Battle of the bike

A little explanation about this story. I wrote it many years ago and kind of like it. This story is actually what you might call semi-autobiographical. The protagonists in the story are based on real friends I had growing up, and the fight happened almost exactly as it is described in the story, although the actual fight was for less altruistic reasons.

I just wrote an alternate ending to the story which I am including with the story itself. I've thought for awhile about how the story would be different had the fight ended differently, if the narrator had not overcome his fears to come to his friend's aid. The theme of the story changes quite a bit with this new ending, becoming more about the end of child as a loss of innocence. Please read both endings to the story and tell me which you prefer.

As always I welcome criticism, both positive and negative. I am interested in knowing what you think, if you have any suggestions for improving the story, and would love to hear your opinions.

"You be careful today!" Mom admonished as I bolted for the door.
"We're always careful," I called without looking back. I was anxious to be gone and wanted no more delays.
"Make sure you lock your bike if you leave it anywhere." There was really no need to remind me of that. My bike was not something I treated carelessly. It was a slick Schwin dirt bike, dark red with black Mag wheels. It was light and swift, and boy did we look good together. Now sure, I jumped it off of curbs, the occasional homemade ramp, off ditches and dirt mounds, and even rode it down stairs, but I knew the limits and did not exceed them. I wasn't about to let something happen to my bike. "Don't be out late, and stay away from those construction sites!" I pretended not to hear that last part; she probably hadn't meant it anyway. I yelled good-bye one last time, and was out the door and on my bike, thudding down the porch stairs before she could call out any more last minute instructions.

I rode through the streets of Salinas at a fast but comfortable pace with my four best friends. To us, Salinas was much more than a small city off the coast of central California. On any given day it could be our home, the planet Felos (inhabited by cat people), the old west, Vietnam (which we knew nothing of except a war had been fought there not too long ago), or whatever other world or country our imaginations could create. The one thing that was consistent, was whatever Salinas was at any time, it was always a place where we were together, we were the best there was, and we were beloved by all of its imaginary inhabitants, feared by all of its imaginary enemies. There we were all we dreamed of being; brave, strong, daring, dashing, and most of all heroes.
It was Friday afternoon, and we had the weekend all to ourselves. We were all going to spend the night at my house, and have the weekend to do with as we desired. We were five in all; me, my cousin Louis, Ethan, David, and Bryan, more commonly known as Rag Doll, Rags for short. This was against his will of course, although it was his fault we gave him the name in the first place. He always used to complain about how old his clothes were, all full of holes and “raggy;” like a rag doll. Thus he became Rag Doll; the name just seemed to fit. Rags was a pessimist, plain and simple. He thought the whole world was against him, even his friends, and we were the only ones who could put up with him. Think of a tall, lanky Eeyore with shaggy blond hair and you've got Rag Doll. About the only thing that seemed to make him happy was being with us and riding his bike. Rags’ bike was a typical ten-speed, tall and silver. It was actually a decent bike, but not to us. The only true bike was a dirt bike. But it got him where he needed to go, which was mostly away from his family, and he loved it. If it was possible, he took better care of his bike than the rest of us did, and that’s saying something.
We rode around for a while, not really caring where we went. We just rode, enjoying the freedom our bikes brought us, riding through the streets, with no parents looking over our shoulders telling us not to ride so fast, or jump off the curbs, or to come in because it was getting late. Louis and David road dirt bikes like I did. David road the same model Schwin as mine only the colors were the opposite, black on red instead of red on black. Louis’ was slightly smaller than ours and all black and chrome. Ethan rode another ten-speed. Unlike Rag Doll, Ethan’s choice in bikes was not voluntary. He hated his bike. It was a wreck, mostly because it was old and he was riding it to death. But he was good at keeping it in working condition. David and Ethan would trade bikes every so often. This was more Ethan's idea, of course, but David would do just about anything Ethan asked. Even when he was on the ten-speed though, Ethan would go wherever the dirt bikes did, jumping off curbs, riding on whatever dirt trails we could find. It's a wonder his bike lasted as long as it did. Rags, of course, rode his bike either on the sidewalk or the street, and never so much as jumped off the curb.
We eventually ended up at a construction site where they were building a new underpass. The official construction of the bridge had not started yet, so the ground was all torn up, an enormous crater full of rocks and dirt. A more perfect playground could not have existed. Since no work was going on, and no one was around, we decided to take advantage of the situation and play there for a while.
We rode our bikes down into the crater, except for Rags who, fearing he would pop a tire left his at the top. We tossed rocks at random targets for a while, until David suddenly yelled, "Enemy invaders! Arm yourselves with grenades and lasers!" Rocks served as perfect grenades; the lasers were formed out of fingers and air. For the next hour, we battled imaginary invaders. We were no longer five boys in an enormous ditch, but five brave Galactic Rangers, desperately defending our outpost from alien invaders. Things were always desperate for us, our situation hopeless, but we somehow always managed to pull off a victory, heroically saving that day. Always that is, until the moment our imaginary world was shattered by a rock.
We had totally lost track of time and reality, when we were suddenly brought back to the real world by a rock hitting the concrete right by David's head. Startled, we looked in the direction from which the rock had come. There stood a lone figure. He looked like your typical neighborhood bully. He was about my height, but very stocky and ugly, and none too bright. In all, he made for quite the imposing figure.
"What are you little fags doing, playing guns?" He called, picking up another rock and tossing it at us. It landed at Ethan's feet, forcing him back a few steps. None of us replied, instead moving cautiously to our bikes, preparing for a hasty retreat.
The punk kid walked around the rim of the ditch, tossing rocks at us and taunting us, until he came to a stop at Rags' bike. The rest of us had reached our bikes, and were pushing them out of the ditch on the opposite side.
"Nice bike," the kid called. "Think I'll keep it!"
"No!" Rag Doll cried.
"You want to come take it from me?" He taunted. Rags wouldn't stand a chance and he knew it, so he made no move towards the other kid. He looked to each of us for help, but we just stood there. We froze. He was a big kid, he had the advantage of size and elevation, and he threw those rocks pretty hard. None of us moved to help.
"Didn't think so, see ya, faggot," He called as he mounted Rag Doll's bike and rode off, while we prepared to make a hasty retreat of our own. It was time to seek out a safer domain. Rag Doll stood there watching the bully make off with his bike, tears welling up in his eyes. "My bike." he whispered softly.
After the loss of Rag Doll’s bike, we made our way dejectedly to Louis' backyard. I was feeling bad for Rags who, having finished crying, sat in misery, his head in his hands, trails of dried tears streaking his face. I was feeling pretty bad myself. None of us had made a move to help him; none of us had been brave enough to try and get past the kid's throwing arm to get at the bike. It wasn't his aim that we'd been necessarily afraid of, but the force with which he hurled the rocks.
Whatever the reason, I felt bad now. I was filled with guilt for having stood there with everyone else, and allowing Rag Doll's bike to be stolen. We all felt bad for Rags and we felt guilty for not trying to help. Ethan, Rag Doll and I sat on the back porch, trying to console Rag Doll, while David leaned against the huge plum tree near the middle of the yard, trying not to look at Rags, and Louis was climbing in the tree looking for plums. For the most part the plums were still green; a few perhaps turning yellow, but we usually had them all eaten before they ripened anyway. We liked them sour, I guess.
"Well he shouldn't have left the bike on top. He was asking to have it stolen," Luis argued, trying to free himself of blame.
"I didn't want to get a flat," Rag Doll whined. The whining made it a little harder to feel bad for him. It was so annoying.
"None of our bikes got flats," Luis returned.
"Your bikes are made for stuff like that; mine isn't," he whined.
"Wasn't," David mumbled. Ethan and I shot him a deadly look and he turned away.
"Ethan's bike is a ten speed just like yours, and he brought his down," Louis continued arguing his point.
"Yeah, well Ethan doesn't care about his bike like I do. He doesn't care what happens to his." That was true; Ethan didn't care because his bike was junk, anyway. Whenever something happened to it, we just fixed it with parts from other old bikes he had lying around.
"Well you obviously didn't care enough, or it wouldn't have gotten stolen," David pointed out.
"Shut up!" Rags yelled, coming to his feet, his hands balled into fists.
I quickly got in between them before a fight started. We were friends, so of course that meant there was at least one fight a day. I was usually the one to break them up. Blessed are the peacemakers and all that. "Knock it off you two!" I told them. "It won't do any good for us to start fighting."
"I don’t see what the big deal is,” Louis said. “The bike sucked anyhow."
"Yeah, but it was my bike!" Rags cried passionately. Actually I don't think I'd ever seen him so passionate about anything. "The bike was mine. I bought it with my own money. You don't even get it, do you? Your aunt bought your bike; you didn’t have to work for it. I did. It was mine, and now it’s gone." He put his head down in his hands again, shaking his head miserably.
"Don't worry Rag Doll," Ethan said, putting his arm around Rags' shoulder. "We'll get your bike back."
"How?" Rags asked, a glimmer of hope coming to his eyes.
"I don't know, but we'll think of something. We know that guy lives around here somewhere. We'll find him and make him give it back."
"Really?" Rag Doll asked. There was actually a look of surprise in his eyes. "You guys would do that for me?"
"Of course," I said, although I had no idea how we were going to do this. "You're our friend; you're one of us, and we look out for each other."
"Yeah," David said, coming over. "All for one and one for all, right?"
"Right," Louis said, dropping out of the tree. "We'll find that punk and kick his butt and take your bike back."
"Don't worry, Rags," Ethan said. "We'll get your bike free again."

We got up early the next morning and after watching cartoons for a while, decided to go play some baseball at the elementary school. We rode our bikes, with Rag Doll running beside us, carrying the bat and ball. I stood at second, Rags was out in left field, David at pitcher, Louis at home and Ethan at bat, when as fate would have it, the bully showed up on Rag Doll's bike. This time he was not alone, he had three friends with him. Great, I thought, just great, as fear knotted my stomach. I’m pretty sure each of felt the same terror I felt, but this time we made no move to run away; we each held our place. My feet were screaming, “Run! Run!” But my heart ordered them to stay put. There would be no retreat from this battlefield. We said nothing, but we knew we would not abandon one another this time.
"Hey! It's the little dorks from yesterday. Thanks for the bike, dorks," he said, as he and his friends came up to us.
I have to admit, I was really scared. These kids weren't really any bigger than us, but they struck me as the types that liked to fight. I liked to fight too, but beating up imaginary foes was one thing. These guys were real; when they hit back, I was going to feel it. Still, I held my ground, wondering if the others were as scared as I was. I could tell that Rags was. You could see the fear in his face as he made his way to stand next to David at the pitcher's mound.
We all made our way to the pitcher's mound, and stood there together staring down, or trying to stare down, our fierce looking antagonists.
"What are you all staring at?" The bully asked, trying to sound tough. To tell the truth, I found him very convincing, although Ethan didn't seem afraid, or about to back down. Louis and David did not seem afraid either, although David was standing conveniently towards the back of our little group, safely behind Louis and Ethan. Right next to me, actually.
"We want our bike back," Ethan demanded, brandishing the bat he still gripped. Louis, standing next to him, gripped the ball as if he planned to use it as a weapon. I looked down at the mitt I wore on my right hand. I decided I was not going to get much use out of it as a weapon. Maybe I could smother one of these guys with it.
"What?" The boy asked menacingly, dropping the bike and coming to stand in front of Ethan, his friends moving to stand behind him. "Did you say something to me?" He stood at least four or five inches taller than Ethan.
"I told you, we want my friend's bike back." I was amazed; Ethan’s voice didn’t quiver at all as he spoke, and his face remained grim and determined. My feet still wanted to run, and to be honest my head mostly agreed, but my heart was not about to allow that.
"Are you going to take it from me?" He asked as one of his friends handed him an old golf club he'd been carrying. They didn’t have any golf balls with them so what they'd originally intended to use it for was beyond me, maybe club lizards or something. Not that there were any lizards to club on the school playground, but they probably hadn't figured that out yet.
"If we have to," David said from behind Ethan's shoulder. Shut up David, I thought.
The bully made a half swing with the club at Ethan who dodged back out of the way and hit the other boy in the leg with the bat. The boy stumbled, a look of shock on his face that must have mirrored the astonishment on my own. I realized then that he hadn't really expected this to come to blows. He'd probably figure we planned to run away again, as we had the previous day. He had just found out he was wrong, the hard way.
"You little jerks are dead!" he cried. He and Ethan squared off while two of his friends ran at us. Louis and, much to my surprise David, met them, and the battle was joined in full.
The last bully just stood there, alternating his nervous stare between watching the fights and watching Rags and I. I guess he wasn't overly anxious to take on the two of us at once. Or maybe he even shared our mutual fear of the pain associated with physical altercations; which was fine by us, because neither of us was overly anxious to fight him either. He was a short, fat little kid, about Ethan's height but way heavier. The thought of having all that fat on top of me was not very appealing.
So the three of us stood there watching the fight, which to be honest was going pretty good for our side. Louis had his opponent pinned to the ground, and was reigning blow after blow down upon his wailing foe, who was struggling frantically to protect his face. David and his opponent just stood there, pushing each other. If one fell down, the other waited till he got up so he could knock him down again, sort of king of the pitcher's mound. Of course, more often than not it was David that went down, but he would get right back up and run at his foe for another try.
The real tense battle was between Ethan and the bike thief. They circled each other, making an occasional swing with bat or club. Their swings were low, mostly aimed at the legs. I don't think either really wanted to bash the other person's head in, they just acted like they did. Even still, they were fighting with actual weapons, weapons capable of doing real harm if either of the two young combatants decided to make a serious effort to hurt the other. My stomach and my heart fought their own battle, each trying to switch places with the other, or be the first to leap out of my throat.
Ethan and the other boy circled like this for a while, until the bully suddenly lunged at Ethan, grabbing his arm and twisting, forcing him to drop the bat. Ethan grabbed the hand with the club and the two twirled around in circles, trying to throw the other off balance. Ethan seemed to be the stronger of the two. That, plus the fact that he was a wrestler, gave him the advantage, and he had soon wrestled the punk to the ground.
Seeing his friend was in trouble, the short fat kid decided to take action. He figured Rags and I wouldn't do anything, and Ethan was in no position to hurt him, so he moved to pick up the discarded bat. Realizing what he was going to do, I was suddenly overcome by anger. He was going to hit Ethan on the back of his head, while I stood by and did nothing! The realization that my friend was about to be hit from behind, jolted me into action. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside my head. All fear left me, replaced by anxiety for my friend, and without thinking I was moved to action. Adrenaline filled me, as I ran at the fat boy as fast as I could and threw myself at him. I felt like Superman flying through the air. I felt a rush of energy as I jumped at the bat-wielding boy, the air rushing past me. I collided with him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as I sailed past, tackling him to the ground. The bat rolled free, and the boy's desperate attention was turned towards me, which had not been part of my hastily conceived battle plan.
He used his weight to his advantage, and quickly gained the advantage over me, wrapping his beefy arms around my neck, and attempting to choke the life out of me, with moderate success. I gasped for air, trying to reach the bat and knock the fat little kid off of me, but it was out of reach. Rag Doll stood watching in shock as the kid choked me. Suddenly, the expression on his face turned from one of fear to one of fierce determination and decision.
He walked over quickly, and picked up the bat. Brandishing it in both hands, he stood over the fat little bully, and waving the bat menacingly in the air said, "You let go of my friend, or I'll bash your head in with this bat!" He was very convincing, and the boy immediately let go. I sat there looking at Rags in shock and gasping for air. I hadn't known he had it in him! For that matter, I hadn’t realized I had it in me either.
The whole battle ended soon after that. Together Rag Doll and I moved to help our other friends. When their adversaries saw they were outnumbered, they turned first one and then the other and fled, until only the bully who had stolen Rags’ bike was left.
Somehow, the bully had gotten the advantage over Ethan, and now sat on top of him. He had raised the club over his head and was about to bring it down on top of Ethan's when we arrived. Louis caught the club and yanked it out of the now outnumbered boy's hands. He looked up in shock just, in time for the rest of us to bowl him over as one. We knocked him to the ground, and then stood over him.
The boy lay on his back, with four angry young boys standing over him, one holding a bat, another a club, and all with determined expressions. It was Rag Doll who spoke up.
"Now you get your ugly face out of here, before we pound your head into the ground, queer. And leave my bike!" We let the boy get up, and he ran off without a word to join his friends. After he was gone we looked at each other, scarcely believing what we had done. Then the warm feeling of victory spread through our bodies, and we grinned. With yells of triumph, we high-fived each other and jumped around, basking in our victory.
"You guys are my best friends," Rags said suddenly, emotion filling his voice. "You're the best friends I've ever had." We looked at each other, and silently nodded in agreement. We were the best friends he'd ever had, no doubt about that.
We spent the rest of the afternoon riding our bikes around town, enjoying our freedom and basking in our victory over the bullies. Our spirits soared, as the wind rushed past our faces as we sped at top speeds down hills and through empty fields. Whenever we stopped at a park or school to rest, we spent the time recounting our efforts in winning back Rag Doll's bike. We not only had regained a bike, but a feeling of our own self-worth. We had faced our fears together, as friends, and redeemed ourselves, winning not only our friend's source of freedom, but also the self-knowledge that together we could accomplish anything. For once, we really were the heroes we were constantly pretending to be.
After that day we began to visit our imaginary worlds less and less together, although I continued to visit them alone for some time. There was just no need for us to pretend at being heroes anymore. We had proven ourselves heroic in the real world; we had fought a battle together and won. There was no more need to fight imaginary wars. In one sense, it was sad to see that part of our childhood end, and yet, although we stopped journeying to imaginary worlds, we did not stop being friends, or exploring life together, we just began to explore a different world; the real one.
They say that along with adolescence come feelings of invulnerability, children think themselves invincible, impervious to harm. That is surely how we felt that day. But we had earned the right to feel invincible. We had stood our ground and won the day. There wasn't anything we couldn't do together, anything that could overcome our feelings of freedom and invulnerability. We had become the heroes of our imaginary worlds. If it was us against the world, well then the world didn't stand a chance.


Alternate ending

The real tense battle was between Ethan and the bike thief. They circled each other, making an occasional swing with bat or club. Their swings were low, mostly aimed at the legs. I don't think either really wanted to bash the other person's head in, they just acted like they did. It was one thing to act tough, but quite another to actually inflict that level of violence. Even still, they were fighting with actual weapons, weapons capable of doing real harm if either of the two young combatants decided to make a serious effort to hurt the other. My stomach and my heart fought their own battle, each trying to switch places with the other, or be the first to leap out of my throat.
Ethan and the other boy circled like this for a while, until the bully suddenly lunged at Ethan, grabbing his arm and twisting, forcing him to drop the bat. Ethan grabbed the hand with the club and the two twirled around in circles, trying to throw the other off balance. Ethan seemed to be the stronger of the two. That, plus the fact that he was a wrestler, gave him the advantage, and he had soon wrestled the punk to the ground.
Seeing his friend was in trouble, the short fat kid decided to take action. He figured Rags and I wouldn't do anything, and Ethan was in no position to hurt him, so he moved to pick up the discarded bat. Even realizing what he was going to do, I was suddenly overcome by fear. He was going to hit Ethan on the back of his head, while I stood by and did nothing! The realization that my friend was about to be hit from behind almost jolted me into action, but my own fears and apprehension froze me in place. I wanted to help my friend, but fear kept my feet rooted to the ground. I stood there terrified and did nothing. I looked at Rags and he looked at me and we both looked at each other imploring the other to do something. But neither of us did.
Luckily the fat kid was also too afraid to do anything with the bat. Apparently the enormity of the swing hung heavy on him as well, and he did nothing but stand over the two combatants holding the bat.
Finally the bike thief’s size won out. He held Ethan down for awhile; pushing his face into the dirt, then finally grew tired of the fight. He stood up and looked over Ethan for awhile, then back at us. Rags and I flinched and I involuntarily took a step back. “You two want some?” the kid asked. We said nothing.
“Yeah, I thought not,” he said smugly.
It all ended then. He threw Louis off of the kid he was fighting and told the other kid to let David go. “What a bunch of pansies,” he said to us in disgust. He took the bat from the fat kid and took a couple of swings at the air with it. “Thanks for the new bat.” And with that they left. We never saw them, the bat, or Ragdoll’s bike again.
When Ragdoll asked what we were going to do about his bike, Ethan and Louis told him to shut up, and nothing more was said about it. That was one of the worst days of my life. We never played baseball again and after that day we never again visited any of our imaginary worlds or imagined that we were heroes fighting imaginary wars. That summer came to an end, we started back to school and hung out less and less, slowly drifting apart. Even I stopped visiting those imaginary worlds; it had become too hard to pretend to be an imaginary hero knowing I had failed to be one when the opportunity had presented itself. It is difficult to pretend to be something you know you are not. I learned that lesson the hard way.