John D. MacDonald
Kids on Wheels
I suppose I gave my folks a pretty hard time about it. But I sort of had to. I mean I’d always run around with the four of them, Mitch, Bobby, Arn and Del, and this year they all get motor scooters, and where does that leave me? On a bike with the little kids, that’s where. Mitch was the first one to get one. He used the money he earned last summer and bought a beat-up one, and then he really put it in shape. His people don’t care much what he does, and that gives him plenty of freedom. Bobby got a brand new red one next, and even though it was brand new, it still wouldn’t go as fast as the one Mitch fixed up. Bobby’s people buy him any old thing he wants. He just yells until he gets it. He runs things at his house and he sure knows it. Then at Thanksgiving Arn’s grandmother bought him one. He’d told us he was working on her, and once he got it his folks sort of had to let him use it. That left just me and Del on bikes and pretty gloomy about the prospects of getting a motor scooter. When the other three were feeling good, they’d let us take one around the block and that was about all. And sometimes we could go along, hanging on behind, but not often.
What really stoned me was when Del’s people bought him a used one in good shape. There they were, the four guys I’d always run around with, and I was out in the cold. One of the most terrible times of my life started right then. The thing is, you can’t make your folks understand a thing like that.
I tried to pick the right times to ask Dad. There didn’t seem to be any right time. The first time he stared at me and his face got stiff and he yelled, “Clara! Come in here and listen to this kid.” Mom came in from the kitchen and he made me repeat what I’d asked him and then he said, “Davie, you are not going to have one of those damn things. Florida has got the narrowest roads, the craziest drivers and the fastest traffic there is. I am not going to mount any son of mine on one of those scooters so that some vacationing creep from Dubuque can bunt him off into the boondocks and mush his head against a palm tree. Let’s have no more nonsense, Davie. My God, a bike is bad enough.”
I looked at Mom and saw her nod in agreement and I went out and shut myself in my room. But you see, I had to keep giving them a hard time on account of the way the other guys changed. They’d ride all over together on weekends and after school. They had a sort of a club, and it didn’t take them long to shut me out of it because I was still on a bike like the little kids. They hung around together like always, only now it was four instead of five the way it used to be.
I tried, but it was kind of like begging. They’d be in the side yard of the High, with the scooters parked in the shade. Mitch would be squatting with a cigarette pinched short and his tough face like a fist and I’d go on over to them. Bobby is almost as pretty as a girl, but the last time we scrapped I barely licked him. And skinny Arn would be there and Del with that hair that looks like it’s on fire. I just wasn’t a part of it any more. I’d try to work up something, some of the stuff we used to do, but I’d just get the cold eye. It seemed like I was left out of everything.
One time I phoned Bobby to go to the movies with me on Saturday afternoon but he said he was doing something else. Then I tried Arn and it was the same thing. And Del too. Del couldn’t seem to remember how it was when the other three had scooters and lie and I were the ones left on bikes. So I went to the movies alone, but when I got there I saw those four scooters parked and locked in front, so I didn’t even go in. I just walked around town and took a bus back home.
It was funny how they seemed to all get older and tougher, and they said things I couldn’t follow when I tried to hang around with them. They’d take girls for rides, the girls hanging on in back, but you can’t ask a girl to go for a bike ride with you. I got so I stopped trying to talk to them. You’ve got to have some pride, I guess. I got mopey all right, and it wasn’t any act I was putting on to give my people a bad time. I felt that way. I spent a lot of time in my room, and I did more reading than I ever had before. I’d try to bring it up with Dad, but it would make him so sore I knew I was hurting things rather than helping them.
There was a yellow one on the floor at Sears. I guess the guy in that department got used to me coming in and looking at it. I liked the oil and leather smell of it, and it looked fast enough. I tried to tell myself it was going to come through at Christmas for me, and I nearly convinced myself, but that was a laugh. I had to pretend that it was just jolly to get the books and the new spinning rod and reel and the rest of the junk. I tried to make the act as good as I could, because Christmas is no time to apply the old pressure, but I thought they looked at me kind of funny.
I think it was Mom who finally made the decision. She could tell easier than Dad, because he was away all day, that I didn’t have anybody to run around with any more. My birthday was February seventh. On the fifth, and that was a Sunday, Dad and I had a serious talk in the kitchen. As soon as I figured out what he was driving at, my heart just about jumped right out of my chest. He said it was like a deal. I had to make certain solemn promises. The promises sort of tied me down, but I didn’t worry about that. All I could think of was riding to the school and turning in on that yellow job with the fat tires and the motor making that nice burbling sound, and tooling it up to where the other guys were parked, and then I’d be back with the guys again, the way it used to be.
I had to obey all the traffic rules and make arm signals. I couldn’t take it out after sunset. I couldn’t take it out on Route 41. I had to keep near the curb. None of this riding down the middle of two lanes of traffic. I could have one other person aboard, but not two. I had to buy the gas out of my allowance. I had to keep it in good shape. No racing, and no clowning around on it. No fancy stuff. No showing off. I promised on my word of honor. The important thing was to have one. Without one I was nobody, and that was a bad feeling. And the last promise was to get my grades up. They’d been sort of sagging ever since I got cut out of the group.
Tuesday was my birthday. I didn’t tell the guys I was going to get the yellow one. But all day Monday and Tuesday at the High I was laughing inside, and I felt like yelling. Tuesday I went home on the bike so fast that my legs were trembly when I got home. And it was in the garage. It was so beautiful that my eyes got blurred and I couldn’t see it good. They’d brought it on a truck. Mom giggled at me and then she must of seen how much it meant and she hugged me. It made me feel funny because this last few months I’ve gotten taller than she is. I couldn’t take it out. There were plates and things to fix up. I’d forgotten that. Dad came home early, in time for us to go down in the car to the court house and get the red tape fixed up. Then we went back and put the plate on and I took it out to the driveway and kicked the starter and it turned over the first time. It made a good sound. They weren’t sure I could handle it, but I told them not to worry. I went down the street on it and looked back and they both looked sort of funny standing there. I don’t know what the word is, but it would be something like lonesome.
I revved it up a little when I was out of sight, and the third time I went around the block they’d gone back into the house. I didn’t want to use it too much all at once. Like making candy last when you’re little. I put it in the garage in the space I’d cleared for it, and I patted it, and then I went into the house feeling as if I’d done a lot of growing up all of a sudden. Like I was more of a person.
The next morning was just like I thought it would be, practically. I cut it fine getting there, so I’d be sure the others were there. I didn’t ride up to them grinning like a kid. I kept my face stiff. I parked it and they were all looking at me.