Lost One

I heard a boy riding a motorbike around the block today.  I heard him before I saw him. My heart stopped. The angry purring of the motor sounded just like the motor scooter you used to ride around the 'hood.

Inevitably the sound of your motion around the block was followed by the ringing of my doorbell.  You'd be greeted by my smile, my mom's lecture on why you should wear a helmet, and dad's homecooking.  

Years later when we were older and out of touch, you'd always stop abruptly in the middle of the street to honk and wave me down, flash your big, bashful smile and then continue on your way.  Drop in on holidays to check in on the fam.  My best friend knew you as "scraper boy" because as we grew up, you grew into the obsessions and fancies of the hood.

I miss you.  The sound of youthful joy on a motorized vehicle, tooling around the block like it's a job, will always squeeze at my heart.  To me that sound means you, our adolescence, your premature departure from this physical world.  The future you never had and the past we always will.

I remember the motor. The smiles. The young loves we processed together, walking my dogs and wishing to be growner.