20. Bulb
Every morning it’s the same.
Estelle Richards watches from her kitchen window, sipping her coffee, as the man across the street wheels out bike after bike. It had started off small, just a row of five bikes he’d restored that were up for sale. But over the last two years, he’s turned into a local enterprise.
As of late, he wheels at least fifty different bikes to their designated spots on his front lawn. He parks them carefully, leaving enough space for people to walk in between to inspect them. He does a final walkthrough when he’s pulled the last bike out from his shed, diligently wiping them with a rag should he spot a speck of dirt.
The final step in the process is stringing up some vibrant bunting around the front of the yard. That’s Estelle’s favourite part, it's like he’s wrapping all those bikes in a string of hundreds of bright little bows. The ceremony of her neighbour’s movements fills her with ease. With each bike he pulls out from his shed, Estelle remembers the joy of riding her bike everywhere when she was growing up. She was a scrappy kid with a red bike and tangled auburn hair, tearing through the centre of town on her way home from school or to the local milk bar to spend her hard-earned pocket money on Jaffas.
Estelle watches her neighbour tie off his strung-up bunting and head back toward the shed. To her surprise, he comes out with some sort of string. Unlike the bunting, there are no colourful flags. It looks like a big, unflattering cable. He strings the cord up in the same way as the bunting, carefully running it across the same hooks and then walking one end of it toward the side of his house.
When her neighbour is out of sight, the cord fills with tiny twinkling lights. He walks back out from the side of the house and inspects the strung-up cable.
Estelle wonders why he’s decided to illuminate the bikes, especially in broad daylight. As much as she loves the twinkle of the bulbs, she feels confused about the addition to his routine.
Sometime after lunch, there’s a knock at the door.
Estelle reluctantly gets up from her recliner, she was just about ready to drift into her afternoon nap. When she opens the door, she’s surprised to see the neighbour from across the road.
“I’ve got your mail by mistake, Ms Richards,” he smiles.
Estelle takes the envelopes from him, “That silly postie,” she chuckles. “Say, I noticed you’ve got some lights up today.”
“Nothing gets past you, hey?” her neighbour grins, “It’s for a night ride I’m hosting tonight. Trying to encourage more people to get out on their bikes safely.”
Estelle nods, fascinated by the thought of a fleet of bikes filling her street.
“But don’t worry, it won’t run too late, don’t want to be keeping the neighbours up,” he goes on.
Estelle smiles, “I think it sounds wonderful, I’d love to watch.”
Her neighbour breaks into a wide smile, “Well, hang on now. I think I’ve got an idea.”
✽
It’s precisely 7:22 p.m. when Estelle steps out her front door into the cool evening air. The tiny bulbs all strewn next to the bunting in her neighbour’s yard twinkle gently as people on bikes pull up on the footpath.
Estelle crosses the street carefully, watching for bikes and cars alike, when she hears her neighbour’s friendly voice.
“Ms Richards! Over here!” he calls from up the driveway.
She walks up to find her neighbour and his wife smiling and standing in front of the strangest bike Estelle has ever seen.
“What do you think?” her neighbour grins.
Estelle has never seen anything like it. A huge bed sits at the front of the bike, like a reconfigured sidecar on a motorcycle. She’s mesmerised by it.
“Benny’s been desperate to ride his cargo bike,” his wife smiles, “but don’t worry, we’ve got you a helmet.”
She hands Estelle a bright yellow helmet covered in white and pink flowers.
The night sweeps past her as Benny pedals ahead of the crowd of bikes that showed up for the night ride. Estelle is exhilarated by the speed they pick up as they head down the dip of a small valley. Benny is standing up as he pedals, smiling as they make it to the top of the hill. Estelle looks behind them to see a stream of tiny bike lights taking the same dip. All softly glowing in the dark like the bulbs strung around Benny’s front yard.
As they follow the twists and turns of the streets, Estelle feels the cold evening air run past her ears. Inside the houses that line the streets, she can see the soft glow of televisions and families enjoying their cosy nights. She thinks about how many nights she’s wasted doing the same thing when she could be flying like she is tonight.
