Sting-Rays and Summer Nights - 1974

           

Elmira, 1974

I was ten,
and we were halfway up the hill
before I knew we shouldn’t be.

Mama laughing in the wind,
Just a little farther,” she said.

I had my orange Sting-Ray,
bright as a Saturday morning.
She had my sister’s green one,
wobbling some, laughing some,
one hand on her belly,
my baby sister riding there,
like she was making sure
we were still there.

We kept riding.
Just a little farther.

Past Woodlawn,
stones lined up quiet,
names that stayed put
even when we didn’t.

Up Harris Hill,
wind pushing back
like it knew better.
Just a little farther,” she said.

We climbed
till breath got thin
and the sky opened wide
like it had room for anything.

We kept riding.
At the top
we looked out,
fields, river, road,
everything laid open.

Felt big.
Big enough.

Then we let go.

Down that hill...
fast, Lord, fast...
wind in our ears
like it was laughing with us.

We kept riding.
Just a little farther.

Through Big Flats.
Through fields bent low.

Out to 352
where trucks came roaring past,
one drifted close enough
I felt it tug at the handlebars,
a quick reminder
to hold steady.

Still…
we kept riding.

Just a little farther, she said.
By the time we turned back
the light was slowing down,
thick and golden.

Dad was waiting.

Hand on the mailbox.
Shirt dark with sweat.

“Where the hell you been?”

His voice broke
right down the middle.

He looked at her belly,
at the child we hadn’t met yet,
then back at us,
relief and worry
sharing the same breath.

Mama just smiled.
Pushed her hair back.
Hand resting low and easy.
We were just riding,” she said.

We were sunburned.
Dry.
Alive.

And we had come back.

(Just a little farther...
that’s all.)

Years later,
we still laugh about it.

How far we went.
How little we knew.
How sure she sounded.

I remember the riding.
The climb.
The drop.
That thin edge of road...

and how she made it feel wide.

And her voice,
easy as ever:

Just a little farther.

Back then
it sounded like nothing at all.

Now I hear it different,

not distance,
not danger,

but trust,
and the way she carried us
farther than I knew we could go.

And even now,
one of us will say it,
out of nowhere,
just to see the other smile:

Just a little farther.

GB Shaw Jr. 
Horseheads, NY
2005

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