Eleven

I dreamed I was eleven again, riding my orange Spider Bike down the main road headed for the library. Oddly, the library was in its current location in town not where it was when I was actually eleven. Delightfully warm sunshine, the hot jeans sticking to my legs, and the big blue girl's bike weaving in front of me in a path that looked anything but controlled. My best friend was a wild child on her bike, and I was always worried that she was going to shimmy out into traffic, or pull in front of a car coming out of a driveway, as it seemed like she spent more time looking back at me talking than watching the road ahead of her. Our trips always seemed so much safer when I was the one in the lead. When we got to the library there was no space on the bike rack, so we locked our bikes together with one chain and then looped the other to the end of the rack. I loved the feel of the cold air on my bare shoulders (was wearing the beige tank top with red piping.) I found myself wondering aloud how long before my legs would cool off.