My Little Blue Bike:
A Laurii Brown Story
By Rick Kurtis
Growing up on Long Island in the sixties, there wasn’t much to do. So when I received my very first bicycle at the tender age of six, I went everywhere with it.
It was a beautiful blue bike with a chrome book rack on the back. Oh how I loved my bike. When I was riding my bike, I didn’t have a care in the world. I was invincible with the wind in my face and my pretty blonde hair blowing in the breeze...
By the age of seven, I was so happy while riding my bike that I didn’t notice the big black car as I turned the corner. My world was shattered. The next thing I remembered was that I was sitting up in the middle of the road, looking around. I watched the people from the car running toward me. (Where is my bike?) I thought. I couldn’t see it with all the people around giving me attention.
My mother came running down the street all frantic as the ambulance came. With sirens blaring, my mother and I rode all the way to the hospital. (What about my bike?) I asked over and over and started to cry.
For two days, I was in the hospital, worrying about my little blue bicycle. I only had a bump on my head and some road abrasions on my knees and elbows with a few bruises. I wanted to get home to my little blue bike.
The day came when I was released. I couldn’t wait. I ran from the car to the house. When I opened the door, the Featherwicks were sitting on the couch waiting. I felt they were more worried than my parents. They were the couple from the car. I ran through the house to the backyard and there was my bike. I cried just a little, maybe because it was all right or maybe because it had a scratch on the book rack. Either way, it just wasn’t the same after that.
I still rode my bike and passed it down to my little brother who beat it up unmercifully. Other bikes have come and gone, and I did learn my lesson about watching out for traffic even to this day, driving behind the wheel. Through the years, nothing could compare to my little blue bike.