Tricycle

“Ding, ding!” Ian screamed while he pedaled his trike down the sidewalk. He’d told mom he was in desperate need of a bell to warn pedestrians out of his way, but the best she could do was add it to the Christmas wish list. The sidewalk sloped and Ian sped up unwillingly. He screamed his dings louder to compensate for the increased danger and tried to slow himself down with his heels. Mom would be angry at him for ruining his shoes, but this was a matter of safety! The friction created by his rubber soles wasn’t doing the job fast enough. He was headed right for the street corner; a sharp curve of death. Ian held his breath and leaned uphill as he turned. His dings turned to cries of panic as his right wheel left the ground. The trike skidded right and the momentum carried it into a concrete street lamp, hitting it broadside. Actually, more of Ian than the trike hit the concrete. As this happened the right wheel of the trike came slamming down and snapped off the body.

Ian lay half on half off his broken trike. He lay very still so he could access the damages. It was just as he feared: a skinned elbow and scraped hands. Gingerly, he pulled himself upright. He would be forced to leave the totaled trike behind. He was too injured to drag it home. This was a costly mistake, but Ian would only discover just how costly, later.

“Mother! I require immediate medical attention!” Mom rushed down the stairs looking terrified. Ian waited for her to look him over and calm down before he debriefed her on the damages. “My elbow is skinned and my hands are raw.”

“That’s it?” Ian did not appreciate her breathy relief. He was in pain and she had the audacity to diminish it? How dare she.

“The rest of my body remains intact, however if we don’t move quickly my wounds will scab with gravel still buried in them.” Mom left him to wait on the couch as she searched for a washcloth and bandaids. Ian used this moment to brace myself for the agony that cleaning the wounds would bring. Cleaning is unpleasant but necessary. He reminded myself. If not done, I risk losing the limb. Mom took hold of my arm, facing my hands up. Ian grit his teeth.

After the worst was over, Ian reported the state on his trike. “The front wheel is bent and the back right wheel is unattached. I had to leave it behind.” He hung his head in shame. Mom rolled her eyes and did her best to disguise her laugh as a cough.

“Where did you leave it?”

“On the corner by the gang street lamp.” There were no gangs in their neighborhood, But Ian had discovered a daisy graffitied across the base of it once and ever since considered it owned by a gang. Mom considered it hilarious.

“It’ll be just fine, Honey. We’ll pick it up later.”

They didn’t pick it up later. It was forgotten in the chaos of their impending vacation. There was so much to pack and check and the trike was fine where it was. And so the trike remained at the corner when Ian’s family boarded the plane to Mexico, forgotten until Ian was struck by a reminder.

The family was harnessed to a wire high in the trees, preparing to embark on a ropes course. The air was comfortably warm and a gentle breeze shook the leaves surrounding the course. The atmosphere was calm, but the circumstances were anything but. Mom went first followed by Ian. Ian stared down at the forest floor beneath him and fear flooded his mind. It struck him suddenly how familiar this feeling was. Up high in those trees, Ian felt like he had no control over his safety; Just like he had felt during the incident on his trike. The trike he left for dead on the corner.

All the rest of the trip, Ian mourned the trike that had surely been tossed into a dumpster by now. He had no hope of ever seeing its glossy red seat again.

The ride home from the airport was somber for Ian. He knew life would be different without his trike. He knew there would be a hole left that he could not fill. The first few days after his return, he stayed inside. Not wishing to feel the lack of his trusty transportation by going outside. But after these initial moments of adjusting to this lesser life, Ian decided he was ready. He laced up his sneakers, zipped up his jacket, and began the downhill walk to the corner. He must get over his grief in order to live fully again. He took a deep breath and rounded the turn. The trike was still there! But Ian did not celebrate for long. It was chained to the lamp post. Chained! Impounded! So close, yet so far! Ian picked up the broken wheel to take home with him. “I’ll be back for you.” He told the body. “I promise.” And after he had wiped all the tears from his cheeks, he turned back up the hill hugging the broken wheel to his heart.