A Bike Ride

I was riding my bike, disconnecting for a while. Not only trying to feel better and get outside, but to get rid of the knots in my back from sitting at a desk all day, writing quotients and acceleration formulas.

I get out of my driveway, and go own the hill. The momentum builds, and when I turn, I don’t have to pedal. It feels like the front tire is flat. Yes, no, yes! No? No, it’s not. You’ll be fine. Change the gear.

Change of gears.

I approach the park, passing the house of an old friend, and the house with the vase collectors living inside. Deciding on taking the long way instead of the path through the park, deciding that I want this to be solitary, and that I won’t call my friend. I need to be alone and think. The clouds are pink. Going up the hill, the circles my legs make get heavy.

Change of gears.

I pedal and pedal, finally at the top. The cul-de-sac that doesn’t mark the end, but the beginning of the intersecting street. Past the house of a current friend, the split-level with the fountain, the house with the big star, with the “UNDER CONTRACT” sign out front. Since when are they moving?

Change of gears.

As I cross, thinking about having the right-of-way, and about having the chance to press my foot the pedal soon instead constantly rotating them. The stop sign is there, but I keep going. There was a lot of old cars surprisingly, and two motorcycles. One purring in the distance, and the other parked in front of the tennis court. Pedaling and pedaling, past the house of an old friend, one I still see on the bus. The cartoons playing in  her living room through the window I see, the pool we skinny dipped in and the gokart track between her house, and her grandpa’s, with a tractor on it.

Change of gears.

7 days until full moon. Half empty, half full. I hear the noise of my friend’s brother mowing the lawn, and the slight smell of the grass in the evening humidity. It’s getting more and more blue out. I look for the mailbox with the pretty flowers painted on it on the way home, but only find the house hidden by the trees, the 70’s house, a black cat, a dog & his walker, and branches left to collect from the remnants of the last few hurricanes passing through.

Change of gears.

When I look into the window of the dusty white house, I see Jeopardy on the TV, playing like it does every night at 7. On the blue background, in the chunky white letters, everything’s cut out but the right corner. ...the simpli-... What is…?

What is?

Change of gears.

An old photo, of that mailbox, with the pretty flowers painted on it.