It was a brand new, emerald green Schwinn 10-speed bike. I was thirteen years old, and I’d never owned something so beautiful. The paint sparkled magically in the sunlight and when I rode that bike through the neighborhood, I sparkled too. I rolled easily through a landscape peppered with unhappy parents, mean girls, first crushes, and bad skin with my hands up, nothing to hold on to and, in those moments at least, nothing holding me back.








