Writing Class

Ridin' in the Snow -- a snapshot from here.

This is the first exercise from a creative writing class I'm taking this month.

Like all the assignments for the class, this is a "short short" -- story less than 1,000 words long. I found an essay by Diedre Fulton on this subject which reviews a volume of such short shorts.

Picture 10: Ridin' in the Snow



Steady...steady...



Wilson wouldn't want to make a fool of himself by falling over just as his picture was being taken. The bike he was riding wasn't likely to be steady on a wet sidewalk, much less a snowy lawn, which was just what he found himself riding on, that bright, cold February day.



Foolish...why do you always do things that are so foolish? Ah, it's such a bright day. At least over there, beyond the shadows. What a solid and crisp line where the shade and the sunshine meet. How much more time in the day? Does this day seem longer than yesterday? Yes, now I think of it, it does indeed...



Wilson had a peculiar habit, which was simply that whenever he found himself -- or rather, his thoughts -- at an unbearably embarrassing crossroads, he could not bear to think through the circumstance and the likely scenarios of its resolution, but instead, rather, some escapist remarks to himself about something quite different. He couldn't handle his own troubles, and so he didn't.



Take this consideration of the demarcating line between the sunny part of the campus lawn and the shady part, said shade created by the building looming behind him. None of this was at all material to the concern at hand, namely, get this rickety bike to the sidewalk at the other end of the lawn without becoming bogged in the snow, or worse, to have that dreadful feeling of rubber tires suddenly detached, sliding, slippery down the ice, and then foom! down, onto the snow. Hopefully not head-first. How bad would it be? Relax, and sigh into it. Welcome the ground. Hello, ground. Nice to see you again. Are you nice?



The ground probably wouldn't be nice. That's why he pushed carefully at the handlebars, hoping to soar right around that little patch of ice there -- oh! there's one there! And another one there! Now he's in motion, feeling the wind around the sides of his baseball cap and through the patches of hair above his ears. The pleasant whoosh of winter air around the bends of each ear and onto his ear drums did make him feel somehow alive, somehow justified in riding this ridiculously skinny bike over a campus lawn covered in snow -- it's worth it just to feel the crunch of the aging snow under the sharp tires, along with whoosh.



Jessica would pull up the camera to snap a photo in that moment. She had a way of catching him just when he had decided to do something possibly silly and stupid, possibly exhilarating. Did she think it was pitiful for him to prove himself a man by picking up that old bicycle that had rested on the rack beside the building just moments ago, inviting him with its lack of lock? They had gone on this walk as equals, but now he felt like her dog, set loose to roam about the yard or other certified safe area. Would she use the photograph, developed, with stamped date, as a certain proof of ownership?



And what if she did? Didn't being the playful dog suit his nature? Besides, he was no mere dog, but a human being, perfectly capable of analyzing the situation.



The goal was simple: take up the bike and ride it, crazy-styles, right over to the snow and onto the sidewalk, where, schweeee! he would bring the bike to a jolting but gentle halt on the flat surface of the concrete. The only possible thing that could go wrong was that he should encounter some point at which the two tires of this bicycle should have a center of gravity above them of a wide enough berth such that the angular moment in the direction of ye olde ground should be greater than the force keeping the tire in place, which, we should remember, was directly related to the coefficient of friction for the surface the tires were coming into contact with. In short, the bike might slip and fall out from under him. If. If the ground was slippery. And that's if he encountered a patch of ice. Not a likely thing -- oh, no sir. Not with these navigational skills! Why, see as the handlebars are adjusted first to the right, and then to the left, just so, and proper evasive measures are observed to be taken. Oh yes. 



And now here comes the punch line. Is Jessica still aiming the camera? Oh wait, don't look around now, we're almost there. What about the line between the sunshine-lawn and shaded lawn? Have we reached that yet? Wait, don't think too far. Remember the pain of foom! Steady, she goes now. Steady....steady...now over the big patch of plowed-up snow like a Tonka truck down piles of rocks set up to film a commercial. Below this pile lies the sidewalk, and victory. Ov-er, and down. Now swerve to the right and stare straight ahead, hopefully generally in Jessica's direction. Do I look noble, dear one? Come, do take a picture. Swerve, swerve. Down, now swing right. Woops! Wait, is that ice on the sidewalk? Sacré blue! No, wait. Hold-on! Oh. Hello, ground. Nice to see you again. Are you nice?