Banana Seat

Schultzville, the town, offered a general store with a sagging front porch. Inside, glass bottles of Heinz, dusty cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, and the candy.

My uncle’s house was down the road from the store. His historic house told stories with its low bannisters and cellar kitchen, windows on pulleys. Tall grass hills surrounded the house and watched us along the road that led to the store.

One day, a pull of independence called me off the house driveway and my legs were moving for me. The effect was sudden. I stayed along the side of the road, near the hills.

I don’t think I told anyone I was leaving but I could hear them. The adults were at the picnic table in the backyard under the big tree. My sisters and cousins were in the barn. I stared at the long grassy hills as I walked, the change in my pocket making noise, feeling the pull to return to the house but pushing against it by ignoring the noise and moving forward.

When I got to the store, I walked across the front porch and wandered to the shelves first. I loved stores. In stores, I used my own money, bought my own candy, gum. But in this store, there really wasn’t too much to examine, so I headed to the candy selection. With change, wanting to buy as much as I possibly could, I needed to use math to figure out exactly what I could get. I bought Bazooka for two pennies each with the leftover money. I was disappointed they didn’t have Double-Bubble.

I waited to pay, with the owner somewhere else, and that was when I became aware of the jeans and white T-shirt nearby, looking at the magazines by the door. I could see his blue banana bike outside, parked with the kickstand. I paid and carried the candy in a little brown bag and went to the front porch. The boy was on his bike outside. He turned around and looked at me.

I knew to get on.

He did the pedaling and I stuck out my feet. There was some balance issues but we settled in. I held onto his white T-shirt arms, and I wondered if he chopped wood. His hair was brown and the back of his neck was tan.

When he stopped the bike in front of our house, I got off. We didn’t say a word. He pedaled away.

For the afternoon, I considered him my boyfriend.
Country road

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