Biking for Johnny and me was an escape. It was a proclamation of our freedom, of our rebellion. We felt one with the wind on our bicycles. Johnny's wispy blond hair that fell beyond his shoulders looked so beautiful in the wind. My hair, short and dishwatery, was always left in a wind-bursted mowhawk on my yellow bike. We rode everywhere, we were nothing without or bikes. Our passion for our bikes was as deep as the mutual hidden passion we had for each other. But we were too cowardly to admit it at the time.
Today, a warm early spring weekend morning, we were riding our bikes around my school. I attended school at St. Rose of Lima Academy, which for me was the seventh ring of hell. I stole his top from when we went swimming at a pool of my friend's and he was chasing me to get it back. We were riding past the priory. I was, to put it simply, laughing my ass off. "Mo! Come on! I'm gonna tell the priests you stole a shirt from a poor kid!" Johnny, thin, long, and pale was laughing. He nodded at the group of priests all decked out in their albs that were welcoming an extremely tall man in khakis and a black polo.
I turned and noticed the tall man carrying some suitcases. He was peculiar and and he looked much older than he truly was. His hair was almost completely a dark grey and thinning. He had smile lines and his deep brown eyes happily danced as he chuckled at Johnny's remark. He was certainly innocent. He was much more innocent than me and I was only newly thirteen at the time! I slowed down and Johnny was now biking beside me.I handed him his prized Nirvana shirt and said, "Let's go down to Franklin."
When we got to Franklin Park, a playground adjasent to the Red River elementary school, I sat at the nearest bench and asked, "You see that guy moving into the priory?"
Johnny, his pale blue eyes glistening in the morning sun, replied, "Yeah. What about him?"
"Dunno," my feet were resting on my bike seat, "he seemed childlike."
"You just don't want some new guy possibly cramping your style. You still want to get away with all the shit you pull there." Johnny laughed and sat beside me. He put his shirt on and watched a little girl that fell bawl at the sight of her bleeding knee with sympathy overflowing his eyes. "He seems OK. He's just a priest. You don't even deal with them that much there anyway."
That was from a story I'm writing. What do you guys think? NEED OPINIONS.