The Scooter Had It In for Me

Aunt Vicky came to pick me up on weekends, often bringing clothes she’d made for me herself.

I lived for Saturday mornings because it meant I got to go home to my grandmother, even if only for one night.

One day, Aunt Vicky took me shopping for a scooter.

To me, this was roughly equivalent to getting my first car.

I got the ugly wooden one.

From the beginning, I mistrusted the thing.

Not that this stopped me from boasting about it. I took off on it straight toward la quinta around the block.

“You can borrow my bike, too,” some kid from the next unit called out.

I pretended not to hear him.

I rode the scooter up and down, but cautiously, mostly in front of the house and as far as an old garage up the block.

Until one day Mila felt inspired to throw caution to the wind.

She pushed off from the garage toward the house as fast as that hideous scooter would carry her, fully intending to impress any passersby fortunate enough to witness her skill.

Halfway down the block, the handle came off.

Mila went one way.

The scooter went another.

I ended up on my rear end, half upside down on the sidewalk.

Two American Jehovah’s Witnesses happened to be passing.

“Are you okay? Which one is your house?”

I knew that hideous thing had it in for me.

“I’m fine. Just a scrape. My house is right there.”

I answered with what little dignity I could muster, considering they had just seen my underwear.

They walked me home.

Julia first cracked open the door, then opened it wider.

All I remember is the flowing dress, white with some red in it, and her black hair swept up into some elaborate style.

“So grateful to you for bringing her. I was just going to go get her for dinner.”

Well, at least she opened the door.

YOUR TURN

Did you ever desperately want something as a kid, only to discover it was a complete disappointment?

A bicycle, roller skates, a toy, some piece of clothing everybody else had, anything you were convinced would improve your life until reality hit.

Share your story.

Use your real name, initials, a nickname, or make one up. We’re interested in the story, not your résumé.

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