“Chiaroscuro” by Sherry Chandler

222 Replies

So I’m stopped at the light, North Broadway and New Circle, when a couple of Harleys pull up beside me: his and hers. His was fire engine red with dual exhaust, hers metal-flake green with white sidewalls and a heavy load of chrome. The riders’ spread on the seats was not that of youth. Besides they both had helmets on, though his had a ponytail of American-flag bandana hanging out behind. I never had the nerve to ride a cycle. I blame Jimmy Black who taught me to ride a bicycle by taking me to the top of the Pawpaw Tim hill and giving me a shove, and I knew I couldn’t hit that gravel, blurring by as the bike picked up speed, with my bare arms and legs. Brakes never entered my terror-frozen mind. “I’ll teach you to ride a bike,” he’d said. “You promise you won’t let me fall,” I’d said. “I won’t let you fall.” I didn’t fall. I’d like to say I never quite trusted anyone again after that summer but once naïve always naïve. A year or so later, I did take a spill on that hill and the doctor spent an hour picking limestone pebbles out of the hole on my knee, all the while scolding me for popping my gum. I can show you the scar.

-Sherry Chandler

222 thoughts on ““Chiaroscuro” by Sherry Chandler”

  3. Nettie Farris

    I like your ending. And the stuff about being naive. I don’t know a thing about motorcycles.

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