“OK, you can do this,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.
My mom sat straddling her brand-new bike, her new helmet falling forward over her eyes. She gripped the handlebars the way I had seen her grip the steering wheel in heavy traffic, and she looked kind of pale.
“I don’t know, Jake. There are too many people around. I don’t think I want to. . . .”
I didn’t understand why my mom seemed so scared. Riding a bike was no big deal. I had learned to ride four years ago, when I was only seven. Besides, I’d never known my mom to be afraid of anything before. The night I heard noises in the attic and thought that there were monsters up there, Mom just grabbed a flashlight and marched right in. She scared those squirrels half to death. And the day I hit my head falling out of a tree and was covered in blood, Mom just sat me down, washed me off, and told me not to climb so high. So what was all this about?
“Mom,” I said as patiently as I could, “you have to learn to ride a bike if you want to ride with me in the Bike-a-Thon, and it’s only two weeks away.”
“OK,” she said finally. “OK, I can do this—I think.”
“Of course you can,” I replied, and I reached up to adjust the chin strap on her helmet. “That’s better. Now you can see where you’re going.”
“I think I liked it better when I couldn’t.” She stared down the little hill I had decided to start her on.
“It’s not that steep, Mom. It’s easier to get your balance if you start off coasting. Just remember to keep your feet on the pedals, and start pedaling as soon as you get to the bottom of the hill.”
I took a couple of steps away from the bike. My mom took a deep breath and pushed down on the top pedal just the way I’d shown her. Slowly the bicycle rolled forward, picking up speed as it coasted down the hill. The front wheel began to wobble.
“Steer, Mom! Straighten it out!” I yelled. Mom didn’t seem to hear me. She and the bike turned left, went off the sidewalk, and rolled into a little green bush. Then slowly Mom and the bike fell over.
“Mom!” I shouted, running down the hill. “Are you all right?”
Several people came running toward us. I guess they had heard me yelling. My mom hadn’t made a sound.
“Mom! Are you OK?” I asked. I knelt down beside her.
“No.” Her face was hidden under her arm, so her voice was kind of muffled.
“What’s the matter? Is something broken?” I was so scared.
“No,” was her only reply.
“Get up and let me see,” I said.
“No.” Mom didn’t move.
By now there were lots of people standing around me, my mom, and the little broken bush.
A concerned-looking man in a jogging suit stepped forward. “Son, would you like me to call an ambulance?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, and looked at my mom.
“No,” my mom yelled. “I’m fine. Please go away!”
“She’s learning to ride,” I tried to explain to all those people. “She wasn’t going very fast.”
“Come on, lady! You gotta get back up on the horse that threw ya!” some man shouted.
“It was a bike!” I shouted back.
A small gray-haired lady standing close by said softly, “Remember The Little Engine That Could. ’I think I can, I think I can. . . .’”
“They’re not going to go away, are they?” my mom whispered.
“I think they want to see that you’re OK,” I whispered back.
“Oh, all right!” My mom sat up and brushed the grass and leaves and little berries off her sweater. Finally she stood up. Everyone began to clap, and my mom’s face turned bright pink.
“Thank you for your concern, but as you can see, I’m just fine.” Mom took a few steps around to show them that she wasn’t hiding a broken leg or a sprained ankle. Everyone clapped again and then went on their way.
“Enough for today?” I asked hopefully. I didn’t want to go through that again anytime soon.
“No, Jake,” she said in a way that surprised me. “No. I almost had it, and then I let myself get scared. I know I can do it this time!”
Now this sounded more like my mom. I helped her pull the bike out of the bush and push it up the hill.
Mom adjusted her helmet again and got on the bike. She didn’t look quite so pale this time.
“Ready?” I asked. She nodded, and I backed away.
There went Mom down the hill, and just as the bike reached the bottom where the sidewalk became flat and smooth, she started pedaling. I ran down the hill after her. She had pedaled quite a way ahead of me when she looked back over her shoulder. I could see that she was smiling. She let go of one of the handlebars to give me a thumbs-up sign.
“No, no!” I yelled. “Use both hands!”
But it was too late. Mom and the bicycle went off the sidewalk and fell over together in the grass. Again.
“Mom! Mom! Are you hurt?” I ran up to her.
This time she was already on her feet, and she was laughing.
“Did you see me? I did it! I did it! I really did it!”
Then she stopped and looked at me. “I mean,” she said, rumpling my hair, “we did it.”