What He Wrote

Chapter 2

A memory.

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"What's something you wish you were good at?"

Cleo turned to look at me, smiling softly. "I wish I were good at solving riddles, playing the piano, and riding a bike. Oh, and I'd like to know how to play the guitar. And the ukelele." Her eyes were lit with possibilities, and of things that could be.

"You can't ride a bike?" I frowned.

Her face turned slightly pink. "Nope."

I sat up, grabbed her hand, and pulled her off her back. "I happen to have multiple bikes in my garage right as we speak and they are just begging you to learn to ride them."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Cleo rolled off my bed and followed me as I ran downstairs to the garage. I climbed over numerous boxes that were precariously stacked and made a point to avoid any visible cobwebs.

"Hey, can you just press that button for me? That one-no, one more over. There you go."

"Got it!" She yelled as the garage door began opening.

"Okay, so go on the driveway and I'll bring them out." I wrestled with various pieces of lawn equipment and a few more boxes until there was a path for the bikes.

"They look...old." Cleo inspected the bikes as I rolled them out.

"Yeah, they were my grandparents'. As you can probably see, my family doesn't appreciate vintage stuff quite as much as you do."

"Are they safe?" Cleo had started to look nervous.

"The brakes work fine and there's air in the tires so I don't see why they wouldn't be."

She walked over to a maroon one that had definitely seen better days. She awkwardly mounted it as if it would fall apart the moment she put weight on it.

"Okay, now what?"

"I'll hold on to the back. You just need to pedal hard and fast. That'll help you stay balanced. There are the brakes-yep, you just squeeze the handlebars or pedal backwards. Are you ready?"

"No, but I have an itching suspicion that you're going to start no matter what."

I laughed and pushed her onto the road. I started to jog as she pedaled the way I instructed. Hard and fast.

"I'm gonna let go!"

Cleo attempted to look at me. "What? No!"

I let go anyway.

I watched her facial expressions shift from panic to disbelief to joy. Her body looked like liquid on the bike, and her hair could have been compared to a superhero's cape. She was able to turn around with ease, and I could see her laughing as she neared.

"Come on, Teddy! Get on a bike!"

I went back onto the driveway and picked up a faded yellow bike before following Cleo's example.

"I'm coming!" I yelled as I caught up with her.

"I imagine," she paused to look at the trees surrounding the road, "that this is what it's like to fly."

"Being on a bike is the only time I ever feel content with my life."

"I completely understand now."

We both slowed to stops once we got back to my house. A comfortable silence fell as we stared at the rows of trees framing the road. Oddly enough, riding the rusty bike down the street made me feel as if I knew the trees better. I felt like the road had spilled it's many secrets that it was sick of hiding.

"Teddy, would you like to feel content with your life for another minute?"

I picked up on what Cleo was implying. "Cleo, would you like to fly for another minute?"

"Only if you'll fly with me."

We both pushed off the ground. We were laughing and screaming and shrieking for no reason other than we were teenagers and we could. We savored the freedom that was ever so rare in our confusing lives, and with every turn of the pedals a new emotion rushed through me. Fear. Awe. Excitement. Longing. Dread.

Love.

And as I turned to glimpse at Cleo while she turned to glimpse at me, I knew she felt it too. We were scared, but flying along the road next to one another made everything seem much less daunting. We could make it. We would make it. All was well.

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I haven't ridden a bike since.