Skip to main content

If Everything Were Like Riding a Bike

Yesterday, I went for a bike ride. It was the early evening, when the sun is still out, but the nighttime sky is already creeping up to wrap us in its cozy dark blanket. I hadn't been on a bike since my childhood, and until yesterday I wasn't quite sure if I could still ride one well. The well is still debatable.

I pushed off on the right peddle, swaying from right to left for a bit like a child first learning to walk, but after a few moments I was zooming down my block. I looked straight ahead, the black asphalt wide open to me, ear buds in my ears with a hint of music so I could still hear cars, and relaxed. Then, I wobbled again. For the rest of the bike ride I tried to remember my form to maintain my balance. As I peddled the crunching sound of ashalt accompanied the noises of my ride.

I rode around for about 30mins, and in that time the old saying, "It's like riding a bike," came to me. I was on a bike of course I was going to remember it. I thought about my day and how I was relieved I was to almost done editing the chapbook for ForWord. I thought about my English class and how I was going to teach the students how to write essays well. I thought about the students in my Creative Writing class and how some already had a great grasp on imagery. I turned the corner and thought about how easily the car coming the opposite direction could just take me out. I held my breath until I turned another corner on an empty street and exhaled slowly, my breath now a little louder in ears as I got further along. I thought about my friend Sarah who is leaving soon and how I will miss her. I smiled because I know somewhere in her all the commotion of moving she hasn't had time to be excited, but know it will come soon. I thought about a talk I had the day before with an ex professor about writing. I thought about how I missed writing and needed to do it more and how she was right. The fall of my writing was over and I could feel spring coming as I tried to work out the beginning of a story beginning in a book store. I tried not to think about the two old tattooed vatos sitting outside their house staring at me as I peddled by. I also tried not to jump when I heard the loud deep bark of a big dog echo across the street only to follow me down the block. I thought and I thought. What street to go down next. Who lived in that house that looked emptied out and hollow. I imagined they were as sad as the house and sat each night watching shows like Honey Boo Boo and The Bachelor.

As the sky darkened, I started to peddle back home. I peddled hard, racing down the flat terrain of  east side El Paso, and wished I lived farther west so I could test my skills on a bike there, then wobbled a bit as I hit a rock. Maybe I should I test the skills when I have a bit more.  As I pulled into the driveway, my skin moist in the desert night air, I looked down at my bike, and thought, If only everything was like riding a bike.   


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Para Las Nietas

Cuando se van las abuelitas, se va una parte fundamental. We are pulled from the brown soil. Roots exposed. We falter, droop. How can we continue without the cariño of their warm hands to support us? Nourish us con sus caricias. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se van los almuerzos y cenas que no más ellas hacían. Las comidas that tasted of their love can no longer exist. The tacos crispy and brown, won’t taste the same. The flavor, like a duende, can’t be caught no matter how hard we try to capture it in our own kitchens. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se nos va el lenguaje, porque ellas nos hablaban en español. Nuestros apodos como Güera, Prieta, Niña, Mima, y Mija se desaparecen. We ache to hear the sounds of our names from their lips and grasp for their words. The ones we didn’t know we would miss. Cuando se van las abuelitas se nos va el amor duro. We lose the sharp tongues quick with consejos we didn’t want to hear at the time. Se nos pierden los dichos and the wisdom we...
Post a Comment
Read more

¿Y la Prieta?

My grandma, Ita, called me Prieta. She called me this because my skin is toasted brown. When I was born my mom says I was light skinned, but she knew “que iba ser morena” because the inside of my little baby thighs were already darker than the rest of me. In the sun, I turn a darker brown. I get even more Prieta. It was a term of endearment. My sister, who has a light complexion, was called guera or guerinchi. When I tell people who don’t speak Spanish what Prieta means, dark or the dark one, their eyes open wide and a small gasp escapes. I see the offense they feel for me sprinkled on their faces like the freckles I will never have. When I try to explain, the offense still shadows their eyes. That is the problem with Spanish. Wait, maybe, that is their problem with Spanish. Even when I explain, they are suspicious. Their faces ask, “Is this true?” as if I am setting them up for a joke. But how can I explain the cultural and literal meaning of a word at the same time? ...
3 comments
Read more

Spring Break Lists Fall by the Wayside

This week I'm on spring break. I had many plans. I wanted to work on my book. I wanted to spring clean the house. I wanted to tackle the garage. I wanted to post and sell more things on Craig's List. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted. So, far I've checked my email, emptied my DVR, and slept. This week has been good though, hermit-ish, but good. There's something odd that happens when you allow yourself to just be. I let my brain stop dictating what I was going to do and let my body chose to sit on the couch, to take a nap, to go back to the couch. Usually, I have lists constantly running through my head. Imagine a computer updating, white texts filling up a black screen,  that is my brain adding more tasks to the queue. But, the last few days my brain has frozen and the cursor is just blinking waiting for me to hit enter, to restart. The best part is that this is very rare for me. I think it is very rare for everyone, but I recommend it. Especially at this time of year...
Post a Comment
Read more