Red Bike Under the Sawdust

Under a pile of sawdust, in Grandpa's workshop, Ava finds a little red bike.

It has a bell and a basket with a hole in it. Ava wipes the seat with her sleeve. "I want to ride it to the mailbox at the end of the lane," she says. "All by myself."

Grandpa is busy. He is looking for his lost pencil among the half-built birdhouses and the table with only three legs. "Ride away, Ava," he says. "I'll be right here."

Ava pushes the bike out into the sun. She climbs on and pushes with her feet. Wobble, wobble, wobble. The bike tips, and she plops into the grass.

She tries again. This time she stares hard at her sneakers. Wobble, wobble, plop. The grass tickles her nose.

Ava sits and thinks. She looks across the yard at the rope swing. Everybody knows the swing goes higher for whoever counts out loud. Her cousin always counts, and up he goes, nearly to the clouds.

"Maybe a bike is the same," Ava whispers.

She climbs on. She looks up at the mailbox instead of down at her feet.

"One, two, three, go!"

Her feet push. The wheels roll. "One, two, three, go!" she says again, and the bike stops wobbling. It hums along the lane like a bee.

"One, two, three, go!"

Ding-a-ling! Her thumb hits the bell by accident, and she laughs so hard that the bike shivers. But it keeps rolling. Past the fence. Past the sleepy cat. All the way to the mailbox.

Ava stops with both sneakers on the ground. Her heart goes thump, thump, thump.

Behind her, the workshop door creaks. Grandpa waves from the step with a pencil stuck behind his ear. He found it, after all.

The bell still hums a little, soft and silver, as the afternoon settles.