Disclaimer: This is a different kind of writing than my usual posts. It's more of a short-story, so please give me feedback. Tell me what you think, as always.
Like most kids, when I turned 5 it was time to learn how to ride my bike without training wheels. I had mastered the art of riding with training wheels, but now it was time to see if I could manage the task of riding it without them.
My mama was there to help with me with this process. She would guide my bike while I peddled my little heart out and then she would release me like a caged bird. Except this caged bird was one who had never had experience flying so instead it just tumbled to the ground. It didn’t take long for me to get the hang of riding my bike, with my mama's assistance, but the next step was the most important one.
Riding my bike completely by myself.
It was a big step.
It was a summer day and I had gotten up early that morning specifically to ride my bike. I went outside and brought my bike from the backyard to the sidewalk in front of my house. I propped up the bike and hopped on. I used my feet to push off, and suddenly I was riding. Until moments later, I crashed on the ground. Though it only lasted a few short moments and it was painful hitting the hot pavement, I couldn’t wait to get back on. I thought that since I was able to last for a couple of seconds, that it meant I was close to actually being able to ride my bike.
My second time wasn’t as successful.
I decided to take a break after my first ride. I went inside, ate some bacon – which was my food of choice, back then – watched some cartoons. A couple of hours later, I felt like I was ready to give it another try. I was confident that I would be riding in the wind. I got back onto my bike. This time I didn’t push off of the ground because, I didn’t need to. With a Kanye-esque arrogance, I started peddling my bike and this time I lasted much shorter than the first time. And this fall not only hurt me physically, but it hurt my pride, as well. I just knew I was ready to ride my bike by myself. But maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I should just give up, is what I thought. I was doomed to be the 5-year-old who just wasn’t meant to ride a bike and I had to accept it. I was crushed. I left my bike on the sidewalk, walked into the house, closed the blinds and just sat on the couch. Wallowing in my own pity.
Then, I heard a knock on the door. It was the girl who lived next door named, Alexis.
“You left your bike in the middle of the sidewalk,” she said.
“I know,” I replied.
“So why did you leave it?”
“I don’t need it anymore.”
“Why not? It’s a brand new bike. I saw you trying to ride on it all morning.”
“I can’t ride it. So I don’t need it.”
“How many times have you tried to ride it?”
“Two times. Why do you keep asking me questions!?”
“Well they say the third time’s a charm.”
“I don’t care what they say. I can’t ride the bike!”
“Just try it one more time. Just see.”
“Whatever. Leave me alone.”
Alexis went home and I sat back on the couch. My mama came in the front door, shortly after Alexis had went home and she immediately told me to get my bike out of the street.
“Are you nuts!? Do you know how much I paid for that bike, just for you to leave it on the sidewalk for somebody to steal it. You lucky I don’t whip yo behind,” she said.
I hopped off the couch and ran outside to get my useless bike. As I picked it up, I thought about what Alexis had said. By this time the pain from the last two falls had numbed and I felt like maybe there was some hope for me to finally accomplish my goal.
I got on the bike once again. Humbled from my last experience, I used the ground to push off and begun peddling. And I rode off into the wind...
