The yellow bike was everything. When Tommy was four years old, riding across Chapel Park, he had looked down and back, watching his training wheels cut through the grass and molding the dandelions to the earth. Tommy had felt happy, when the weeds did not pop back up.
Now Tommy was six years old and Tommy was racing himself. Up and down the sidewalk, in front of his house.
Where Momma was having the yard sale.
Tommy would switch the gears on the yellow bike often. Tommy liked doing that best. He did not understand why he could pedal backwards and the bike would still go forwards. He felt like he was from a different planet every time he switched the gears, so Tommy would pretend that his skin was green and that he had yellow eyes, to match his yellow bike. Which was really his spaceship.
Tommy was a well-liked alien on the planet Earth because Tommy The Alien could go fast.
Tommy was pedalling fast around the corner, head down, crushing down the sidewalk, up along the side of his house, when a voice shrieked.
"Tommyyy!"
Tommy looked up and he saw Mari-Anne and Todd and Gordie and Grayston, standing on the sidewalk, so Tommy threw his sneakered feet to the ground fast. He almost fell, but did not, when the bike stopped quick, forcing his whole body to be thrown forward.
"You scared me again, Tommy," Mari-Anne snivelled.
Tommy told her to shut-up.
"I don't wanna," came Mari-Anee's high-pitched whine.
"Just shut-up," Tommy said louder, crossing his arms over his chest, standing beside his yellow bike; propping it up with his knee.
When Mari-Anne began to pout, Todd and Gordie and Grayston laughed. "Yeah, shut-up, Mari-Anne," they chorused together.
Mari-Anne was about to cry, the tears just threatening to come over the edge of her lower lids, when the sound of the Dickie-Dee Man's bells came within earshot, and when all the children's heads turned, they found within viewshot, too.
"My mom said she would buy everyone ice cream," Tommy spoke fast, mostly to make sure Mari-Anne did not whine and cry anymore. Tommy was rewarded with a wide smile from the girl, who jumped up and down, along with her blonde pigtails tied in red elastic.
"Yay!" she simply said.
So, Tommy slipped onto his bike, speeding away, with a "Come on!' thrown over his shoulder, to the three that had to walk.
Poor people, Tommy thought. People do not own spaceships.
"No, Tommy," said Momma.
"But I told them you were going to."
"You should not have. I did not say I would buy any children ice cream from the Dickie-Dee Man."
"Momma, I told them-"
"I do not care, Tommy," Momma interrupted him.
Just as Grayston was the first of the walkers to show-up. Mostly because Grayston had chosen to be a runner.
"Because you are going to buy us ice cream; thank-you," spoke Grayston to Momma; ever-always polite with adults.
Momma was tight-lipped, while the children danced around her, as they picked out the ice creams they wanted. $6.75, in quarters, is what she handed the boy with the crooked smile, who was not a man.
Sissy screamed, from the playpen, too hot, despite her soft yellow dress. Too hot from her too wet diaper.
Too hot despite the goddamn tree.
"MOOOMMMMA! MOOOMMMMA!"
Momma bought the rainbow popsicle for her.
But Sissy threw it into the grass, too mad and without reason, when Momma handed her the carefully wrapped in wrapper-ed stick.
Momma only sighed, as she picked up the popsicle. She was picking off the dirt, when she noticed the ants in the playpen.
"Can we go to the park with our ice cream?" Tommy asked, from behind her.
"Yeah," said Momma, without looking at him, but Tommy had turned to go with the others before she spoke, anyway.
A blue car pulled up, rusted fenders; door bottoms. A Ford. The man wore a white shirt. Blue jeans. His gut spilt over.
"That yella bike," he said. "How much fer it?"
Momma looked at the bike.
She looked at the man; his unshaven face. The case of beer, on the backseat of the car.
"Six dollars and seventy-five cents," she kept her voice neutral. Even.
The man looked at her queerly and reached into his back pocket, for his brown wallet.
Black, greased hands touched hers, a silent exchange. The man picked up the bike, tossed carelessly in the grass. He left.
And Momma thought to herself. I have enough.
I have enough for the moving truck.
Diapers for Sissy.
Two bottles of vodka.
And the bike.
Tommy's favorite colour was blue.
And since it was almost four o'clock, Momma decided to pack-up the yard sale.
Now Tommy was six years old and Tommy was racing himself. Up and down the sidewalk, in front of his house.
Where Momma was having the yard sale.
Tommy would switch the gears on the yellow bike often. Tommy liked doing that best. He did not understand why he could pedal backwards and the bike would still go forwards. He felt like he was from a different planet every time he switched the gears, so Tommy would pretend that his skin was green and that he had yellow eyes, to match his yellow bike. Which was really his spaceship.
Tommy was a well-liked alien on the planet Earth because Tommy The Alien could go fast.
Tommy was pedalling fast around the corner, head down, crushing down the sidewalk, up along the side of his house, when a voice shrieked.
"Tommyyy!"
Tommy looked up and he saw Mari-Anne and Todd and Gordie and Grayston, standing on the sidewalk, so Tommy threw his sneakered feet to the ground fast. He almost fell, but did not, when the bike stopped quick, forcing his whole body to be thrown forward.
"You scared me again, Tommy," Mari-Anne snivelled.
Tommy told her to shut-up.
"I don't wanna," came Mari-Anee's high-pitched whine.
"Just shut-up," Tommy said louder, crossing his arms over his chest, standing beside his yellow bike; propping it up with his knee.
When Mari-Anne began to pout, Todd and Gordie and Grayston laughed. "Yeah, shut-up, Mari-Anne," they chorused together.
Mari-Anne was about to cry, the tears just threatening to come over the edge of her lower lids, when the sound of the Dickie-Dee Man's bells came within earshot, and when all the children's heads turned, they found within viewshot, too.
"My mom said she would buy everyone ice cream," Tommy spoke fast, mostly to make sure Mari-Anne did not whine and cry anymore. Tommy was rewarded with a wide smile from the girl, who jumped up and down, along with her blonde pigtails tied in red elastic.
"Yay!" she simply said.
So, Tommy slipped onto his bike, speeding away, with a "Come on!' thrown over his shoulder, to the three that had to walk.
Poor people, Tommy thought. People do not own spaceships.
"No, Tommy," said Momma.
"But I told them you were going to."
"You should not have. I did not say I would buy any children ice cream from the Dickie-Dee Man."
"Momma, I told them-"
"I do not care, Tommy," Momma interrupted him.
Just as Grayston was the first of the walkers to show-up. Mostly because Grayston had chosen to be a runner.
"Because you are going to buy us ice cream; thank-you," spoke Grayston to Momma; ever-always polite with adults.
Momma was tight-lipped, while the children danced around her, as they picked out the ice creams they wanted. $6.75, in quarters, is what she handed the boy with the crooked smile, who was not a man.
Sissy screamed, from the playpen, too hot, despite her soft yellow dress. Too hot from her too wet diaper.
Too hot despite the goddamn tree.
"MOOOMMMMA! MOOOMMMMA!"
Momma bought the rainbow popsicle for her.
But Sissy threw it into the grass, too mad and without reason, when Momma handed her the carefully wrapped in wrapper-ed stick.
Momma only sighed, as she picked up the popsicle. She was picking off the dirt, when she noticed the ants in the playpen.
"Can we go to the park with our ice cream?" Tommy asked, from behind her.
"Yeah," said Momma, without looking at him, but Tommy had turned to go with the others before she spoke, anyway.
A blue car pulled up, rusted fenders; door bottoms. A Ford. The man wore a white shirt. Blue jeans. His gut spilt over.
"That yella bike," he said. "How much fer it?"
Momma looked at the bike.
She looked at the man; his unshaven face. The case of beer, on the backseat of the car.
"Six dollars and seventy-five cents," she kept her voice neutral. Even.
The man looked at her queerly and reached into his back pocket, for his brown wallet.
Black, greased hands touched hers, a silent exchange. The man picked up the bike, tossed carelessly in the grass. He left.
And Momma thought to herself. I have enough.
I have enough for the moving truck.
Diapers for Sissy.
Two bottles of vodka.
And the bike.
Tommy's favorite colour was blue.
And since it was almost four o'clock, Momma decided to pack-up the yard sale.
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