Don't Write Me Off

12. jasper - bear my weight on your shoulders

"You look like you're off to a volleyball game," Erika looks down on my knee pads, a huge smile on her face as she clutches the tan colored handles to keep her bike steady. I'm wearing an old UP shirt I had in my car and basketball shorts that I may have already outgrown, frankly, with the way it goes at least four inches above my knees. "More like a boy scout, prepared for any on road accidents."

She grimaces, "You'll look great in my pink helmet."

"I've been told it's a suitable color for me, thanks."

We stand on the sidewalk before the bike track near the AS parking lot, the facade of Palma Hall blocking most of the sun the more I stare at it, in its daunting yet comforting stance. There are people jogging and students walking about, some bikers too, so we aren't exactly out of place. Erika's a bit more dressed than I am, in a sundress with cherries on it and sneakers in white. She has a small beige sling bag on her. Her hair is in a ponytail, as usual. When she turns to look at me, I pretend to adjust my eyeglasses so she doesn't think I was staring. It's around 5 pm, and the sun is starting to set slightly. I'm a bit relieved of this, seeing as I wouldn't really want people looking at us too much. In the dark, it will be easier to pretend I know what I'm doing, but then again it will defeat the purpose of learning when I can't really see.

"Alright, let's do this." Erika says, walking her bike to the track and looking at the cars passing through the academic oval. I follow her, looking at the handiwork of her bike: in the car she informed me that this is what one would call a Japanese-style bicycle, how it differs from a mountain bike, I don't know. It seems easy to ride though, since It's shaped like a really tall scooter with wide wheels. Like the bicycle version of a Vespa. It's sky blue with a small basket in front that looks wooden, but is actually artificial, when I tried to feel its texture. There are small lights in front and on the back, a tiny bell by one of the handles to complete the look. It's bigger than I expected. We had to strap it on top of my car, which for its size, surprisingly fit.

"Where'd you even get this?" I ask, touching one of the handles. Our hands brush against each other but she pulls away quickly, running it through the small pieces of hair falling on her forehead. "You know, there are good bicycle shops if you tried looking hard enough. I've had this since I was in high school. Saved up so I can get a bike any way I like. My parents paid for half."

"It looks...very you, I guess," I chuckle.

"Okay, you can sit on the saddle now." She guides me, holding both handles again by the side. I look around sheepishly, "People are starting to stare."

She looks up at me, giggling, "Better not embarrass yourself, then."

"Are you sure this isn't going to break?" I ask sitting down, feeling like a giant on her bike that's tall, but seems oddly too thin than what I usually see. "Yes, Jas, I'm sure. Wait! We forgot to put the helmet on you! The pièce de résistance."

The helmet is indeed pink, and looks like a turtle shell, resting inside of the small basket. She hurriedly puts it on me, snapping it close by my chin. I stare at her with my eyes slightly narrowed, "You're enjoying yourself, I can tell."

"I sort of wish I can take a picture of you right now," she shrugs playfully.

I nod slowly, "I feel weirdly emasculated, but I won't object to a photo."

"Ah, down with the patriarchy," she laughs, taking out her phone to snap a quick photo. I manage to throw in a smile despite the candid nature she's probably aiming for based on how fast she took it. She stands beside me, my feet are still on the ground as I straddled the bike. I look at her for direction, "What now, coach?"