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Coming home along the bike trail. I ride sunsets after logging a few hours on the keyboard spending a good hour or two just drifting around when it's a little bit cooler out. The trail snakes up the hill, winding out of a long drop of glide to suddenly mount itself in a series of excruciating turns. I shift gears and start pedaling. Four hours chain smoking over an unfinished novel start to kick in. I shed a second skin of sweat. I huff past the cough and feel the muscles in my leg strain against gravity. I'm just reaching the summit of the climb when all of a sudden this little caramel skin colored boy comes charging down from the grassy mound to my right to start sprinting along side me. The kids wearing this embroidered white cotton smock that falls to his knees but it doesn't slow him down a bit. His face is neatly tucked underneath a matching skullcap and looks straight into the distance ahead with a determined focus. It takes me a second but I realize the kid is trying to race me. I look over my shoulder to make sure no one else is coming up on us... spotting only a smaller girl in a matching smock jumping up and down on the field cheering her friend (brother, cousin...?) on. I turn back to the boy who is keeping pace with me easily, his arms tugging one after the other, as if pulling himself along the wake of my wind.
"You racing me, little man?" I ask him with a good natured chuckle.
The boy looks over at me with these big dark oval eyes and lights himself a bright smile that saves him the breath of a reply.
"All right, let's pick it up then..." I playfully snort and begin to pedal just a little faster all the while giving this improv performance of unleashing a massive effort to do so. I grunt theatrically, I wince, I growl... I channel the role and hold back the urge to laugh in the process. I glance back. The little guy is keeping up just fine, though his soft face reveals the slight tightening of a strain around the lips. Then we hit the beginning of another drop, the reverse of the last climb into a twisting free-fall. I tap the brakes and look back other at him.
"We're heading down hill, you sure you can keep up?"
The kid really pours it on now, pumping his arms in some kind of manic dance, using the downhill momentum to build up speed until within the space of a few seconds gains a good lead on me of about a yard... son of a bitch, he's fast!
"Can you?" he shouts back at me and I can't help but smile at his audacity.
None of which however, stops me from releasing the brakes. The velocity drop sucks me into a blur of motion. I pass the kid easily, navigate a sharp curve, avoiding a flock of tanned middle age women jogging mindlessly to their iPods and before I get too far ahead, begin tapping the brakes again while I sneak a look back. The kids still in it to win it, tearing ass to catch up with me until his sprint sputters into a light jog and he bends down to catch his breath. I wheel around and remount the hill in a spin, slowing down enough to salute the kid as if we were two dueling jet pilots.
"Not bad!" I holler up to him as I begin to turn back down the hill.
The boy waves and yells a 'thank you' before turning around (the white smock spinning in the wake around his waist, blooming into the width of a ringing church bell) to race back up the hill before vanishing over the top of it.
Ten minutes later I arrive home with the first of the nights fireflies lighting up the front porch in drifting fluorescent beacons that flicker all around me. I chain up my Baby, spin the lock dial, reward my 'victory' with a Camel and take a seat on the steps. A light breeze rustles the low hanging trees above. I remember being his age and sitting out on the stoops of East 4th street on Summer evenings such as this. Those first few days of summer vacation. Long afternoons that stray aimlessly with blessed little to do. Comic books spread open in front of the TV. Sherbert for desert and staying up past bedtime.
It never changes does it?
Still I wonder if I could've taken him if the race went up, rather than down, hill?
"You racing me, little man?" I ask him with a good natured chuckle.
The boy looks over at me with these big dark oval eyes and lights himself a bright smile that saves him the breath of a reply.
"All right, let's pick it up then..." I playfully snort and begin to pedal just a little faster all the while giving this improv performance of unleashing a massive effort to do so. I grunt theatrically, I wince, I growl... I channel the role and hold back the urge to laugh in the process. I glance back. The little guy is keeping up just fine, though his soft face reveals the slight tightening of a strain around the lips. Then we hit the beginning of another drop, the reverse of the last climb into a twisting free-fall. I tap the brakes and look back other at him.
"We're heading down hill, you sure you can keep up?"
The kid really pours it on now, pumping his arms in some kind of manic dance, using the downhill momentum to build up speed until within the space of a few seconds gains a good lead on me of about a yard... son of a bitch, he's fast!
"Can you?" he shouts back at me and I can't help but smile at his audacity.
None of which however, stops me from releasing the brakes. The velocity drop sucks me into a blur of motion. I pass the kid easily, navigate a sharp curve, avoiding a flock of tanned middle age women jogging mindlessly to their iPods and before I get too far ahead, begin tapping the brakes again while I sneak a look back. The kids still in it to win it, tearing ass to catch up with me until his sprint sputters into a light jog and he bends down to catch his breath. I wheel around and remount the hill in a spin, slowing down enough to salute the kid as if we were two dueling jet pilots.
"Not bad!" I holler up to him as I begin to turn back down the hill.
The boy waves and yells a 'thank you' before turning around (the white smock spinning in the wake around his waist, blooming into the width of a ringing church bell) to race back up the hill before vanishing over the top of it.
Ten minutes later I arrive home with the first of the nights fireflies lighting up the front porch in drifting fluorescent beacons that flicker all around me. I chain up my Baby, spin the lock dial, reward my 'victory' with a Camel and take a seat on the steps. A light breeze rustles the low hanging trees above. I remember being his age and sitting out on the stoops of East 4th street on Summer evenings such as this. Those first few days of summer vacation. Long afternoons that stray aimlessly with blessed little to do. Comic books spread open in front of the TV. Sherbert for desert and staying up past bedtime.
It never changes does it?
Still I wonder if I could've taken him if the race went up, rather than down, hill?