6. The Bicycle

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My aunt gave me a beautiful Chinese bicycle.

A ‘Phoenix’.

Elegant, solid, expensive.

It was left at my father’s house.

 

I never sat on it.

 

My father said it would sell for more than my stepmother’s bicycle.

So I used hers instead,

and they sold mine.

 

I rode it for years.

It was old, ordinary, no one wanted it.

 

Children pointed at me when I rode it,

but I was used to being pointed at.

I was special that way.