So beautiful.” I thought. “She is so beautiful.” But why was that my thought? Why was any of this happening? It was as if I was watching myself from somewhere else. Not here or there. Then I felt her. I brushed my hand against her warm cheeks. This was real. She is real. She is in my home. She came to me. The heavens gave her to me. I placed her on the couch to rest. Her tiny body in my arms felt so fragile. Then I went outside to get her bike and put it in my backyard to be safe. She is safe. Her family does not know how special she is. Does not appreciate her like I do. I should be her father. Me. But I have no children. No family. She is my family. Little Julia is my family. How wonderful our time is together. But her head. That awful bump on her head. I must tend to it. I did that to her. I began to shake. “Why?” I whispered to myself. She will never forgive me. Never. “So beautiful.” I thought again as I looked at her peaceful delicate body draping over the couch cochins. It was like seeing silk sitting in a trashcan; something so elegant against the disgusting background of my house. I wanted to make things nice for her. Stay forever. I imagined my life with her. Making dinner for her. I played the whole story out in my head, of a perfect life together. Me and this little girl, sitting at the dinner table. Julia, so beautiful. Such an angel. “What have I done?” I washed the blood off my hands. What have I done? I had her in my home for just a moment. Life does not last. This is the reminder that nothing lasts. It was too good to be true. She is gone.

I had to go on a drive. Fast fast. Find Julia. She must be somewhere out there. Lost. She needs me. Find her. Must find her. Julia’s body flashes into my mind. Naked and covered in her own blood. No I refuse to remember. Julia is out there scared. Not dead. I must find her.

I am driving, and I see her. “Julia.” I call out, but she starts running. I get out of my car. I run. She runs into the park, and I follow. “Julia!” I follow. I catch up. She is such a small girl, easy to outrun. I got her arm in my hand. My fingers wrap all the way around her tiny arm. But Julia does not like me anymore. Her face. Not Julia. It is Julia. It has to be. “Julia, why?” I ask. But she does not like me anymore. She has branches in her other hand. She thrashes them across my face. I let go. “Julia why?” She runs and I chase her. “Julia!” I am holding her in both my arms. “Julia I thought we were friends!” I cry. “Your dead. I killed you. No. You’re here. Julia I love you.” The girl breaks from my arms leaving me alone; crying in the park. She runs. I let her go. I must let Julia go.

I hear sirens now. Why? What is this? This feeling of cold metal on my wrists? “Julia!” I scream. But my only answer is the slam of the cop car’s door. I am alone in this world. I realize my only friend is gone. And I do not know why. I just know I did it. I killed her.