Let Me Steer

I was one of the first kids in the neighborhood to learn to ride my bike sans hands — well, one of the first in my age group. I had to learn how to ride my bike without hands because Sugar Jay’s big brother, Handsome, almost never touched his handlebars. It was just too cool.

Cheerleader was one of those girls that life blessed with perfect looks, perfect hair, perfect teeth and perfect coordination. I wasn’t. By rights, Cheerleader and I shouldn’t have been friends, but by some quirk of fate, she didn’t know she was perfect, so she was nice, too. We used to ride our bikes all over the neighborhood together — then we started ranging farther afield.

The old cemetery had the absolute best bike-riding trails. The roads were paved in swoops and curves and dips. If a kid got enough speed going in, she could coast around and around and around, rarely ever having to pedal again. Cheerleader and I loved to ride our bikes there.

One afternoon as we were heading home from the library, Cheerleader’s front bike tire picked up a nail. We dropped her bike off at a friend’s house, she climbed on my handlebars and we continued on our way. As we neared the cemetery we had a discussion about whether we should cut through it or not — it was starting to get dark. Cemeteries are all fun and games in the daylight, but at night there were actually graves about. Graves are full of dead people you know. And dead people don’t like children.

We decided we weren’t babies, and a bit of fading light wasn’t going to keep us from a quick spin down our favorite paths. I pedaled for all I was worth and despite Cheerleader sitting on my handlebars, picked up a good bit of speed. We made a full circuit of the dips and swoops and curves, though I did have to pedal a bit more than usual.

Cheerleader said riding on the handlebars was ten times more fun then pedaling the bike herself. She said she really felt like she was flying. After the first circuit, she begged for one more. I really didn’t want to go again. I was having to work a little harder than usual at keeping the bike straight, plus I was used to riding the circuit without ever touching the handlebars. My arms were aching from holding her weight.

Add to that the fact that the shadows were growing pretty close together. I said, “Let’s just go home,” but Cheerleader challenged my courage. Refusing to admit cowardice, I acquiesced.

I was peddling standing up as we approached the top of the highest hill. Cheerleader’s blonde hair was flapping in my face, stinging my eyes, and my arms were aching. I wanted nothing more then to sit down on my bike seat and rest.

“Let go!” Cheerleader called.

“Huh?”

“Let go of the handlebars. Let me steer.”

My brain said, “You’ve got to be kidding,” but my arms complied. I sat back on my seat and let go of the handlebars. We shot down that hill faster then ever before. Too fast. We weren’t going to make the corner at the bottom. We weren’t going to make it because Cheerleader wasn’t turning.

“Turn,” I screamed. “Turn! Turn!” I made a mad grab for the handlebars, but they weren’t there — the bike wasn’t there. I was flying though the air. Then I was sliding across the grass. I shot between two tomb stones and came to rest, grass stained, but surprisingly unharmed.

I sat up slowing, mentally checking my physical well-being, and realized I was sitting squarely on a grave. I transported off of it faster than I’d landed on it. I bolted to the road, turning in the direction I thought I’d find my bike. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see much of anything but wobbling dark shadows.

Dark Shadows. Why did I have to think of that? I was forbidden to watch the soap opera, but forbidding me did little good when I was left home alone with the TV set. I watched the show every day. And I knew what happened to people who wandered through cemeteries at night. Worse, I wasn’t alone. I could hear a terrible moaning. Something was coming to get me!

I bolted for the gate. At that point neither my bike, nor Cheerleader were of any concern to me. I wanted out — alive! A lurching apparition plunged out of the darkness and crashed into me. I screamed and ran faster, but it had already passed me by.

Cheerleader. The coward. I screamed — “Wait for me!” — and she did, once she was about half-way home.