The bicycle

I remember the dress, white piqu'e collar with a bunch of dime store violets at the angle of the vee. I am seventeen. My hair is short and full. My younger brother in white ducks and sneakers, a hand on his hip, poses against the clapboard of our rented house beside the bay. By forgetting there were twenty feet of water under me I swam between the small boats anchored there. The bicycle? I rode it on the highway to Jones Beach.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...