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My Bike

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Currently under repair.

December 25th, 2009, 12:50 AM:

It was Christmas Day. Well, technically it was. I stood there staring at my brand new possession. It was a replacement for my old one that was stolen and destroyed. I wanted to ride it right now, but it was freezing cold outside. But I didn’t care: I got my thick coat and walked my new bicycle outside.

I knew it was below freezing outside since I saw black ice embedded in the street. I hopped on my bike and started pedaling. At first I was a bit shaky, getting used to my new bike. I got the hang of it and started soaring though the dark, cold streets. I missed the feeling of being on a bicycle. I felt the cold, freezing air hitting my face and my hands. I started to go faster and faster. I ignored my emotions and thoughts. Everything looked so peaceful and quiet, passing the laminated and decorated houses. I didn’t see that patch of black ice.

I lost control of my bike and fell hard on the black ice. I was in so much pain, I couldn’t move. I lay there, cold and in pain. Each time I tried standing up, a sharp pain coursed through my knee. I started crawling towards my bike. I got a hold of the handles, but then I heard footsteps.

It was a kid about my age and height. He was wearing a blue jacket, black jeans, white tennis shoes, and a white beanie.

“It looks like you need some help,” he said.

“Yeah, sure…” I mumbled.

He helped me up. “So what are doing you out here so late?” he asked.

“Just taking a ride on my bike, until I ran into some black ice…” I answered while trying to walk.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said in a sterner tone of voice.

“Why?” I questioned.

“Just 'cause, it’s dangerous out here,” he said in a low voice. I picked up my bike and used it to help me walk.

“Do you need help getting home?” he asked.

1:30 AM:

We both walked down the empty streets, turning and crossing. We talked about random stuff and our lives. We both had many things in common. I was really enjoying the presence of my new-found friend. We got to my house and I said to him, “Thanks for helping man, I really appreciate it."

“No problem, it’s time for me go now,” he happily said.

“Wait, I didn’t catch your name,” I said.

“Frank Torres,” he answered.

“Hey, where do you live? I'd like for us to hang out sometime,” I said to him.

”Where do I live…? Uhh... I live upstairs now,” he responded.

He started to walk away. “Wait… what?” I yelled out. I tried running, but the sharp pain in my knee prevented me from doing that. He disappeared behind the distant houses.

I never saw him again after that night. I recently found out that the bike I have used to belong to a kid before he went missing. The parents sold the bike to my dad. Sometimes on a cold winter night I could see him in the distance and hear:

“Thank you.”

Written by Sloshedtrain 
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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