Runnin' away
The bike was blue. Nice Royal Blue bike. With a banana-style seat.
It had only half the breaks it should have had. But I quickly learned how to foresee the need to get to a full stop, and to slow down accordingly. Guess I forgot how since then...
I never got hurt riding that bike. I knew how to ride it.
I loved it.
It was probably the cheapest bike in store when my parents finally decided (had the money) to get me a bike.
I learned to ride my bike pretty fast. Had no choice. After the first push from my bro to help me get going, cuz my dad was drunk and my mom busy, my bro got tired of his burden (me). I can't remember if my siblings laughed at me or just got bored to help me, anyway, I learned.
The hard way.
So there I ran away on my bike.
I was on my bike the first time I saw people kissing. Loving.
I was on my bike when I ran away from hurting people. Hurting.
I was on my bike when I tried to run from people hurting me. Suffering.
I was on my bike when I first tried to run away from home. Running.
I learned how to ride my bike, and it taught back tidbits about life.
I loved that bike. It was the only friend I had by these days.
It would come with me, anywhere, anytime. No question. Always up for a ride, for freedom, for adventure.
For me.
I loved that bike.
But I didn't stop my big brother to use it for one of his flamin' plans.
So I watched as he cut it to pieces, to build a flamin' 4-wheeler.
I thought I had to let my bro do what he wanted, so he would love me.
He didn't love me better.
But I lost my only friend.
Y'know, kid. When I jump on my bike and run away, it's cuz I need it.
Like I needed it then.
It's not for somethin' you've done.
It's for somethin' I didn't do, then.