forehead and rushed to find clean clothes to throw on while Melissa went downstairs to wait with the boys.
Ten minutes later she was putting her hair in a ponytail as she came down the stairs to meet Melissa, holding the picnic her mother had packed as they tramped across the lawn to wards the boys. Gary’s eyes perked up at the sight of the wicker basket.
“For me?”
“No,” Melissa scowled. “It’s Aire’s. And Troy’s.”
“That’s so nice of you,” Troy smiled. “Thank you.”
“Well, actually my mom made it,” Aire said.
“Well thank you both then,” he said as he reached out to take the basket from her . “Let me carry this. It’s the least I can do for the ladies of this fine establishment.”
“Thanks.”
A mild heat wave had passed through Duck Park, sparking the excitement of the day’s events and the happiness the first hints of spring always bring after a season of shivering through bundles of jackets and coats. The electricity of life filled the air as toddlers ran around the patchy brown and green grass, and parents rushed about herding their youngsters to their upcoming events. Dogs followed their owners in obedience amidst the bustle, their tongues flopping out as they went from canopy to canopy to visit. Aire laughed when she was nearly knocked over by the Parker’s Shepherd as it chased after a stick tossed by their three-year-old.
The first day of The Moto was for children five to thirteen. Everywhere miniature bikes revved and pinged and crashed and narrowly escaped clipping any by passers on their way to the kids track on the east side of the pond . The small group laughed at the tiny helmets and trash talk from high pitched voices as the grade-schoolers bet Pogs and marbles on who would win that day. Troy and Gary found their little brothers in amicable rivalry and escorted the boys to their tent areas while Melissa and Aire parted ways to find Mitch, agreeing to meet back up in the west section of the grand stands before the Pee Wee heat race.
“Hey, buddy, are you excited?” Aire asked when she spotted her family’s yellow and teal pop-up canopy.
“I’m way excited,” Mitch said.
“Good, me too,” Aire said. “When does your heat race start?”
“In ten minutes. You’re way late,” Mitch scolded.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool. I already warmed up my bike and gave it a once over.”
“That’s great. Well we’re going to get good seats. Good luck, booger.”
“Thanks.”
“Now, you listen to me,” their mother said after the announcer called Mitch’s division to the starting line. “I want you to be careful, understand? Do your best, but don’t push so hard you get hurt, okay?”
“Yes, Mother,” Mitch grumbled as he put on his helmet.
“I ’m serious ,” she said, jabbing her index finger in his face, the I mean it or else finger that only mothers can point with any kind of conviction. She began adjusting his chinstrap, jerking it this way and that to tighten it, his head lolling from side to side from the force. “I don’t want you getting hurt like Aire did.”
“Mom, you’re choking me,” he said as he loosened the strap.
“Better to choke a little than crack your head like an egg. Good luck.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Aire’s chest panged with remembrance of Troy’s words from last night. We only kiss little kids on the forehead.
“Remember, when you go into a turn, look behind you under your elbow so you can avoid getting run into,” their father called as Mitch pushed his bike towards the starting line. He gave a thumbs up without looking back.
The spirit of race day took hold of Aire in the grand stands when she and Melissa met up with the boys. She hollered and cheered with the rest of the crowd as soon as the starting gates dropped and Mitch zoomed down the straightaway. She felt her mother’s anxiety when he reached the first turn. One boy caught his foot peg on the hay bale
Ten minutes later she was putting her hair in a ponytail as she came down the stairs to meet Melissa, holding the picnic her mother had packed as they tramped across the lawn to wards the boys. Gary’s eyes perked up at the sight of the wicker basket.
“For me?”
“No,” Melissa scowled. “It’s Aire’s. And Troy’s.”
“That’s so nice of you,” Troy smiled. “Thank you.”
“Well, actually my mom made it,” Aire said.
“Well thank you both then,” he said as he reached out to take the basket from her . “Let me carry this. It’s the least I can do for the ladies of this fine establishment.”
“Thanks.”
A mild heat wave had passed through Duck Park, sparking the excitement of the day’s events and the happiness the first hints of spring always bring after a season of shivering through bundles of jackets and coats. The electricity of life filled the air as toddlers ran around the patchy brown and green grass, and parents rushed about herding their youngsters to their upcoming events. Dogs followed their owners in obedience amidst the bustle, their tongues flopping out as they went from canopy to canopy to visit. Aire laughed when she was nearly knocked over by the Parker’s Shepherd as it chased after a stick tossed by their three-year-old.
The first day of The Moto was for children five to thirteen. Everywhere miniature bikes revved and pinged and crashed and narrowly escaped clipping any by passers on their way to the kids track on the east side of the pond . The small group laughed at the tiny helmets and trash talk from high pitched voices as the grade-schoolers bet Pogs and marbles on who would win that day. Troy and Gary found their little brothers in amicable rivalry and escorted the boys to their tent areas while Melissa and Aire parted ways to find Mitch, agreeing to meet back up in the west section of the grand stands before the Pee Wee heat race.
“Hey, buddy, are you excited?” Aire asked when she spotted her family’s yellow and teal pop-up canopy.
“I’m way excited,” Mitch said.
“Good, me too,” Aire said. “When does your heat race start?”
“In ten minutes. You’re way late,” Mitch scolded.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool. I already warmed up my bike and gave it a once over.”
“That’s great. Well we’re going to get good seats. Good luck, booger.”
“Thanks.”
“Now, you listen to me,” their mother said after the announcer called Mitch’s division to the starting line. “I want you to be careful, understand? Do your best, but don’t push so hard you get hurt, okay?”
“Yes, Mother,” Mitch grumbled as he put on his helmet.
“I ’m serious ,” she said, jabbing her index finger in his face, the I mean it or else finger that only mothers can point with any kind of conviction. She began adjusting his chinstrap, jerking it this way and that to tighten it, his head lolling from side to side from the force. “I don’t want you getting hurt like Aire did.”
“Mom, you’re choking me,” he said as he loosened the strap.
“Better to choke a little than crack your head like an egg. Good luck.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Aire’s chest panged with remembrance of Troy’s words from last night. We only kiss little kids on the forehead.
“Remember, when you go into a turn, look behind you under your elbow so you can avoid getting run into,” their father called as Mitch pushed his bike towards the starting line. He gave a thumbs up without looking back.
The spirit of race day took hold of Aire in the grand stands when she and Melissa met up with the boys. She hollered and cheered with the rest of the crowd as soon as the starting gates dropped and Mitch zoomed down the straightaway. She felt her mother’s anxiety when he reached the first turn. One boy caught his foot peg on the hay bale
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