bike, flamingo, rock

words by Megana Kumar

It’d been too long since I’d taken my bike out. At first, I had good reasons - it was raining outside, my tires didn’t have air, and I couldn’t find the pump. It got worse after that. Things like “I have to finish my homework” started to replace my solid excuses. The chain started to rust, and the brakes didn’t pull in as smoothly when I squeezed them. The paint that had been bleached by the sun started to gain some color back. There was an old creaking noise to it that wasn’t there before, a croon that I didn’t like the sound of. And then there came the day when school let out early, and I tried to hop up onto the seat and found out it was too short for me. The final blow. I had to ride it, or it’d never see the light of day. 

I took it out for a spin around the block. It was hard to find a rhythm; the stupid creaking wouldn’t stop, and the pedals didn’t seem too fond of me anymore. I was starting to get the hang of it when I looked up and, incidentally, made direct eye contact with a flamingo.

I don’t know why it was there. We live in a temperate deciduous climate. The only birds that came around the neighborhood were geese, and you could tell where they’d been from the lovely trail of droppings they’d leave behind. It was bright pink and stood out so harshly against the neatly trimmed shrub behind it that I crashed right into a pole after seeing it. After it saw me. It made its way over. I held my breath. It smelled like water and rock. Like it sprang out of coral. It touched its beak to my face, just the black tip. I shut my eyes and felt something soft touch my cheek. Head or wing, I don’t know. I don’t think I cared. I could feel it pull back after a while, once the smell of salt had gotten fainter. 

I heard a slight whirring from my left - it was metal on asphalt. My chain had popped off, and the wheel had rolled away with it. I looked at the flamingo, one-legged.

“I guess we match,” I said.