Friday, July 11, 2008


Our bikes went into space.  Specifically, they went to a galaxy far, far away.  Or so little Christopher thought. 

We made sure he couldn’t see us as we topped O’Hara Drive.  We’d hit the top of the hill, exchange stories about how gullible the kid was or what was on HBO the night before and make sure we stayed gone long enough for him to think we’d actually flown into space.  After the appropriate amount of time, we’d come barreling down O’Hara, top speed, and stop where Christopher sat on a curb around O’Hara and Bloom. 

I never could figure out if Christopher was just slow or the fact that our over-inflated tales of getting into adventures with Han Solo and playing holographic chess with Chewbacca were so well crafted that he fell for them hook, line and sinker.  Or maybe he just wanted to believe us so badly that he let the lies pour over him without a fight.  Like all of us back in those pre-"Return of the Jedi" days, we just wanted more "Star Wars," no matter where it was coming from.  One thing was for sure, Christopher was enraptured by our tales of traveling to Dagobah and Hoth.  To hell with the fact that it was not only supposed to be far, far away, but it was clearly “a long time ago” (if we were to believe the opening credits).  And to hell with the fact that it only took us 20 odd minutes per journey on bikes that were clearly not designed for space travel.  Christopher always bought it.  As much joy as it brought not only him, but us, I started to hate him for being so fucking gullible. 

Maybe Christopher was a lot smarter than any of us actually suspected.  Maybe he was the one in control the whole time.



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