The Motorcycle
If there's anything Rico loves more than
ketchup on ice cream, it's machinery-
a certain kind in particular.
"Alright boys, almost done. This is the last load
of trash for the day." Skipper told the team as they each
carried a heavy, bulky bag of trash over thier shoulders.
It was the basic spring cleaning that they preformed
each year. Rico followed a ways behind the others,
a large black trash bag swinging to and fro with each
step he took. He turned a corner around a pile
of rubbish. A body had to be careful in the salvage
yard. You could get lost easily in the vast maze of tall
piles of junk cars, parts, and other regected things.
Rico slung the heavy bag onto a pile, being a bit careful
not to jar the tall pile. Something above him caught
the light of the slowly fading sun. Rico looked up.
He froze, his jaw dropping. His blue eyes grew wide.
Atop the enormous pile of rubbish rested a handsome
hunk of a red motorcycle.
You know the feeling you get when you see something
you want SO badly. The first thoughts that go through
your mind are:
"I MUST have it!" and, "It's everything I need!" or,
"I'll be the most popular kid in the state with this!"
We've all been there, have we not? This was Rico's turn
to be there, and was he ever!
He imediatley started jumping up and down and waving
his flipper's rapidly. He shouted some sort of jibberish
and the others came running as fast as short-legged
animals can possibly go.
"What gives Rico?" Skipper asked, panting a bit. He'd
clearly thought that there was something very wrong.
When he followed Rico's flipper to the top of the pile
his thoughts were changed.
"A motorcycle!" Skipper exclaimed, "Rico! You had us under
the impression there was someone folowing us!"
Rico shook his head rather quickly, "Uh-uh. I have?" he
replied with a question.
"Negatory Rico! I can't believe you'd call us on a false
alarm like that! What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Um..sorry?" Rico suggested.
"Sorry isn't going to cut it soldier! A motorcycle!
What is WRONG with you?"
"What's wrong with YOU?" Kowalski asked.
Skipper threw an irritated glare at him, "That's classified
lieutenant."
Private's chrill voice piped up behind him, "We heard
Rico and started running," Private began, pausing to
utter a badly-stifled giggle, "Skippa tripped over a rock
and fell face-first into a small tire. He uh..got stuck."
Skipper slapped him, having heard enough. It was
too late though. Kowalski and Rico was holding their
flippers over their beaks giggling like shoolgirls.
The mental image of their stocky leader trying to
pull himself out of a tire was too hilarious to seal.
"Come on men." Skipper muttered, "-And NO ONE will
know about this. Got it!"
Rico nodded, but his mind was no longer on Skipper
stuck in tire. He threw a longing glance at the motorcycle
and turned to go.
"Forget it Rico." Skipper told him as they got in the
car and drove away from the salvage yard.
Rico pressed his face against the window, "Bye bye." he
whispered to it.
Later that evening the motorcycle was still on Rico's
mind.
Cliff hanger! Sorry About that. .