Short Stories from the Single Digit Years

Bikes

As I peer through the cagey lockup thing of the shop & into the tinted window, I can see myself riding down the road, on the track & pretty much everywhere else where it's fun. Real fun.

I need that bike. And with only about a week of school holidays left, I'm considering extra chores, manners & absolute politeness, punctuality & poshness.

But then again maybe it's just not worth it. My parents are real tough. I lean in to see the tag. $250. Jeez, I'll never get that much, not even in a year of chores. Extra chores, to be exact.

I start pacing down the footpath. I glance up at the neon signs & wish I was feeling that bright. I shove my hand deeper into my pocket. It's a cold summer-I reckon it's around 20°Celsius right now. Brrrr, I think to myself. Even if some miracle gets me the bike, I probably won't have much fun riding it in this weather.

I reach the crossing & shove my frozen fingers into the button. With a satisfying pop I step back. I'd better get to the flats soon - the full cream milk carton is heavy (maybe I should have bought light milk instead) & I think it's making me colder. I can't believe I have to spend my own money, that's right, my hard-earned money, on stuff like family groceries. At this rate, all my hopes for bike cash are out the window. I have never ridden a bike but I intend to do so.

Hurry up, cars! Let me cross! The crossing button contraption thingy is haunting me with its dull beeping. Some guy who looks about middle aged joins my wait. After about five seconds of standing there, I'm pretty sure he spits on me. Then he does it again. Yuck. I shuffle to the left a little. He keeps doing it, then produces an umbrella & puts it up. It is raining after all, so he wasn't spitting. Phew. Why didn't I think of an umbrella? That's the thing with weather in Melbourne. She changes like...well, like when a girl is getting changed & she can't decide what to wear.

I'll have to move real fast to get home. I explained to Mum that I'd be home within ten minutes...but that's a fat chance-I left the apartments at 7.50 pm & now it's 7.59pm; plus, I'm only halfway there I reckon. Mum's going to kill me...so much for the bike.

This stupid crossing is taking forever. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. I bash the button a few more times. Hurry up. My runners are soggy & tomorrow's Sunday. Sunday means church, church means wearing shoes, & though runners aren't really churchy, they're my only pair of shoes. If I'm not at school or church or if it's not rainy, I never wear shoes, not even outside, because usually it's hot. But this 20 degree weather is absolute rubbish. It's school holidays, weather, not Christmas in July!

Anyway, I want to get home right now. There are loads of people around me, most holding umbrellas up. The rain is bucketing down. Suddenly I get even more wet because of the stupid Holden that just drove into a puddle & drenched me. I curse under my breath (not that anyone could hear me anyway because of the racket the rain is creating) & check my watch.

8.05pm. Great. Mum will flip when I reach home. She's going to give me a long boring lecture about not worrying your parents or some other crap like that. Finally the red crossing man turns green. I sigh with sheer anger & run across. The milk, which I was desperately praying that doesn't slip out of my grip, has just done that. It slides along the wet asphalt toward the other side. It's around 7 metres away from me. Suddenly I hear shouting. I freak out, thinking I'm in trouble for running across the road, but then I smell something delicious. I reach the milk, grasp it & hurry to the other footpath. It's a tomato-ish smell. So I hastily chase my olfaction device & put the carton down my jacket. It gives me a huge burst of shuddering cold but it works, & it's hands-free. The guy yelling is saying "Gettya' tomato soup!" in a real yobbo way. He's stirring a vat behind a stall. He gives me a cold stare. I don't like him, so I look away & pretend to be interested in the tram going past.

"You there, boy! I'll gettya' some hot soup for ya' family, eh buddy? Eh?"

I ignore him.

"Come on, buddy! Soup, for godsakes! It's tasty!"

I pretend not to see him out of the corner of my eye.

"I said boy! 10 cents for tomato soup!"

I know it's cheap, but even if it's only a 25,000th of what I need, I've still got to save it.

"No thank you, but it is nice of you to offer. Goodbye, strange man." I say in a firm manner.

I achieve walking a little further when he shouts again.

"Come here like a good kid! Feed ya' family! In my day I had to cook for mine! So come here & go back to old times, eh buddy?"

This dude is really creeping me out. I start running at a slow pace. He doesn't say much for a bit, then hollers,

"What are ya', boy? Afraid of a winter warmer, is we? Chicken, are we, boy? Eh, buddy? Eh?"

I halt my gallop abruptly. Did he just call me a chicken? Now, don't get me wrong. I always try to maintain my dignity (especially now while I've got to suck up to Mum a fair bit) but some things just go too far.

I stop.

I take a few deep breaths.

I count; 1...2...3...4....5....6-

What's after 6 again?

Nevermind. Counting is getting boring. So instead of cursing & swearing at him I curse & swear to myself & sprint.

I have learned, just then that blocked heads, being very irritated by some random on the street & a milk carton jerking around in your jacket is a bad combination. A really bad combination.

I really wish that I had that bike to propel myself along the footpath, instead of what I'm doing. I'm so slow with so much effort that I can't even describe it.

At last I see Flinders Street. That's where my flatblock is. I run across the road even with a red man flashing but for all I know, the crazy soup man could be pursuing me at a high speed. I am imagining him with his ladle in the air, his apron flapping in the rain, his wrinkles & jowls flailing like a bird falling out of the sky. Oh, it is a horrible thought. Maybe he's even yelling something like

"Come here boy, & buy some tomato soup or I'll hunt you down like in my day!"

But then again, he couldn't be, since I would be able to hear it. Oh jeez. I have to stop overthinking stuff.

Finally I reach Ridgewater Apartments. It sounds classy & flashy, but really, the conditions are terrible. I think that every time I walk in here. A more appropriate name would be something like next doors' title-The Salty Spray. Even though we're on the coast, doesn't mean we're settled right on the sand.

Anyway, I take the stairs to level seven, unlock the door & step in. It's good to be home...but there are decorations everywhere. I stand there, taking it all in. Everything is different. Especially what I'm standing next to. A brand-new GT bicycle. I forgot it was my 11th.