The Boy on the Trike- March 11, 2010

           I stared in dismay at my older brother. He had just thrown me into the wall while saying words I would never dare say. My head was throbbing. Why did he always have to be such a jerk? I stormed out of the house, not that I had anywhere in mind to go, but just to get away. My older brother picked on me all the time, but this time he went way too far.

            I felt tears swelling up in my eyes. This wasn’t right; thirteen-year-old girls didn’t cry like this anymore. But most girls didn’t have such rude older brothers that couldn’t control their tempers.

           I walked down the street, not caring where I was going, but just glad I didn’t have to see my brother’s face anymore. My cheeks were tear-streaked and eyes red. My head still hurt and I saw bruises developing on my pale skinny arms and legs.

            Once I had walked a few blocks, a little boy came racing by on an old tricycle that had its paint chipping off. He raced up and down the street. He had a bright red helmet that shined in the sun. After a while I realized he kept looking at me as he went by.

            Finally, he came up and rode slowly and steadily keeping pace with my walk and said, “Helloooo.”

            “Hi,” I said, paying attention to his amazing blue eyes.

            “Where are you going?” he asked. His voice was so innocent and sincere.

            “I don’t know…” I replied, looking ahead at where I might end up.

            “Oh, well there are lots of places to go. Sometimes I ride all the way to the top of that mountain,” he said, pointing to the purple foggy mountains in the distance.

            I laughed a little.

            “I really do, you know. I go up to the mountain and jump onto the clouds.”

            My mood was brightened and I inquired, “How do you get off the clouds?”

            “Just go to the spots where the clouds touch the mountain. Duh,” he said laughing too himself like everybody knew that.

            “Ahhhh, I see,” I said back trying to sound intelligent. I realized I should probably head back to my house now. My brother was probably settled down. “I should probably start going home now,” I said as I turned around.

            The little boy stood up and picked up his tricycle turning it in the other direction to come with me, “Okay.”

            We talked for another five minutes while walking. I didn’t even know this boy, but somehow I had connected with him more than some of my closest friends. He was so smart and curious asking me questions that sometimes I didn’t know the answer.

            He started to ask me if I knew why some people were happy and others not, when he stopped short and rode away. While speeding away his eyes looked back and met with mine, the intense blue burning through me.

            I saw where he was going. An unnaturally thin blonde woman dressed in her pajamas (even though it was still light out) was walking towards him. I wanted to say goodbye but knew it was too late. She had a cigarette in her mouth and dark bags under her eyes. It was obvious she looked much older than she really was.

When he got to her she started screaming at him, “You’re father said never to run away like that again!”

She slapped him across the face and dragged him by the collar back inside, while the boy whimpered, practically whispering, “Please don’t let daddy hurt me…” leaving the old tricycle in the road.

            Once I reached the tricycle, I saw how rusty it was; worn with lots of use; handed down through different people. I looked at the house they had gone into. It was much smaller and shabbier than all the rest of the houses in this neighborhood. While looking I saw the boy come to the window. He stared at me. His eyes wet with grief; his small body mangled. What did this angel do to deserve this?