“So what do you think, are we going to do this or not?” 12 year old Joey asked his two friends. “Oh, I don’t know,” 11 year old Raymond replied. “It’s against the law to steal and I don’t want to get into any trouble like that or my dad’ll whip my ass.”

“I told you before. We’re not going to steal anything. We just want to sneak into that crazy old guy’s yard and have a look at his bike. I have never seen anything like it,” Joey countered and looked at the third member of the group, a thin gangly youth, of 12, who had been sitting quietly throughout the discussion.

Paul had been listening to the talk, ran it through his mind, and came to the conclusion that Joey was right. After all, they had no intention of stealing anything. They just wanted to have a look at the bicycle. Besides, sneaking into that weird old man’s yard did have a certain sense of excitement to it.

“I agree with Joey and majority rules,” Paul announced.

“Since we’ve been watching the old coot for a few days we know he disappears into his house about five every afternoon so I think that’s the best time to do it. We sneak through his back gate, take a good look at that contraption of his and leave. It should only take a few minutes.”Outnumbered, Raymond

finally agreed. He appeared to be still reluctant, but underneath he felt a sense of relief and excitement because he was just as anxious as his friends to get a better look at the strange looking bike.”Okay,” he nodded in agreement. “But we only stay long enough for a good look and that’s it.”

It was a hot summer dayand the trio was sitting on an old wooden picnic table sheltered from the sun by a grand old oak tree. They sipped on the remnants of giant Slurpee’s as they made plans for the afternoon foray into the old man’s back yard.The need for a closer look of at the bike had been brought about due to John Collin’s habit of riding his antique bicycle through the town every afternoon. He looked quite a sight as he pedaled the 1916 Indian Motobike straight down the main street of the small mid-western town called Martinsville. He held his tall, skinny frame completely erect and the tails of his coat as well as his long hair floated out behind him, like a character from a horror story as he roared down the street without any apparent effort.His daily excursions attracted the attention of the youngsters who daily patrolled the streets on a variety of the latest mountain bikes. Groups of them waited at different street corners for John to ride by on his odd looking bike and then give chase but none of them were successful in keeping up with him, let alone passing him. John, lost in his own thoughts, never bothered to even acknowledge the boys’ pursuit of him and this irritated Joey, Mark and Paul to no end. After all, they were known to have the fastest bikes around and took great pride in the fact. Thus, grew the idea of sneaking into John’s backyard and taking a look at his odd looking bike.Shortly before 5 pm on the designated day, the trio met down the block from John’s house and prepared for their foray into his back yard. They left their bikes chained to a tree and slowly made their way down the alley behind John’s house. Once they had reached the flimsy gate into his back yard, they crouched down and watched John wheel his bike into the yard and then enter the back door of his house. They waited for a few more minutes and then Joey impatiently whispered, “Okay he’s inside. Let’s go.”All three boys rose from their crouch and made their way to the gate. Joey, always the leader, pushed it slowly open and entered John’s back yard. Behind him crept Paul and Mark. They slowly made their way along the side of a shed. At the end of the shed, they waited as Joey poked his head around the corner of it and stole a quick look.”No sign of the crazy old coot, let’s have our look at the bike and get out of here,” he whispered back to his pals.

Since they were convinced the old man was nowhere in sight, the boys left the safety of the shed and gathered around the strangest looking bicycle they had ever seen. “Wow, look at the size of the wheels,” murmured Mark as the boys studied the antique bike. “Must be at least 28 inches, maybe more and the tires are really narrow, like some real racing bikes.””And the fenders,” said Joey. “

They are sleek and wide with mud flaps, almost like you’d see on a motorcycle’.”That was as far as the boys’ examination got. John suddenly appeared at his back door and started yelling as he ran toward them.”What are you boys doing?

You trying to steal my bike?” He continued to yell at the trio, causing them to explode into action. Without answering the crazy old man, they turned and fled back the way they had entered the yard. Because Mark had been behind his friends, he was the leading the way. Right behind him was Joey screaming, “Ooh shit, he’s here, go, go, go.”

Paul, the closest to the back door and the slowest to react was a distinct disadvantage. He barely managed to start running before John was upon him.He struggled fruitlessly as the old scarecrow of a man, grabbed his arm in a strong grip and demanded to know. “What you boys doing here? Trying to steal my bike are you? Well, we’ll see what your parents say about this. Where do they live?”Paul said nothing, and still desperately tried to escape John’s clutches. He twisted his body and pushed and pulled at the old man who refused to let him go.”Your parents, where do they live, or perhaps you’d sooner I call the police.”

That threat had Paul relenting and telling John. “Me and my mom live two blocks over.” “Let’s go

see her,” John announced. He led Paul out his front gate and began marching him down the street. His strides were so long and fast, Paul could hardly keep up with him. It seemed as if they had arrived at the ramshackle old house where Paul and his mother lived in no time but to Paul, it was the longest walk of his life. The whole time he kept cursing at himself and Joey and Mark for coming up with such a stupid idea. Still, he was more worried about what the old man may find in his house, than what his mother may say.In truth, he knew his mother would probably do nothing.

These days she was always sick, acting weird and sometimes, she would suddenly disappear for several days at a time. Paul never told anybody about it because he was too embarrassed. He realized most mothers never acted the way she did, and lately his seemed to be getting even worse.

It was getting so he never knew what to expect when he came home, and now he dreaded what John may see. He reluctantly pushed open the door to the house and let him enter behind him.

The door opened to a tiny boot room full of coats and old shoes, and as John pushed Paul around the corner of it, he caught sight of Sylvia Wilson for the first time.She was sitting at a kitchen table amidst an array of over filled ash trays, dirty dishes and empty liquor bottles. Sylvia looked to be a bigger mess than her kitchen. She sat barely upright in a broken down old kitchen chair and wore a stained and rumbled old sweat suit. Her eyes were half closed and blood shot. Her face looked swollen and was full of ugly red blotches. Her straggly unwashed hair could have been brown at one time, but now it was a dirty unknown color and it hung limply around her alcohol bloated face.John took it all in in an instant and knew what he was seeing. He was immediately swept back to a time in his life that wasn’t much different than this poor woman’s.

He had his own story of being obsessed with alcohol. The prolonged drinking and the inability to control his alcohol intake had forced him ignore his wife and children. When they gave up and they left him he didn’t give a damn. In truth, he rather liked it because they were no longer around to question his insane drinking bouts.

But even that wasn’t enough to sober him up. It took several more years of a wicked downward spiral that left him living on the streets before he managed to find Alcohol Anonymous. He recalled how big of a struggle it was before he was able to end his drinking problem by stopping completely.The sight

of the besotted woman brought back long buried memories of his first days in AA. That has been more than 30 years ago and the group in Martinsville was small at that time it only had only three or four active members. He nickname was Long John because of his height and extra-long legs. A jolly over weight woman bore the nickname Mother Mary, but not because she was very saintly. It was because she always seemed to be mothering and watching over everybody, especially new comers. There was another guy nicknamed Mad Marvin because despite his staying sober he still acted quite insane and nobody knew what he was going to do next.Yes, it had been a