21Stories: 05 - Bikes
Gerald had sent an email saying that his mother was sick, and he had to run out of town for a couple days, and that he'd be staying over the holidays. He didn't know when he'd be able to write or email again. So she wasn't surprised when she got home from the business trip to find their flat dark, her fish dead, and something sentient growing on the leftover pizza.
She was surprised, however, to find a few sheets of paper taped to the television set.
One of William's oldest memories was the sound of the back door creaking as Frank, his older brother, snuck out to do his rounds. William was probably still five years old at that time, and Frank would have just turned ten. He'd started his first job, without anyone suspecting it, and he rode his bicycle all over town, and to the neighboring towns, every day long before sunup. He delivered newspapers, door-to-door flyers -- anything he could carry on his bike. And he delivered as much of it as he could at the same time.
Their father had told Frank that he was too young to have a job. But Frank wanted a new bike, a better one than his dad could afford on what he brought home from the plant. So Frank snuck out of the house every night around three, made his rounds, and got back in time for his mom to wake him up for breakfast at six-thirty. He'd catch up on his sleep during playtime, snoozing under a tree instead of playing baseball.
This went on for months before their father found out, and when he did, he was pretty mad. Not because Frank had gotten a job, but just because he had defied his father's wishes. They were a Catholic family, and children were supposed to respect their parents. Even so, he admired the boy's pluck. So when he took all of the boy's earnings (a grand total of twenty-three dollars and eighteen cents) to teach him a lesson, he put the money into a savings bond. Several months later, when the school year was over, he told Frank that he could have a job - just for the Summer - and presented him with his earnings, plus the bond interest.
Frank was thrilled, and was never again without some kind of job. He delivered newspapers, he delivered flyers. He picked apples, shingled roofs, waited tables, shined shoes. If he had a spare minute, he was thinking about how to turn it into a spare dollar. And every dollar he saved. He was an eleven-year-old miser, pinching every penny until it screamed, and then calling it a sissy.
William admired Frank in the way that only younger brothers can. He followed him around, and, when Frank retired the old Schwinn to finally get himself a European racing bike, William was happy to start riding it around, delivering his own newspapers. It was an old bike, though, and heavy, and William didn't have the stamina or the work ethic of his older brother. It was all he could do to keep enough money coming in to buy his baseball cards and sundaes.
When he was eighteen, Frank enlisted in the military. He would graduate mid-year, and after New Year's, he'd be getting on a bus and heading out to basic training. William wondered if he'd ever see him again. He loved his brother and was afraid for him. But at that age, young men don't talk about their feelings. Besides, the two of them understood each other better than
that.
One day, very close to the Thanksgiving break during Frank's senior year (when William was just a lowly Freshman), William saw his brother walking home from his afternoon job at the grocery store. This was a notable event; where was the fancy European cycle?
"Sold it," Frank said, and that was that. William understood; his brother was shrewd. What would he need with a bicycle in the war? He'd probably gotten a good price for it, too. Every kid in the neighborhood coveted that bike.
Over the next few weeks, Autumn passed away and it became frigid. William thought that it was as if the Sun knew that Frank was leaving, and had decided not to shine. Christmas was coming, and all he wanted was for his brother to stay. But that wasn't a manly thing, so he told his parents he didn't want anything for Christmas at all.
And that's what he got - nothing. Their parents decided that Frank was a man now, and his father gave him a small handgun, ammunition and a cleaning kit. Jack, the middle child, got a telescope with a book listing all the constellations and myths about where they came from. And William sat off to the side, wishing his brother was staying, and trying not to cry.
When the boxes were empty, and the wrapping paper picked up, and Jack had run off to the boys' room to lay on his bunk and read the star charts, their parents left to take cookies to the old lady next door. William decided to walk through the snow to spend the last of his money on a pocket knife for Frank, to try to tell him how he felt. As he was getting his coat on, though, Frank stopped him.
"Hey. Hold on a minute. I need your help with something," he said.
William stopped and stood by the door, waiting. Frank went into the kitchen and William heard the back door creak once, then again a minute later. Frank walked into the living room, carrying the bicycle in one hand and a box of envelopes in the other.
"Merry Christmas, Bill. I took it to the shop and had them clean it up. It's got a new seat and everything - real leather. Oh, and these are for you, too."
He wheeled the bicycle towards William and handed him the box of envelopes.
"I expect you to keep an eye on Mom and Dad for me. And write me every day to tell me how they're doing."
He'd tried to be a man, but William couldn't help it. He started to cry, and his big brother held him and told him that it would be alright.