The One with the broken Bike

photography by the author with a logo camera

I am around nine years old. Usually, me and my friends take our bikes together to school. One day I have to stay longer at school than my friends. My parents think that the extra-curricular school orchestra is good for me. I play the second violin. The noises make me nervous. I remember the white t-shirt with a big yellow smiley print, which I wear under my white orchestra blouse. When the class is over, there are only a few bikes left at the bike stand. Why I do not have my violin with me when I hop on my bike, I do not remember. I take my bike up the hill, through the old residential area. My small bike is rather heavy. I look forward to taking the hill down the green fields, once I leave the town. On the top of the hill, I see a man standing next to a bike. His bike stands upside-down on its saddle. The bike chain is off. I stop my bike. I am conditioned to be nice. I ask if I can help. I try to put the chain back up. I fail. The man says thank you with his eyes. He grips my arm. He kisses my lips. I feel that there is something wrong. I free myself. I run to my bike. I pedal as fast as I can. Down the hill. All the way home. I do not remember how I tell my mom. I remember my father saying: “Such a poor man.” “And no, there is no need to go to the police.” Since then, I was scared of being alone with men for a very long time. But I did free myself, not for the last time.