Two Hands
The girl can ring her bicycle bell. She cannot ride her bicycle. It is yellow, with two wheels and a black seat. Today, she wants to ride it. She puts a red helmet on her head. Her father closes it under her chin. "Is it too small?" he asks. She moves her head. "No. It is good."
They walk to the park. The path is wide and empty. There is grass on both sides. The girl looks at the gate at the end. "Can I ride there?" she asks. "We can try," her father says. He stands behind the bike. "I can hold the seat."
She sits on the bike. Her feet are on the pedals. Her father has one hand on the seat. She looks back. "Please hold it," she says. "Yes," he says. She pushes with her feet. The bike moves. Her father's shoes make quick sounds behind her. She smiles. The gate is closer now.
The Grass
"You are riding!" her father says. The girl looks back at him. His two hands are in the air. He is smiling. But her eyes are on his hands. Her bike moves to the side. The front wheel goes onto the grass. She falls. The bike falls beside her.
Her father comes to her. "Are you hurt?" he asks. She sits up. Her hands are dirty, but they do not hurt. Her helmet is still on her head. She looks at the bike. One wheel is turning. Slowly, it stops. "You did not hold it," she says. Her father sits on the grass. "I saw you riding," he says. "I was happy."
The girl takes some grass off her shoe. "Where was your hand?" she asks. Her father is quiet. Then he says, "I did not tell you. I am sorry." He puts his hand on the seat again. But the girl stays on the grass.
The Red Line
Her father waits. He does not pull her up. The girl looks at the path. There is a red line across it. The line is near them. The gate is far away. "Can we go to that line?" she asks. "Yes," her father says. "Only to the line."
The girl stands up. "Tell me before you let go," she says. "I will," he says. He holds the bike. She sits on the seat again. They move slowly. This time, she looks at the red line. "I am holding it," her father says. She can hear his shoes beside her.
Near the line, he asks, "Can I let go now?" The girl thinks. "No," she says. "Not yet." His hand stays on the seat. They stop at the line. She puts her feet on the ground. "Again," she says. They walk the bike back along the path. Then they go to the line again. His hand stays there.
The Bell
Now the girl wants to try without his hand. "Ask me again," she says. Her father holds the seat. They begin to move. The girl looks ahead. "Can I let go now?" he asks. "Yes," she says. "Now." He takes his hand away. "My hand is off," he says. He walks beside her.
The girl pushes the pedals. One turn. Two turns. Three turns. The red line is under her front wheel. "Stop," she says. Her father holds the seat. She puts her feet down. They are at the line. She looks back at the gate. It is still far away.
"One more ride?" her father asks. The girl shakes her head. "Not now." She touches the little bell. It makes a bright sound. Her father touches his ear and smiles. The girl rings it again. Then they walk home. She holds the bike. Her father walks beside her. At home, she puts the bike by the door. Its wheels are dirty now. She leaves the red helmet on the seat.
