Pete could really pop them. He popped wheelies all over the parking lot at Johnson’s Funeral Home. Tight figure eights which grew wider until he’d come driving out on one wheel, riding it for yards. Pete owned that bicycle, a Schwinn with a leopard patterned banana seat. He owned it with his twelve-year-old mind and body.

When there was a wake the funeral director, Mr. Johnson, chased Pete off the lot. The grieving families never liked it when he was out there popping wheelies like nobody’s business. They said it was disrespectful. Old man Johnson asked Pete to take it elsewhere during the wakes. Pete never gave Mr. Johnson any trouble since a wake was usually held only once or twice each week and the rest of the evenings he could pop wheelies to his heart’s content.

Mr. Johnson’s ten-year-old daughter Cindy loved to watch Pete on the bike. She was amazed at how he rode it so long on just one wheel like that. She would sit in the grass, fingering the gravel at the edge of the parking lot, watching him ride. Her heart beat faster and she’d kind of lose her breath when he breezed by. She would clock the duration of the wheelie, ticking off the seconds. Pete usually gave her a look when he rode past, but never stopped to talk until the day after the Anderson wake.

Pete peddled over to Cindy and slid, kicking up some gravel.

“How’d you get so good at popping wheelies?” Cindy asked.

“Practice, just like anything else.”

“I like how you ride, how you keep the wheel up so long. Do you ever fall?”

“Not anymore. In the beginning I fell all the time.”

“I used to fall off the trampoline all the time till I got good at it.”

“Yeah, how do you know you’re good at it?” Pete asked.

“I don’t fall off anymore.”

“Trampolines are okay, but what can you do with that skill?” Pete asked.

“About as much as you can with riding wheelies.”

“I guess.”

“If I get really good on the trampoline maybe I can get into the circus. You could too, if you could ride wheelies on the high wire,” Cindy said.

“Nobody can do that.”

Pete peddled off, made a wide loop and then rode a wheelie back through it. The front tire rotated slowly in the air. Cindy looked through the spokes, imagining a Ferris wheel. She counted sixteen seconds, which is longer than you think until you actually count it off. Pete coasted back to Cindy.

“What’s so big about the circus anyway?” Pete asked.

“Nothing, except it can get me out of this town.”

“You don’t like it here?”

“Who knows? I can only answer that after I’ve been someplace.”

“Can you show me the trampoline?”  Pete asked.

“Sure, if I can ride the bike over.”

Pete slid off the back of the banana seat and popped the front wheel high, pulling the whole bike out from underneath him. After righting it Cindy climbed on. Pete walked beside while she peddled slowly. They came around to the back of the house where the trampoline was.

“No wonder you never fall,” Pete said. “With that safety net around it nobody could fall off.”

“That’s new. My dad says it’s for liability purposes.”

“He’d get more business if he took it off,” Pete said.

“Funny. That’s kind of sick, but still funny. You want to try it out?” she asked.

Pete was busy searching for an opening in the net.

“It’s on this side,” Cindy said.

Pete was in and jumping. He was a wheelie wonder, but not much on a trampoline.

“You’re like a fish out of water,” Cindy said.

“Like you on the bike – not one wheelie.”

“I’ll teach you how to do a flip on the tramp and you can teach me how to pop a wheelie. What do you say?” Cindy asked.

“Deal.”

Cindy was in and they were both jumping. One landed and thrust the other into the air. Cindy was clean and controlled. Pete was all over.

“Sometimes I think I can jump so high I’ll touch a cloud,” Cindy said. “Land on one and sail away.”

“You like to talk about getting into things that will take you away from here,” Pete said.

They watched one another spring from the canvas.

“Show me a back flip,” Pete said.

Cindy lined up and did a front flip, followed immediately by a back flip. Her body was tight and her legs went over her head in slow motion. Her feet always found the canvas. Pete worked at it but couldn’t pull it off. He couldn’t quite manage a front or back flip. Pete said he had seen enough. Cindy hopped on the bike and headed for the asphalt.

“Hold up!”

Pete chased her to the empty parking lot, not a wake or funeral in sight.

“Ready for your lesson?” Pete asked.

Cindy slid off the seat.

“I changed my mind. I’d rather watch you.”

“What about the deal?” Pete asked.

“Forget it.”

Cindy tipped the handlebars toward Pete. He took hold and saddled the banana seat. Cindy settled into the grass, pulling her knees to her chest. Pete pushed off, glancing back to Cindy. He coasted over the lot, across the smooth asphalt. At the far end of the parking lot he turned and positioned the bike.

Pete leaned into the pedal, pushing hard, winding up. The bike took speed and there was liftoff, the front wheel rose. Cindy’s heart pounded. Pete wheelied the distance in one long rearing stride. The front wheel again found solid ground. Pete whistled past Cindy, circling back into a generous figure eight. He then sailed through it, like a rearing stallion.