THE FIRST TIME
I sat restlessly at my desk. I hate sitting at a desk. I didn't like it then, I don't like it
now. To make matters worse, it was Monday and
the thirty foot long by five foot high row of windows to my left looked out upon
a beautiful Indian Summer morning in Nebraska. The chatter of a thousand
birds filtered in through a partially opened window as did the sounds and smells
of a small farm community readying itself for the upcoming harvest.
The windows also looked out over the playground. It was
1963 and I was in the first grade. My desk was especially uncomfortable
today. Something was different about me, I had a new sense of
direction. It had been awhile since I'd been excited about anything.
We had just moved from Colorado the year before and all four of my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, cousins and small group
of neighborhood friends were back in Limon, hopelessly out of reach and I missed
them dearly. As a six year old boy, I was a bit of an introvert and even
though the people in Axtell were very nice, it just wasn't the same.
After a long year in town, my confidence was finally on the rise
but something magical had happened the day before that was helping to push me
over the edge. Neil Carlson, my neighbor across the street to the South,
came home from the state fair with a brand new motorcycle. He took me for
a ride on it! He told me he'd take me for another ride today after school!
Neil was really old, probably pushing eleven. Soft
spoken and genuine, he wasn't one of those mean older boys that always tried to
make me feel dumb. The Carlsons lived in town but they were farmers and he
had earned the money for the bike on his own by selling a calf that he 'd raised
as a Four H project.
**********
I walked easily through the house late that Sunday afternoon,
my big brother Steve was off playing with some friends and wasn't around to keep
me in my place. Cindy and Tina, my sisters were busy with their dolls and
mom was starting supper in the kitchen. Dad was off with his harvest crew
in some state south of here heading North following the crops as they
ripened.
"If you see your brother. Tell him we're going to
eat in about an hour," Mom said from the kitchen.
I kept walking out the front door, through the front yard and
up the street to look for my older sibling. As if he was gonna do anything
I told him to. As I loafed along, Neil and his dad Fred came down the
street in their aging black pickup truck. The Carlsons were a bit
conservative and even though they probably had money, they never flaunted
it. Neil was looking through the rear window at something red that was
meticulously tethered in the back. Even from a distance, I could tell that
whatever was back there belonged to him and he was watching it closely.
Halfheartedly at best, I walked around the neighborhood for
about 10 minutes on my search and then headed back home. As I
neared the house, I could see that something was going on in the neighbor's
driveway so I diverted my path to investigate. Two of the Turnquist girls
were there. Mary was the same age as Neil and Janet was in my class.
Blake Sutton was standing next to Janet. He was another neighbor that was in my class at
school and we hung out quite a bit. Neil's eight year old brother Paul was outside too.
They were all gathered around the thing that Neil was sitting on.
"What is it?" I yelled at Blake, as I ran up the
drive.
"Don't you know? It's a motorcycle," he said, as if he was already
the expert.
I took my position around the masterpiece and opened my eyes
in wonder at the work of art there before me. It was
red. It was big. It was
beautiful. It was a Cushman Scooter! In awe, I walked
around the bike, the likes of which I had never seen, taking in every sensuous
curve and line, from the chrome headlight ring down along the step-through frame and back to
the rear fender that was more like a box than a fender. The swept back handlebars resembled the horns of
a wild animal and the black wheels and whitewall tires, the rear barely
visible beneath the engine compartment, were fat. A gray sheet of metal followed the down-tubes from the steering head to the floorboards to break the wind
for the lower body. The seat was only big enough for one but the speedometer went to 50! Neil proudly demonstrated all of the bikes
features, especially the horn, to his audience on a dry run there in the driveway. Fred had
driven out to the farm for a check on things before the evening meal that his
wife Julianne was preparing in the house.
With the demonstration over, there was only one thing left
for Neil to do. He turned on the switch, pulled the
forward-kicking starter pedal up into position and slammed it to the floorboard
with his right foot. To everybody's surprise, including Neil's, the motor
fired right up and we all stepped back in amazement. He just sat there on the
bike for a few seconds not sure what to do. Then he gave the throttle a
little twist but the motor sputtered and died.
"You have to choke it," Mary said.
"Oh, how do you know?" asked her little sister
sarcastically.
"I just know, Janet," she fired back "It
sounds just like the lawnmower does when you need to choke it."
Neil didn't hesitate, he pulled out the choke lever and
started it again. This time, he let the motor warm up for about a minute
then he took the choke off, focused on the alley in front of him, which was
actually part of their driveway and gave her some gas. The automatic
clutch started to engage, the motor strained against the
resistance and off he went in a weaving motion dragging both feet in the
gravel. At the end of the drive, the rookie pilot negotiated his first turnaround
successfully and proceeded back towards us in a cloud of dust, still dragging
his feet for security and to keep from going too fast. At a blazing five
miles per, he passed by us and on down to the other end of the driveway. A
second direction change went well and as he came back by our crowd of
cheering onlookers, he lifted his feet up onto the floorboards. The path
of the scooter immediately straightened out and Neil was off. Those of us
not fortunate enough to be in the drivers seat were now spreading out along the
course jumping around and yelling as Neil and the bike passed by us
again and again at an ever increasing pace.
**********
The 10:13 bell for recess slammed me back into the real
world. Normally I would have been anticipating the morning break but I had
drifted off to a place somewhere in my future when I could spend the whole day
riding around on my own Cushman. But now it was time to play. Mrs.
Lindgren grabbed the bell off of her desk, walked to the door and gave us the
OK. The whole class was on it's feet as a unit following her out to the
hallway where we merged with the others as they left their rooms, trying so very
hard not to run down the hall to the exit and freedom.
The birds hushed and took flight immediately in one big group
as a hundred screaming kids exploded from the confines of the school building,
fanning out in every direction running for the monkey bars, slides, swings and
the merry-go-round. I saw Shane Bieshiem and was instantly reminded of a
top-secret project we had started Friday. I forgot all about the
scooter. Being wary of teacher's watchful eye and trying not to look
suspicious, we walked over to the far Southwest corner of the playground.
A few feet in from the chain-link fence was a bush just big enough to give us
some cover. Our digging sticks were hidden under the shrub and we were
gonna tunnel our way out. Across the street the gas
station held the booty and the plan was to escape long enough to run over, get an
ice cream sandwich and make it back without being detected.
"Here's the sticks," Shane said and handed me one.
"This is gonna take a long time," I said as I sat
down in the dirt and started chopping away.
"Yeah really, but if we lift the bottom of the fence up
we won't have to dig so far."
He bent down and grabbed the bottom of the fence. With
all his might he pulled up and to our surprise the stiff wire mesh actually
yielded leaving a gap that was already nearly big enough to crawl through.
He let go and it snapped down but not all the way. We looked at each other
with a mixture of guilt and accomplishment in our eyes, then dropped to our
knees and started digging at a frantic pace.
"I think that's enough," I said "Let's try
it."
Shane got up and pulled up on the chain-links again.
"That's good. We can make it!"
Just then our concentration was interrupted by the
bell. We reluctantly started walking towards the entrance.
"Next recess, I'll hold it up again and you can go to
the station," Shane directed.
"I think you should go."
"You have to go, I'm the only one that knows how to hold
the fence up."
"But I don't have any money."
"I can get a dime from my mom at lunch. That'll get two
Ice cream sandwiches."
I didn't know about the plan for me to be the one to
escape but if he was willing to give me a nickel, I'd have to consider. We
walked in the door past the teacher and into the boys bathroom. Since it
was Monday, the first in the row of five urinals was declared the fleapot.
Relieving one's self there would instantly contaminate the poor soul who forgot,
bringing unrelenting humility and shame, at least until the hecklers were
distracted by some easier target. Though there were lines at the other
four urinals, everyone knew better than to use the first one.
"How come your mom is the janitor at the school?" I
asked as we stood in line.
"Since my dad died last year, she has to work a
lot."
"Why did your dad die?"
"I don't know," he shrugged, sort of wanting to
change the subject "He got really sick or something, but I got a lot of
money when he died."
"How much?"
"I'm not sure, but it's a lot. I think maybe five
hundred dollars."
"Wow! Five hundred dollars."
We walked down the hall to our classroom and settled into our
seats. I wondered what it would be like for your dad to die. I
didn't know dads could just die. Five hundred dollars is a lot of money,
no wonder Shane can get a dime whenever he wants one.
**********
All five of us stood in silence, looking at
the Cushman, and Neil who was now bent over the parked machine, a bit red in the
face. The smell of spilled gasoline was in
the air and the motor was clicking as it cooled. Maybe it
was the thick ridge of gravel he tried to cross. Or maybe he abandoned
ship too soon, but the scooter went down and slid on
it's left side a good five or six feet. Neil managed to jump clear and
stay on his feet as he decelerated from a run. The left plastic handgrip
was torn and the engine compartment had a noticeable scrape near the
bottom. Neil's moment of glory had come to an abrupt end and he now wished
very much that we had not been there to witness his failure.
Blake broke the silence. "That was a good one
Neil. I want a ride!"
Neil's face lightened a little, realizing that his accident
might possibly be thought of as a positive. "There's no seat for you,"
he rationalized.
"Come on, please, give me a ride," Blake
begged. "I can ride on that back part."
He pushed down on the top of the rear compartment to test
it's strength and gave a nod, "OK, that'll work".
Neil kicked the starter to the floor, Blake climbed on behind
and they took off down the
alley. Back and forth they rode, Neil, tall and thin with his straight
blonde hair blowing in the wind and Blake with his black hair and chubby build
holding on to Neil's waist..
to be continued...
