Yamaha Summer

The following prose piece was a jump start exercise from my last writers' group. We were supposed to invision an inanimate object from our early teenage years and then write a piece from the point-of-view of this object. We were given 15 minutes to write, and here is what I wrote:

YAMAHA SUMMER

Here they come again - the unusual pair of kids. She is petite with waist length blond hair and he is tall with dark hair. They aren't a couple - you can always tell because they rarely hold hands and they never, ever kiss. But there is something about the pair that let's you know they are the best of friends.

He eases me out of the garage with the care of a much older man, checking the gas and oil. He kicks my tires to make sure there is enough air, then he swings one leg over my soft leather seat. He is not always this careful when it is just he and I, but he is always careful when she comes along.

With one easy kick, he starts my loud motor, then he peels out of the driveway, throwing gravel in our wake. This is 1976, so helmets are not yet a requirement - they are a nuisance and his dark hair ruffles as he speeds across the neighborhood.

Pulling up in her backyard, she is already waiting - a pink bandanna wrapped around her long tresses. She can always hear us well before we get to her house. Smiling like the Cheshire Cat, she climbs on behind him and away we go.

She always holds him tightly because even though she loves to ride, she is terrified she will fall off. But I think this is part of the thrill for her - the wind in her hair and face and the two of them as one, with me as their steed.

They leave the road and go into the field. A giggle escapes her lips and she yells above my motor, "Faster, faster." We fly through the field until we hit the trail to the river.

He slows down as the path becomes narrow and within minutes we have entered the clearing. The path opens to a small meadow at the rivers edge. He pulls to a stop and they both climb off. He sits near the river bank and she climbs up on her favorite rock.

Together they are one in the gentle silence with only the ticking of my cooling motor, the slow flow of the Salt River and the beautiful summer sunshine.