A Friend Of Two Wheels..by Michael

A Story by Michael Reisman

Twelve year Gerry woke up on a Saturday morning at the end of July. It was his birthday back then in 1958 when dad walked him down to the garage where his present awaited. His father lifted the garage door as Gerry stared at a brand new red bicycle, his first ever. "Wow dad, this is fantastic" he yelled at the top of his little lungs. Night glow streamers flowed from the handlebars and a button on the right side was a horn. Power brakes and red flashing brake lights included for night driving. There were two dual mirrors mounted on each handlebar for safety of vision behind him. I ran to dad and hugged him as tight as a twelve year old could do. During the week after school he helped me learn to ride and it only took a few days to catch on. My riding was limited to just my own block and the back alley behind our house where there was no traffic, just parked cars in their garages. I carved my initials G. W. just below the horn button with my pocket knife. Even though it was an inanimate object, my bicycle became my best friend and I loved it dearly. It was 1963 and I was now seventeen and still riding my beloved friend of two wheels. I parked it on the sidewalk across the street where my friend Bobby lived and rang his bell. We made plans for a stickball game that weekend as it only took about ten minutes. When I left his house my bike was gone. Dad reported it stolen that same morning to the police as I cried like a twelve year old. It was never found and my mourning began at the loss of something very dear to me. Neither band aids nor medicine could make my heart heal. It was now 1988 and my forty two year old self took in interest in antique cars. The show took place in a town where I used to live so I drove there to see it. Off to the side in another corner of the showroom was a small display of old bicycles. A red bike sat there with night glow streamers and two dual mirrors mounted on each handlebar. The price was right and I made a purchase of a bicycle instead of a car. As I polished it up a bit in my garage I noticed something just below the horn button. Some tears fell on the pedals below as I wrapped my arms around its body. G. W. was still there! In a matter of healing we have a twelve year old who fell in love with his first bicycle. Maybe it traveled back to the same town some thirty years later where it loved its owner as much as he did....

© 2015 Michael Reisman

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Riss Ryker

Cool story! I LOVED my first bike. A purple Rollfast with a white banana seat and cool streamers on the handlebars. One thing I noticed here was that you switced POV right at the beginning of the story. You went from 'he' to 'I'. It's funny, I was just called out on that with one of my stories, as well. Flash fiction is my favorite to write. Nice job!