memory #47

riding my bike no-handed down pennsylvania avenue in

cape may, new jersey, say 1990; the tires on the road, summer

wind warm and my hair lathered in sweat; I am opening

a bottle of dr. pepper, twisting the metal cap with my right

hand, lifting the glass to my lips with my left, the wheels

moving, sprocket popping with the chain, my knees pumping,

rubber meeting gravel, my day meeting my friends meeting

a destination meeting the sun on my shoulders, living colour

tee shirt, bermuda shorts, swatch watch, chuck taylors,

mushroom hand grips, back pegs, you name it, there I go

fearlessly into the world, pushing further, over the sun

splashed boardwalk, my oakley frogskins reflecting the light,

there is not a thing in creation to slow my momentum, complete

and inexplicable confidence, baby, ready to run it back again

tomorrow, for sure; the sidewalks, the baked grass, the narrow

cobblestone streets, the unsustainable speed with which I travel,

my soul is soaring, I am flying—

it does not matter that we are moving out of state soon; doesn’t

matter that things will get hard again, doesn’t matter about

another new school, blank faces in a yearbook, the angle of my

metal handlebars destined to abruptly swerve into a cold unknown;

but on this day?

there is no stopping this kid—

get out the way,

vortex, vapor trails, moving with a purpose,

thirteen years old, uplifted thoughts,

serotonin, fear, clouds;

                                  I’m money, I’m magic, I’m gone.

Keith Leidner is a high school English teacher in Massachusetts. His writing has appeared in Alimentum, Paterson Literary Review, and Alaska Quarterly Review.