(生词可拖选或双击)
(Illustrated by Donna Nettis)
“OK, you can do this,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.
My mom sat straddling her
brand-new bike, her new helmet falling forward over her eyes.
She gripped the handlebars the way I had seen her grip the
steering wheel in heavy traffic, and she looked kind of pale.
“I don’t know, Jake. There are
too many people around. I don’t think I want to. . . .”
I didn’t understand why my mom
seemed so scared. Riding a bike was no big deal. I had learned
to ride four years ago, when I was only seven. Besides, I’d
never known my mom to be afraid of anything before. The night I
heard noises in the attic and thought that there were monsters
up there, Mom just grabbed a flashlight and marched right in.
She scared those squirrels half to death. And the day I hit my
head falling out of a tree and was covered in blood, Mom just
sat me down, washed me off, and told me not to climb so high. So
what was all this about?
“Mom,” I said as patiently as I
could, “you have to learn to ride a bike if you want to ride
with me in the Bike-a-Thon, and it’s only two weeks away.”
“OK,” she said finally. “OK, I
can do this—I think.”
“Of course you can,” I replied,
and I reached up to adjust the chin strap on her helmet. “That’s
better. Now you can see where you’re going.”
“I think I liked it better when I
couldn’t.” She stared down the little hill I had decided to
start her on.
“It’s not that steep, Mom. It’s
easier to get your balance if you start off coasting. Just
remember to keep your feet on the pedals, and start pedaling as
soon as you get to the bottom of the hill.”
I took a couple of steps away
from the bike. My mom took a deep breath and pushed down on the
top pedal just the way I’d shown her. Slowly the bicycle rolled
forward, picking up speed as it coasted down the hill. The front
wheel began to wobble.
“Steer, Mom! Straighten it out!”
I yelled. Mom didn’t seem to hear me. She and the bike turned
left, went off the sidewalk, and rolled into a little green
bush. Then slowly Mom and the bike fell over.
“Mom!” I shouted, running down
the hill. “Are you all right?”
Several people came running
toward us. I guess they had heard me yelling. My mom hadn’t made
a sound.
“Mom! Are you OK?” I asked. I
knelt down beside her.
“No.” Her face was hidden under
her arm, so her voice was kind of muffled.
“What’s the matter? Is something
broken?” I was so scared.
“No,” was her only reply.
“Get up and let me see,” I said.
“No.” Mom didn’t move.
By now there were lots of people
standing around me, my mom, and the little broken bush.
A concerned-looking man in a
jogging suit stepped forward. “Son, would you like me to call an
ambulance?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, and
looked at my mom.
“No,” my mom yelled. “I’m fine.
Please go away!”
“She’s learning to ride,” I tried
to explain to all those people. “She wasn’t going very fast.”
“Come on, lady! You gotta get
back up on the horse that threw ya!” some man shouted.
“It was a bike!” I shouted back.
A small gray-haired lady standing
close by said softly, “Remember The Little Engine That Could. ’I
think I can, I think I can. . . .’”
“They’re not going to go away,
are they?” my mom whispered.
“I think they want to see that
you’re OK,” I whispered back.
“Oh, all right!” My mom sat up
and brushed the grass and leaves and little berries off her
sweater. Finally she stood up. Everyone began to clap, and my
mom’s face turned bright pink.
“Thank you for your concern, but
as you can see, I’m just fine.” Mom took a few steps around to
show them that she wasn’t hiding a broken leg or a sprained
ankle. Everyone clapped again and then went on their way.
“Enough for today?” I asked
hopefully. I didn’t want to go through that again anytime soon.
“No, Jake,” she said in a way
that surprised me. “No. I almost had it, and then I let myself
get scared. I know I can do it this time!”
Now this sounded more like my
mom. I helped her pull the bike out of the bush and push it up
the hill.
Mom adjusted her helmet again and
got on the bike. She didn’t look quite so pale this time.
“Ready?” I asked. She nodded, and
I backed away.
There went Mom down the hill, and
just as the bike reached the bottom where the sidewalk became
flat and smooth, she started pedaling. I ran down the hill after
her. She had pedaled quite a way ahead of me when she looked
back over her shoulder. I could see that she was smiling. She
let go of one of the handlebars to give me a thumbs-up sign.
“No, no!” I yelled. “Use both
hands!”
But it was too late. Mom and the
bicycle went off the sidewalk and fell over together in the
grass. Again.
“Mom! Mom! Are you hurt?” I ran
up to her.
This time she was already on her
feet, and she was laughing.
“Did you see me? I did it! I did
it! I really did it!”
Then she stopped and looked at
me. “I mean,” she said, rumpling my hair, “we did it.”
