HumanPotatoHere is a short story based on an actual memory, which I wrote for a contest. (I won first place.)
My older sister taught me how to ride a bike. It feels like just yesterday I was crouching on the ground, watching her unscrew those pink training wheels.
“Are you sure Papa won’t mind?” I ask.
Bernie pauses to toss aside the first wheel. “Not if you don’t need them,” she replies with a grin.
I pick up the wheel and clutch it to my chest, leaving brown smudges across my shirt. “Can we put them back on later?” Dear training wheels, they’d been with me through thick and thin.
“Sure. I’ll leave the screws here.” She sets them on a board before turning to me with her hands on her hips. “You ready?” I shake my head, but she is already setting the bike back upright. “Climb on,” she tells me. “I’ll push you off.”
Determined, I climb on and kick the peddles so that the right one is higher and slightly forward. Hands on my back, Bernie starts to push. “Wait!” I yell, digging my feet into the dirt. One of the peddles hits the back of my leg. “You won’t let go, right?” I turn and glare at her.
She shrugs. “Ready?”
I re-prepare the peddles. Then nod and push off. My handle bars wobble. Bernie’s hands press reassuring into my back.
“Don’t hit the stump!”
I hit the stump. Just the side of it but hard enough to scrape my leg. I climb off my bike and shove it over. “You pushed me too close!” I yell, stomping my feet.
Somehow Bernie keeps her calm. “Next time we won’t get so close,” she says, “maybe we should start a little farther back.”
“Fine,” I agree. Bernie uprights my bike and walks it farther back.
We try again. And we try again. And one more time. I peddle as fast as possible. My lips pressed tight with determination. My bike wobbles as I turn around the stump. Behind me, Bernie cheers and I realize she is no longer next to me. I panic and try to stop. The bike falls sideways. My shoulder stings. I crawl out of under my bike more angry than hurt. “You said you wouldn’t let go!” I cry.
“I didn’t say that this time,” Bernie points out. “You were biking just fine until you noticed.”
“I was not,” I argue.
“Yes, you were,” Bernie answers. “Right?”
My older brother looks up from where he is screwing two boards together. “Yeah,” he agrees. He always agrees with Bernie.
“See,” she replies triumphantly. “One more time and then maybe we can go get Mama.”
I stand my bike up. “When Papa gets home, he’ll be so surprised,” I add in agreement. Bernie pushes me off again, but this time I know she’s going to let go. Again, I wobble and fall down. “I made it a little farther this time, right? Right?” I ask as I right myself again.
“That was incredible!” Bernie answers. “One more time?”
“One more time,” I agree. This time I make it all the way to the stump. I pull the handlebars a little too sharply. My bike twists out of under me. A piece of bark on the ground digs into my shoulder and I start to cry.
“You did it!” Bernie comes running over to help me up. “You did it,” she says again.
Flecks of bark stick to my skin. I brush them off and blink away my tears. “I was too close to the stump,” I say. “Next time I’ll start turning farther away.”
Walking my bike to the other side of the stump, I climb on. I kick my right peddle so that it is up and slightly forward. Bernie grabs the back of my seat and starts running. “You can let me go now!” I yell. This time I make it all the way around the yard. Twice. I don’t know how to stop, so I just dig my toes into the ground.
“I’m going to get Mama!” Bernie yells, already halfway down the hill toward the house.
“No! I get to,” I cry, running after her.
Bernie stops and grabs my shoulders. “You get your bike ready and I’ll get Mama. Okay?”
“Okay.” I hurry back up the hill and drag my bike so that Mama will be able to see it from the door.
Moments later, Bernie comes running back. “Watch! Watch!” she yells over her shoulder as Mama comes to the back-door.
“I’m watching,” Mama answers.
I climb on the bike, and Bernie pushes me off. Confidently, I peddle around the yard. I am very careful to avoid the stump. Mama claps for me. I stop my bike. Running down to the house, I throw my arms around her. “I don’t need my training wheels anymore,” I tell her.
“Which is good,” Bernie adds, “because I can’t find the screws anymore.”