Memoir
There Was Only One Way to Escape a Maniac, on My Big Wheel
If I couldn't run, I'd have to pedal
With my butt on the seat and my feet on the pedals, I was ready.
Any kid who watched Saturday morning cartoons knew a Big Wheel was the child equivalent of a Harley Davidson. I might be the new kid in town, but on my Big Wheel, I would also be the cool kid.
I pedaled out of the garage and stopped. The driveway was as far as my courage would take me. A group of kids were in the street playing what looked like kickball. I was desperate to join them.
Within minutes, a tall girl with pale yellow hair left the kickball game and stomped up my driveway.
"Are you the new girl?"
"Yep," I said, turning the handlebars a bit to make sure she realized this was an actual Big Wheel, not an imitation.
"I'm Mary Ann. I'm the strongest kid on the block."
"Well, I'm the oldest,” I said.
"I'm seven." Mary Ann said.
My face fell. I might be on a Big Wheel, but I was only six.
"My sisters are four and a baby, so I'm the oldest in my family," I said.
