Summertime.

I never planned on telling you, but I hadn’t ridden a bike since before you left. Mine had been hiding out in the shed in the backyard since the last time we’d spontaneously decided to go for a ride through the fields just outside of town. Secretly, even though I was afraid of making a fool out of myself, I was glad I’d waited until you came bike to climb on that rusty piece of junk. Bike rides were something I’d only ever really done with you.

You knocked on my door a few minutes after I’d pumped some air into the tires of my bicycle. My mom had answered the door, surprised to find you standing in front of her.

“Gerard,” she said an obvious shock to her voice. “What a surprise.”

You smiled. “Hi, Mrs. Iero. It’s good to see you again.”

My mother’s smile faltered slightly, as she turned around and saw me standing behind her in the living room. I offered a weak smile as I felt a blush run to my cheeks. Out of habit, I reached up my hand finding the back of my neck as I awkwardly shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I didn’t know what to do. Things had felt so much easier over the phone. I
was able to laugh with you, tell you how I felt.

Now, seeing you in the flesh, the nerves were rushing back into the pit of my stomach.

“Why don’t you come in?” Mom asked you, moving to the side.

You smiled. “Thanks, Mrs. Iero.”

My mom simply smiled back, although it was a bit sadder than it had been before. She said she would love to stay and chat for a little while, but she had a few things to take care of upstairs. It was nice seeing you again though; she’d love to catch up next time you came around.

In that moment, I felt sad for my mom. I mean, it wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time in a long time that I genuinely felt sorry for her.

Not knowing any better, you only told her “Sure, Mrs. Iero. I’d like that. It’s nice seeing you again too.”

I suppose it was my fault for not saying anything sooner, but I really wished you would just shut up and let her go upstairs like she wanted to. I felt back for feeling that way.

When she had disappeared into her bedroom, you turned to me and grinned. “Hey.”

I sighed. “Hi.”

“Everything okay?”

I shrugged. “I suppose so. You ready?”

You frowned. “You’re lying to me.”

I ran a hand through my hair, not wanting to talk about anything. It wasn’t something I got into. I didn’t want to tell you because you would feel bad and you would look at me different; Look at my mom different. It wouldn’t last forever, but it would last long enough.

I didn’t want to see your face fall. I didn’t want to feel you wrap your arms around me as you’d try to pull me close. I didn’t want to feel your lips in my hair as you whispered how sorry you were.

I didn’t want any of that. I wanted things to go back to the way they were. I wanted that time before you left.

“It’s nothing,” I told you. Let’s go.”

I didn’t give you time to say anything more. I went into the back and grabbed my bike before walking it out the front door. You stood inside of my house, confused, for a few moments before letting loose a defeated sigh and following me outside.

I hopped onto my bike and started peddling.

It’s amazing how quickly things come back to you. It’d been over five years since I’d ridden a bike and here I was, doing it all over again, as if a second hadn’t even gone by. The wind felt familiar as it rushed through my hair. The bumps in the road weren’t surprising. I remembered every one of them. It was freeing. It was as if I had no cares of worries in the world.

I looked back at you and it was as if nothing had ever changed.

We stopped once we reached the edge of town and the field came into view. I was slightly out of breath due to my newfound lack of exercise, but other than that I felt good. I turned to look at you and I could tell you felt the same way.

You caught me staring and smiled. “Remember when we used to race?”

I grinned. You could get to the lake from here. Sure, it took a lot longer, but you could do it. When we were kids, and even when we weren’t, we would ride our bikes out here and then race to the lake. The winner didn’t really get anything other than the pride in knowing that he won, but we liked it. It was something to do. It was us.

“Yeah,” I told you. “I remember.”

We were quiet for a few moments, but I knew we were both thinking the same thing.

“On three?” You asked me.

I nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three!” I shouted, as I stood from the seat on my bike and shot out onto the grass. I knew you were right behind me though.

We didn’t even make it to the lake. We were laughing too hard and eventually, I ran out of breath and fell off of my bike, landing in the grass. I laid on my back, my bicycle lying next to me as I struggled to catch my breath. The next thing I knew you were kneeling next to me, a smile on your face as you asked if I was okay.

“I’m fine,” I told you. “I just can’t seem to catch my breath.”

You sat down next to me. “And I thought I was the old one.”

“You’re only twenty-five,” I reminded you.

“Twenty-six,” You corrected me.

“Same difference.”

Once my breathing had regulated, I sat up. The sun was setting and the night chill was beginning to set in. “I forgot how much I liked this,” I said.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving my face. “Yeah, me too.”

I could tell you wanted to say something and I knew it had something to do with what had happened at my house earlier that day.

“What is it?” I asked you.

“What?”

“You wanna say something.”

“Yeah, but I know you don’t want me to say it so I’m not gonna bother.”

I sighed. “You wanna know why I lied to you.”

You shrugged. “Well, yeah. But I’m not gonna make you tell me.”

“I don’t know how to tell you,” I confessed. “And I’m afraid of what you’ll do once I tell you.”

You furrowed your brow, just as I knew you would. You didn’t get it and I didn’t expect you to. It wasn’t like I was being straight up with you. But I kind of wanted you to read my mind. I wanted you to look at me and know what it was. You used to be able to do that. You would look at me and know what was wrong. You wouldn’t always get it exactly right, but you would know what the root of my problem was and you would know just how to fix it.

“Did I do something?” You asked.

I shrugged. “You called her ‘Mrs. Iero’”

“I’ve always called your mom that.”

“That’s not who she is anymore.”

You froze, your eyes widening. You looked at me, your face serious. “Did your parents get divorced? Is that why I haven’t seen your dad since I’ve been home? Is that why your mom left after she let me inside?”

I shook my head. “No. They didn’t get divorced.”

“Then what is it?”

“He’s dead. Cancer. He died about two years after you left.”

And then your face fell and that I’m-so-sorry-look came to your eyes. You looked at me as if you felt sorry for me and that was something I never wanted. I didn’t want you pity me or see me any differently. I didn’t want to be that friend who lost his dad.

“I’m so—“

“Don’t,” I told you. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. It was three years ago. I’m fine now. Yes. The house feels empty and, yeah, it was an ugly experience. Do I miss him? Of course, but I’m not the only one who has ever lost their father. My mom and I are fine. I don’t want you to be sorry for me; that’s exactly why I never told you.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

I met your gaze. “Be normal. Act like it’s been three years and everything is fine now.”

You looked at me for a long time before a smile crept onto your lips. You laid back in the grass, pulling me down with you as you stared up at the sherbet colored sky.

“You see that one?” you asked pointing up at cloud in the sky. I offered you a quizzical look before nodding my head. “That one looks like a poodle that just came home from the dog salon.”

I laughed, taking note of the smile that graced your features as you laughed along with me. It was then that I came to the conclusion that nothing had really changed between us. Sure, we were different people and we had gone through some modifications as individual human beings, but our friendship was essentially the same.

I still knew you and you still knew me and, in the end, that was all that really mattered.