Lost In the Light
“Into the broad daylight, you will see me shine,” Wyatt said and gazed at me while we were cycling through the neighborhood. The soothing breeze lightly touched my skin; the golden sky filled with endlessness. At that moment, everything was in the right place, and it seemed as if life was perfect. I was alive and whole, and youth was beyond our wildest dreams and brimming with love, contentment, loss, and hope.
“Hop on Claire, I’ll give you a ride to school,” Wyatt said with me standing next to him, drenched in tears.
Shivering, I covered my ears with both my hands, trying to block everything out. Things were heated in the kitchen that morning. My parents had an aggressive outburst and started yelling at each other. The ceiling shook, shards of ceramic teacups shattered on the hardwood floor.
I swiftly ran away with my belongings and sat on the front porch. Then came Wyatt with his rustic vintage bike, with its blue-red stripes and training wheels, wearing his grandpop’s coffee brown leather helmet, which looked oversized on his head. Without hesitation, I hopped on the back of his bike like it was a getaway car.
“Don’t look back; life is ahead of us.” I never knew what Wyatt meant, but I felt a sense of reassurance and peace that carried me away from my thoughts and worries.
Clairvoyant; optimistic and enthusiastic about the future. Wyatt cleverly—and embarrassingly—named his bike “The Claire-voyant 37” after he learned the word in class.
“The exhilarating things you see and experience riding this thang!” he always said. His profound love for cycling eventually rubbed off on me, and after that, we pretty much always rode together before school, after school, and even on the weekends. We were inseparable. At first, cycling was an excuse to spend more time with Wyatt, but slowly I understood his love for the sport.
“I can’t wait till we get there, and I’ll treat you to the most amazing cheeseburger I’ve found!” Wyatt challenged. “Race you to it!”
“Nerd,” I teased. He laughed, stretched out his hands, and rang the gold bell he bought me for my bike. We continued giggling for the most of the journey. At one point, even pedestrians laughed at our goofiness.
Cycling was an outlet for Wyatt to feel free and remain optimistic about the future. It allowed him to see everything ahead and gave him the capability to steer his life in his own direction, without anyone else’s input.
When he cycled, he saw pedestrians walking on the sidewalk, cars passing, restaurants filled with customers, buildings and houses with workers and families inside, and everything was palpable. He could experience everything and navigate his own way. I guess for Wyatt, cycling was a metaphor for living an adventurous and optimistic life filled with freedom, love, and happiness.
Every now and then, I hop on “The Claire-voyant 37,” take it out for a ride, and it brings me back to the old times. I installed the golden bell Wyatt bought me onto his bike’s handlebars.
He left an indelible mark on me before leaving the world, and he will always shed daylight on me when there’s darkness.
