MY PLACE – POETRY , AFFIRMATIONS & MORE

Most days you would find me floating on a daydream, but not this day!

I carefully cut each straw “this must be what it feels like to be the coolest kid on the block”.

I stopped for a minute to think about how I ached for long shimmery tassels for my handle bars; much like I pained for long hair so I could flick it from side to side. I comforted myself “those tassels were really no big deal, soon I would have a bike and THAT was a big deal“.

“If we cut it , it will grow in thicker“. My mom’s words always whispered silently beneath my fingers as I reached up and patted my short bowl cut hairstyle, “when I grow up, I’ll never cut it again“!

It was a beautiful fall day, in a distance Dickey’s rusted pick up truck rumbled loud as it neared, thoughts of my wheels decorated with colorful straws clicking round and round in a swirl of colours began my heart racing.

I had never owned a bike, I was 9 years old this would be my first one. Truth is, it was one of my cousins hand me down banana bike with no brakes, but I didn’t care, it was new to me.

Mom yelled out the window “Now you better be careful young lady!”
The clank of dishes echoed in the back ground.

Within minutes I grasped the handle bars and with a run an’ hop I sped away without even looking back, “Mothers”!

I was a tomboy in those days; I didn’t care that the bike had no brakes; I had feet, feet were all I needed to stop.

Windswept leaves danced about my heels as I rode on the sunken, cracked road in front of my house, cool autumn wind whipped thin strands of my hair in and out of my eyes as I tried to keep my bike balanced.

Behind my every effort to practice stopping, a large dust cloud trailed.

My first ride was to my grandmothers. I carefully pressed my feet to the ground, the bottom of my feet burning, bouncing from the gravel. I imagined igniting the tall grass with a blast of fire from my shoes,  yes feet worked!

The sun low, perched slightly above the cliff’s edge hinted I had better get home fast; or there would be hell to pay.

I rode fast and hard and as I walked (always in the middle of the road) I now rode my bike the same.

The road back was dirt and gravel , the connecting paved roads not repaired in years. The streets seemed hillier, the early night shadowed my long strides up the small hill.

As I got closer to my house, a car came out of nowhere!

I jerked my handlebars to one side as I felt my tires skid and slide on a small patch of broken road, chunks of asphalt smashed against my ankles.  Last thing I remember I was airborne.

I woke up with my mom gently brushing impacted pebbles from my forehead, a few people stood around us. Laying at the side of the road I felt a familiar warmth of blood trickling into my eyes as I witnessed the look of horror on my mom’s face, the same look I’ve seen before.

Yes I was the tomboy, always breaking something or getting stitched. This time the cut was deep not bad though, first time I ever got taped instead of stitched.

What a day!

I never did see that banana bike again.

Written by : Corrina Leblond