Let the bus theme roll on...why not?
So I'm five. Yes five. And my father, Goddess bless his wild soul, bought me my first motorcycle when I was four. It was a bright yellow, 50cc three wheeler. Yep the kind of vehicle later outlawed due to how dangerous it was - always tipping over.
Well for me that was the joy of it all. I would lash on my matching yellow helmet with the smurfette sticker stuck on the front and got whizzing around the trailer park raising hell and causing terror. My favorite game was to chase down the gang of roving bicycle boys, all twice my age and size, and pop a wheelie, catch their back tie, and then ride piggy-back all the way around the drive. Them howling in despair because they couldn't out pedal me. Me devilishly grinning while I took control of a boy and his toy twice my age. Hmmm...leaves little to wonder about the here and now huh? Seriously that look of abject fear in their eyes as they cast furtive glances back over their shoulder while I drove them faster down the lane with my engine, their buddies falling behind due to laughter and windedness...it made sense to me. I could so I did and no one got hurt. Well at least not me anyways.
The first time we took it out to the dirt hills behind the trailer park, Pop drew a line in the sand and said "Start here." My brother, 17 months my junior, did as told. Me? I took that thing and flung it back to the furthest edge of the sand lot then let her rip - flying past the starting line already at full speed. When I hit the mound I was airborne and fell. It wasn't the fist time. Tree branches and horsebacks are good for flying too and I grew up on or in both. Little cowgirl. Little monkey. Where I grew up, it was nothing unusual, it was the norm. But yeah I was probably the only four year old motorized blond bumble bee terrorizing the local boys club. But someone had to...
Later on at that same place, I would kiss my first girl, have my first orgasm (age 4 auto erotic stimulation), watch my first stampede saunter by cows head swinging low, mewing. I would witness my 5 year old male friend tied to a chair and his mouth covered with duct tape because his mother was gone and his older brother said he talked too much. Later I watched that same friend walk down the blacktop, outside our park fence. I called to him. He said "I'm running away" I called my mom. When we go the double wide I asked her how they separated the two pieces and she said with a knife. All i knew were steak knives. I couldn't imagine such a tedious task, even at that age. I made dandelion tea and counted teh cracks on the sidewalk, making sure to never step on one, lest I crack my mother's back. And other days jumping right on the line.
I saw my first porn. In a shed, we were led, her and I by the older boys, teenage boys. the big brothers of the boys I bothered. Nothing happened that day. Later one of them tried. He threatened me with an imaginary snake. I didn't go for it. He left. I've never liked the stuff. Porn that is. or Snakes.
We took that motorcycle with us when we moved. It was much different riding in town. I naturally had to break most of the rules just to have a good time on the back of my bike like I was used to. We lived walking distance from the elementary school. I went to half day kindergarten in the morning and love my teacher Ms. Rusk. In the afternoon I rode my motorcycle. One afternoon I pulled out of our driveway like I wasn't suppose to right into the path of an oncoming bus full of day students. Teh grill nearly capsized my yellow 50cc three wheeler, but a melting patch of Wyoming spring time ice lubed my wheels and saved the day. We all skidded to the ground and slowed down together, the elderly bus driver nearly fainting on the spot and me and my bumblebee stuck to the grill like a dying insect. My father was dispatched by my mother from inside. Outside laying on my side, I'd began to cry. Pop picked me up, set my bike right then put me on the ground, pointed at the bike and said, "Get back on and ride."