When I first glided my tires against the tarred road of 22 Lane, it was with so much disdain for the bulky man whose underarms were always wet. He gave the egghead man who ran the shop some wads of what they called “cash” severally and had me transferred away from my friends who were now family. I would miss Cannondale the most. I was told severally by him that one day, someone would come pick me up and take me home. I was told that I would be someone's dream come true, so I looked forward to the day someone who had made a wish would come for me. I didn't think it would be that grumpy man.
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There were no tears in my eyes as I left the only family I had ever known, Cannondale’s last words to me were “Go get ‘em boy”, and those were the words I held on to as I was guided through to 22 Lane.
That man, the one with sweaty underarms had taken me to a bungalow where I suppose he lived and hid me behind the elm tree somewhere close to his house. He emerged later with a smaller version of him, what Cannondale had described to me as children, and sent him over to the tree. The boy shrieked with pure excitement when he saw me, jumping up and down and eventually into the bulky man's arms. The man’s face did not break into a soft smile like I expected, he simply nodded and walked inside.
It wasn't surprising that he had a family as grumpy as himself.
The lady of the house was a slim woman, she looked frail on the outside but she was a firm woman, at least I heard her spank her children when the girl hung the baby from outside the window and when the boy, my owner, bit his sister's ear. She was the one who cut the ribbon that strangled my neck so the boy could hop on my saddle.
When the boy, Derrick, hopped on me and gave a sprint, I yelled, giving way suddenly to the earth beneath my tires. Sticks, stones, and leaves flying around us. I didn't know how to speak their language so I couldn't ask him to stop. He seemed to be enjoying himself riding like that, so I just let him, waiting for the inevitable to happen.
When his hands gave way under my handlebars, I knew what was coming for him. He left my saddle before I could stop myself, I knew we would both have a heavy crash but I didn't want to collide with him so I let myself run down the slope a little further before breaking my fall with my sprocket.
All my joints ached but I heard soft weeping behind me so I turned. He was badly injured, something was wrong with his ankle because it was twisted at a funny angle, and he had a gash on his forehead.
I called out to someone for help but they couldn't hear me. Someone stopped by to help him up, I called for help too but they all ignored me. It was my first day but I was tired already.
The man with sweaty underarms didn't make it any easier.
He was the one who marched up to me, I was smiling gratefully that someone was finally coming to get me but instead, he jutted his foot out and hit me severally. My pedals, handlebars, and wheels suffered from the angry impact of his legs.
By the time he picked me up, I was sad and hurting all over.
Cannondale had told me once that I would only be regarded as a good bicycle by my ability to carefully bear my owner from one destination to the other. I bore that in mind the next time Derrick got on me. He too was careful because he was still recovering from his sprained ankle.
I am on a journey with my owner as I tell this tale, I would have loved to tell it to Cannondale but I haven't seen him in two years, so I'm telling my story to the trees and mountains instead, they make good friends after my new family. With this family, I have learned that things are not always the way they seem. Yes, the man with sweaty underarms never smiles but he is a good man.
I think I like them now. I like how the frail woman rubs me gently with soap and water every time Derrick returns from a ride with me, I love how the girl whines to be on me, that feeling of importance cannot be traded for anything.
And they gave me a name too, I am Raleigh bicycle.