Circles, Diamonds, Hearts and Guns: Stories from my Youth

Episode 3:  “Wheels” In which I am in my 8th year, learn how to ride a bike, and then promptly run over my neighbor. 

by Nancy Lucia Hoffman

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At Rise:  The performers are all in the space, perhaps in a family portrait tableau?  Wearing name tags?  There are probably bicycles.  There should be room to ride in a circle. There is an overhead projector or a chalk board or a flip chart – something DIY, not polished. Time moves between now, 1976, the 1950s and more.

 

NARRATOR

Hi. Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.  I’m usually a sidekick who is not in the limelight.

 

INNER MONOLOGUE

The Nick Carroway to someone else’s Gatsby.

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NARRATOR

I’m currently in my “midlife review” – I hate calling it a crisis –

 

INNER MONOLOGUE

Ethel Mertz to someone’s Lucy.

 

NARRATOR

You know, the kind of review where you wonder:  is this it?

 

INNER MONOLOGUE

Sancho Panza. Dr. Watson. The Boy Wonder. Marci to Peppermint Patty.

 

NARRATOR

Is this who I am? Should I be doing more with my life? Hike cross-country, join the circus?  Am I awake enough?  Alive enough?  Or more to the point --- do I suck? Would I be more of a leader, a trailblazer – if I could just unravel a few old habits?

 

My self-analysis has brought me to look at a telltale event from childhood: when I learned how to ride a bike. Millions of human beings on the planet have this rite of passage in common. Therefore, I think this achievement can be read like tea leaves or a life line. Were you confident? Afraid? A daredevil? Or a total klutz?

 

This is my story where I finally learned to ride a bike, and, well, something not so great happened. But it wasn’t my fault. Not really.

 

Sound Effect:  Big Wheel  (play sound effects off a 70s cassette deck?)

 

NARRATOR

Remember that sound?  Come on, you know it.  If you’ve ever worn Toughskins or watched the Six Million Dollar Man,

 

Video: Six Million Dollar Man runs

Sound Effect:  Six Million Dollar Man running (cast makes sound)

 

NARRATOR

- you’re in the age bracket to know this sound.  One more time please—

 

Sound Effect:  Big Wheel

 

NARRATOR

That’s right!  It’s a Big Wheel.  It was the sweetest ride a kid could have in 1976.

 

INTERNAL MONOLOGUE

Hard-plastic, orange-yellow and blue, sit in it and roarrr and go faaassttt and Smoky & The Bandit hand brake SKID– yeahhhhh

 

NARRATOR

The Big Wheel.  You rode in style, laid-back like Dennis Hopper, tore like hell down the street. You could skid up to your friend, all Dukes of Hazzard and even if you hit their leg, it didn’t matter. The bike only weighed an ounce and a half.

 

Esther deemed them hazardous.

 

Who’s Esther?  This is Esther. 

 

ESTHER

“There are two reasons to cry. One if you fall down and get hurt and two, if I hit you. If you didn’t get hurt, don’t give me a reason.

 

“I know everything and if I don’t know it, it’s not important to know.

 

“If you stop sucking your thumb today, it will take 10 years for that callus to go away. You don’t want to be going out on dates with boys with a callus on your thumb, do you?

 

“Don’t! Throw! The cans! 

 

NARRATOR

Esther is my Mom. Basically, if Debbie Reynolds and Judge Judy had a kid, it’d be Esther.  She would sing a song at the drop of a hat, and also yell at anybody, anytime, child, adult, animal, whether she knows them or not, if she though they were doing something wrong. This particular sentence:

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ESTHER

“Don’t! Throw! The cans!

 

NARRATOR

 was hollered out her bedroom window at the trash men who would chuck the cans into the yard after they emptied them. This would dent the cans, making it impossible for the lids to fit snugly on them, thus allowing bugs and small animals to potentially invade the trash. This was of course back in the days when all trash cans were aluminum. Please see any Starsky and Hutch alley-based fight scene for reference.  Esther hollered this phrase with her hands around her mouth because she thought that made the sound travel further.

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ESTHER

“Don’t! Throw! The cans!

 

NARRATOR

Continue.

 

ESTHER

“Hey. Slopahontas. Clean it up in here.

 

“Yes I know where your shoes are. It’ll cost you a nickel a piece to get ‘em back.”

 

NARRATOR

Esther woke me up on Saturdays and summer mornings by coming into my room, ripping open the shade and vacuuming.  Or with: 

 

ESTHER

“Kitchen closes at 9. Better get up.”

 

NARRATOR

Now about Big Wheels? She was right. They were low to the ground, the hollow plastic echoing so loud a kid might not hear a car behind them, and that hand brake meant you’d skid right into traffic.  They were of course banned to Diane and I.  I of course rode my friends’ every chance I got.

 

Scene: You can’t have a Big Wheel 

 

ME

Denise got a Big Wheel, Mom, it’s so cool.

 

ESTHER

Well you’re not getting one. They’re too loud. I was coming down Oakwood and some kid was riding in the middle of the road – never heard me.

 

INTERNAL MONOLOGUE

But we live on a circle. Nobody comes down here.

 

ESTHER

Don’t let me catch you riding it.

 

NARRATOR

Okay.

 

INTERNAL MONOLOGUE

Okay, I won’t get caught.

 

                End scene.

 

NARRATOR

Given the glory that was the Big Wheel, dear audience, let me pose an essential question.  Why, WHY did we have to go to two wheels?? Three were working great. Three were awesome, stylish, an easy way to carry a friend with you – way easier than with two.  But mankind is never satisfied. Three will not do, mad style be damned – two, TWO wheels must prevail. And so I was behind the curve.