Do You Remember

What an experience that was.

It was several months after we met.
I had turned six the day before and I got my very first ‘real’ bike for my birthday.
I’d been nagging my parents for a bike ever since I saw you riding up and down the street on your neon green bike a few days after you moved in next door.
You looked like you were having the time of your life and I was super jealous.
I convinced myself that I hated you.
I don’t know if you remember me being mean to you during the times our parents got our families together after you moved in, but that’s why.
I was a total bitch to you up until the day that I found a dark blue painted bicycle sitting in the middle of my bedroom on the day of my birthday.

You were confused when suddenly, I was your best friend again, chattering to you like I hadn’t spoken to you in ages, which, of course I hadn’t (well, not nicely, at least) due to the fact that I was green with envy.
You stared at me wide-eyed as I bounced up and down on your front porch, speaking gibberish at a million words a minute until your mother appeared at the door with a smile on her face.

My parents had obviously told her that it was my birthday the day before and what I got because the first words out of her mouth were, “Happy birthday for yesterday, Josh. Did you like your bike?”

I nodded my head vigorously and asked her if you could come bike riding with me. Your eyes lit up and you tilted your head to look at your mother questioningly, who nodded. You squealed and ran past your mother into your house and returned about ten seconds later with a bike helmet.
Shoving it on your head so that your messy hair was flattened, you announced that you were ready.

Your mother shook her head, “Addison,” she sighed. “You need shoes before you can go bike riding. The pedals hurt your feet, remember.”
“Oh yeah!” you shouted and bolted back into the house. Your mom asked me what else I had gotten for my birthday but before I finished getting the first item out of my mouth, you were back. With your shoes on your feet, you grabbed my arm and hauled me over to my house, demanding that I get my bike from inside straight away and not to forget my helmet.

You were tapping your foot impatiently on my driveway by the time I returned. I started to apologise, but then I remembered that I’d only been in the house for maybe two minutes. I have always told you (even before I actually understood what it meant) that “Patience is a virtue.” Never have I seen an Addison that waits patiently for anything. You usually tell me something along the lines of “shut up and hurry up. You’re/it’s taking way too fucking long” if I ever say those four words to you when you’re complaining about something taking forever.

Anyway, I got off topic; you always tease me when I do that. And you always tell anyone who will listen about the time that I started talking about my favourite Fall Out Boy song and finished talking about why cats can use a litter tray but dogs can’t seem to be able to.

ANYWAY, the bike ride.
So as soon as I got myself ready and seated on my brand new bike, I noticed something very different between our bikes.
Mine had two extra wheels.
And I didn’t like it one bit.

I wanted to be as grown up as you, and I wanted to ride my bike without the training wheels.
The only problem was that my father was at work and I wasn’t strong enough to use the screwdriver to loosen the bolt holding the trainers on.
I was about to cry but I held myself together.
After all, I couldn’t cry in front of a seven year old. It’s funny how I was always out to impress you, especially when we were younger.
It was when I was ten or eleven when I realised that one year isn’t really a huge gap and that I should just relax around you; because I knew you wouldn’t judge me.

Back on topic - as if you knew I was about to cry, you told me that if I really wanted to try riding a bike without trainers, then I could use your bike.
I accepted your offer.
But I had no idea how difficult it would be.

You helped me get myself comfortable on the seat of your bike and told me how to stop if I needed to. I remember confidently telling you that I had ridden a proper bike before, which was a total lie, but I just wanted your approval, I guess. You shrugged, and let the bike go. I pedalled as fast as I could… which was too fast. I wish I listened to you when you were telling me how to brake, because I didn’t know how to. I was flying and I had no hope of stopping before I ended up in a different state. I began freaking out and stupidly took my feet off the pedals. I heard you shout something behind me and I glanced around. Another stupid move. The bike swerved into the gutter and I flew over the handlebars onto the concrete of someone’s driveway.

I felt tears welling in my eyes that promptly spilled over when I realised how much pain I was in. My arm hurt really badly and my knees were bleeding and my chin stung, but when I heard you running up behind me, I swiftly wiped the tears away. I couldn’t let you see me crying like that; your opinion of me was much too important.

“Josh?” you asked, concerned, “Are you okay?”
I nodded as you helped me up. It was then that you noticed my arm was bent at a funny angle. Without even a second thought, you bent down and kissed it just above the elbow.

“My mom says that if you kiss it, it will get better,” you explained and then frowned, “But… I don’t think it worked. Maybe you need to see a doctor and he can make it better?” You picked up the bike and wheeled it back to my house slowly, talking to me in soothing tones as I walked beside you.

My mother nearly had a heart attack when she saw the state of my arm.
She immediately threw me in the back of our station wagon and was about to leave to drive me to the hospital when you appeared at her car window and insisted that you come with us.
Mom asked you why and you told her that I was your best friend and that you wanted to know what the doctors did to make me better so that you could do it yourself next time I hurt myself.

And I hurt myself plenty of times after I broke my arm.
You stuck to your word; you were always there, helping ‘fix’ me, if not physically, then emotionally.
You helped me fix the most important part of my body when it fell apart after I discovered that I liked someone I shouldn’t.

Your mother was right that one time: a kiss did make it better.