THE BYCICLE

Fresh snow piled on the sides of the narrow road leading uphill, but the sidewalks were free. The tires of my bicycle gripped the asphalt, skirting the ice spots where the snow had melted, then froze.

My heart thudded with anticipation.

This was nothing I had ever, ever experienced in my young life.

My muscular legs pumped uphill.

My heart sang.

I thought that my dreams had finally come true.

As they should have.

As I knew they would.

I reached the top of the hill, and took my bike to the top of the two-leveled parking. I leaned my bike along the rail, in front of a well-known car.

“Nobody will touch your bike there,” he had said. “It’s my car. Here, these keys will get you through the gate.”

Only an hour, I said to myself, and I’ll bike down home. It’s just dinner. What can be wrong?

That bike waited for me until well into the night.

When I showed up to fork it and ride down that hill, I knew I would come back.

I did, like a moth to the light. Again, and again.

One day at dawn, the sun rose, bathed in pink.

The summer birds let out their harmonious songs.

My bike welcomed me after a long night wait and asked, are you sure?

I looked at it and said, “Loneliness is gone.”

My bike waited, night after night.

That Fall it became my only companion, after he had said goodbye.