Sunday Strolls

               

Dad was making us go riding again.

I rolled off my bed, landing on the floor disoriented and tangled in scratchy sheets. My sister pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top, hardly bothered by the early wake up call (or my ungraceful landing). I should have been used to it by then, the six-a.m. rise-and-shine every Sunday morning, but my body was too stubborn to oblige.

"C'mon," Avery said, nudging me with her foot. "Dad's waiting."

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "I know."

I wriggled my way out of the sheets, ignoring the ache from my fall as I slipped on a pair of jean shorts and my mom's faded Saint's t-shirt that was a size too big. After tying my hair back I clomped down the stairs, my dad and sister already walking their bikes out of the garage. I stepped into my flip-flops and followed, not understanding how the two of them could be such early risers. Then again I took more after Mom, with the tendency to sleep till noon and had the same thick brown hair that would frizz up as soon as we stepped out into the wet Louisiana heat. I scraped a few of the loose poofy strands out of my face.

We started off like always: a right on Hickory, loop around Green Hill, then coasting our way into town. The sun began its climb into the sky behind us, its rays slowly inching their way up my bike and the backs of my legs. Even without the sun, I could feel the sluggish heat weighing me down. We'd been here three years, ever since we read that letter Mom left us, but I still couldn't seem to adapt to the unforgiving temperature. I'd give anything to go back to Minnesota's cool embrace.

"You're lagging behind, champ," Dad said as he slowed beside me. He loved these Sunday rides, looking so at ease in Mom's old hometown, as if he, too, had grown up here.

"Sorry," I said. "Lost in thought."

"Not a bad place to be." He leaned back in his seat, dropping his hands from the handlebars as he found the perfect balance to keep the bike going. I never could understand how he did that.

I nodded, not entirely sure how else to respond to that. After a moment we both trained our gaze on Avery who was a ways ahead. Her dirty-blonde hair whipped behind her as she waved at a few of her friends from school. She was so carefree, too. Why was it so easy for them to adapt but not me? Avery and I were only two years apart, so there was no reason this move should've been so difficult for me. Mom seemed just fine living her childhood here, so why couldn't I?

We were downtown now, only a few minutes away from Millie's, our favorite Sunday breakfast spot. The sun had climbed higher by now, and the town had just started to wake up with it. Old man Crawly was in his Sunday best and swinging his cane in circles, on his way to church. I wasn't close enough to hear him, but I knew he was whistling "Sweet Caroline." He was always whistling "Sweet Caroline." Judith was just stepping out of the shop to my right, watering pot in hand. She waved when she caught my eye, then moved her hand to her swollen stomach, caressing it in rhythmic circles. I then passed Uncle Benny, who insisted everyone call him Uncle, even if they were not his niece or nephew. He was seated on the bus bench, newspaper to his nose and smoke curling off of the cigarette between his fingers. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever changed around here. Small towns like their routine.

When we reached Maple Lane, I slowed to a stop and hopped off my bike. Dad was straddling his bike next to Uncle Chris's Cadillac, hand resting on the hood as he talked sports and whatnot with his best friend, right on schedule. I sighed and bumped out the kickstand of my bike with my foot. We'd be here a while.

Ever since we moved to Louisiana, this had been our Sunday routine. Mom loved riding bikes here as a kid, so Dad wanted us to do the same. "For her," he'd say whenever I'd voice a complaint. "We'll keep her memory alive. It's what she'd want."

I'd then glance at my sister, wondering how this could possibly be what Mom wanted, especially since she was the one who refused to rise before noon, but Avery only shrugged and brushed by me. She didn't understand it either, but she had the sense not to question it.

Now I leaned back on my heels, hands in my pockets, and watched the cars pass by. Each one drove slowly, abiding by the speed limit religiously, and watching out for the pedestrians who often jaywalked across the street without much warning. Avery was off to my right, still on her bike as she drummed the handlebars with her fingers. She was humming a song I didn't recognize and seemed lost in thought, but quickly snapped out of it when she saw who was across the street.

Avery was always good with people, and made many friends in her first week of school, but May was by far her closest friend. They made sure to schedule all of their classes together and were inseparable throughout the school day. How they could be so excited to see each other after only two days apart, I'd never understand.

"May!" Avery called, waving her hand in the air. May stopped, arms wrapped around a brown paper grocery bag as she trailed behind her mom and scanned the street around her. After a moment, she caught Avery's eye and shifted the bag in her arms to wave back.

"Hey!" she called as Avery waddled to the street on her bike.

I rolled my eyes and turned my gaze to the left where I saw a beat-up old Chevy making its way down the street. It was faster than all of the other cars, and didn't seem to be going straight, but in a zigzag. As it got closer, I could make out a large man behind the wheel who was digging around in his glove compartment.

Avery was now in the street, behind Chris's car where my dad was still blabbering on, oblivious.

"Avery, wait," I said, but she ignored me. She attempted to stand up on her pedals but her foot slipped and she staggered, hopping on one foot to try to keep her balance.

The Chevy was closer now, the driver still rummaging and Chris's car still parked beside Avery. My feet moved on their own accord, sprinting forward as the image of Avery being sandwiched between those two cars flashed in my mind.

            No, I thought, pushing myself faster as Avery looked up, finally noticing the Chevy.

She made eye contact with the driver, who just now turned his gaze back to the road. He laid his hand on the horn as I lunged forward, arms outstretched. I could see Avery's eyes widen as the realization of what was to come finally hit her. Someone yelled, I thought it was my dad, as my palms made contact with Avery's back, pushing her and her bike forward.

Squealing tires burned my ears before the world went black.