Kurt arrived just in time to help me dig my old blue bike out of the shed. After wading through mountainous boxes of my parents’ things and climbing over various pieces of lawn care equipment, I spotted it. It was still beautiful, if not a little tired looking. It was the bike that my parents had bought me before I went to college. The bike had carried me to the majority of my classes, and when I lived in the city, it had also carried me to and from work.
“Uhh, Liz?” Kurt said as he looked at the bike and then the maze of objects between the door and us. “How are we getting that thing out of here?”
I stared at him thinking, how am I supposed to know? You’re the ‘big strong man!’
So after a lot of huffing, puffing and knocking over boxes, that were surely filled with family heirlooms, judging by the sounds they made as they hit the ground, we managed to get my bike out of the shed.
“Next time,” Kurt managed between peals of laughter, “don’t put your bike at the back of the shed.”
