Page 21 of Dear Pink

You’re an artist. Get over yourself already.

Libby’s voice nags at me, and I close my eyes. At least I didn’t babble on about polo bears.

***

After work, I search through the messy, overstuffed garage. I’ve let the space sit untouched since my parents died. I dig a bike and helmet out of the rubble and shake my head to clear those dark thoughts.

The pink Huffy cruiser sports a sweet tinkling bell on the handlebar. Dad bought the bike as a gift for my freshman year of high school. I imagined riding to school every day before I realized it was uncool. This is the best kind of bike because I won’t have to change gears or remember what the different levels mean.

“You’re perfect for the Hotter'N Hell training,” I say to the bright cruiser as I shove the heavy thing in my trunk. “Practice starts today!” I fist pump the air.

Driving up to Flag Pole Hill, I park the car and study the steep incline. This hill is a great starting point. I’m surprised at the number of people parked here on a weekday night. SUVs with professional bike racks attached populate most of the spots. I miraculously get the Huffy out of my back seat with minimal cussing. It seemed much easier to get the damn bike in there. I understand the appeal of the attached racks now. Maybe I should buy one?

I put on my helmet and a strong wind blows by me. Two hundred yards away, a group of bikers in numbered jerseys pedal down the hill faster than the speed of light. They seem like a vitamin advertisement for strength and vitality. I regard my pink and white Adidas running shorts and my hot pink Minnie Mouse tank top and shrug. I bet I’ll look awesome on my bike too.

Jumping on, I wobble the first few minutes to find my balance. When I ride, though, the handlebars veer to the right. My Huffy has a mind of her own. I use a death grip to keep the front wheel straight. Quickly, my bike picks up speed and gravity takes over. I, too, fly down Flag Pole Hill with the wind whipping my hair.

I get lost in the moment until I realize the brakes don’t work. I forgot to check them at home. The Huffy goes faster, and the wobbling turns into a metal clicking noise. I steer into the grass and slow-motion tumble onto the grassy knoll. I lay there a moment accessing the situation. Did I break my body? I bend my important joints and sit up. Did anyone notice? Since no one points and laughs, I move on. I pick my bike off the ground, and my eyes move up the steep slope. How will I get to my car? Should I walk the bike? I could leave the clunker here in the grass and pretend it isn’t mine?

My shoulders collapse as I weigh all the impossible options. “Damn it, Libby,” I scream into the clouds. “I can’t do this. My bike doesn’t even want to go for a ride.”

Bikers climb the hill in massive numbers, like an organized team, and they keep calling out a change of positions. I don’t understand what the directions mean. I close my eyes and wait for Libby’s encouraging voice to manifest. Nothing. I get nothing? “Where are you when a girl needs you?” A pack of bikers peddles past like Speedy Gonzales. Still nothing from Libby.

The sky dims and my stomach growls. Fine. I’ll climb Mount Everest and treat myself to a special dinner from Hello Dumplings for my efforts. I hop on the Huffy and push the pedals as hard as I can but only move a few feet. Instead of going forward, the bike slides backward. The grinding metal noise repeats, but louder. I can’t help myself. I scream like the babysitter in a slasher movie.

“It’s okay. Relax. It’s alright. I won’t let go,” a deep male voice says.

The bike stops even though my death grip remains. I twist around, and a tall man in bike gear and a helmet holds me in place. His thick arms wrap around me and grip the handlebars. His hands are large and manly next to mine.

“Oh my,” I squeak and drop my head. “I saw my whole life flash before me.”

“Death by Flag Pole Hill doesn’t sound fun.”

“Right?”

“Your bike’s falling apart, Pink.”

“Huh?” I turn to him, blinking to adjust my vision. “Falling apart?”

“It needs tightening in a few places. Were you learning to ride for the first time?”

“No. I can ride a bike,” I snap at him, my feelings hurt a tiny bit. His earthy scent smells familiar. He grins at me, and I stare into his eyes. Do I know this guy?

“What do you wanna do here?”

“What do you mean?” I lean against his rock-hard chest. I long to snuggle into his broad shoulders and sniff more, but Jack-Mold materializes before me. Danger. No snuggling into a dark handsome stranger, especially when I’m this vulnerable.

“Do you wanna jump off the bike and walk? Or do you wanna ride up? I think with your frame issues, riding isn’t a great idea.”

“My frame issues? What’s wrong with my body?”

He scrunches his face at me, confused.

“Ohhhhh, you mean my bike.” I give a nervous laugh. This guy probably wishes he let me roll to my impending doom. I jump off the bike. “Yes, walking is a sound plan.” I’m a complete and utter moron.

“Thank you for helping me,” I say.

He laughs, and his voice sounds deep and real. “You’re funny, Pink.”

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