When I was in first grade, my dad bought a motorcycle. There’s not much cooler than that to a six-year-old kid. I can remember the excitement I felt when he bought me my very own helmet. A few times a summer, he would take me for a ride. I would hold on tight, never afraid. He was strong and I felt so safe with him. I felt so special on those days. I felt important to him, worthy of his time. Sometimes, we’d ride over to the ice cream shop. We’d lean against the fence, eating our cones, making small talk. Then we’d hop back on and head home, always taking the scenic route, along the beach. I loved the feeling of the wind on my arms as I wrapped them around him tightly. Those rides were never long enough. I wanted to ride with him forever.
I can’t remember the last ride. I suppose they just tapered off as I got older. Things changed. Our family changed. We all became different. Things happened. Things that caused those feelings of worthiness to vanish. I still don’t have them.
He’s got a motorcycle now. I don’t ask for rides anymore, and he doesn’t offer. He doesn’t understand. Those special feelings I had are so faded, I often wonder if they were real. It’s funny how a memory can make you smile and cry at the same time. I would’ve ridden with him forever…
This post is a part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday with Linda G Hill. The prompt word is “first”.