“Now, Dewey, you knows it won’t make your pa happy, us holding up his dinner.”

“Tucker, I GOT to learn.” He could feel hot tears just behind his eyes and perhaps already spilling out, scalding his face, because Tucker looked down at him and nodded, then helped him up and held the seat tightly so the bicycle would not tip over, and started to push. Dewey tried to get the feel of it, and when he thought he had it, turned to tell Tucker to let go.

Tucker was no longer there. Without warning he had stopped running, and Dewey was alone, rolling, riding, gliding, sailing, flying all by himself and could feel the bicycle balanced on the thin white wheels, and pride welling up inside him. And then fear appeared out of nowhere, and dark panic glazed his eyes and stopped up his ears, making it almost impossible to hear Tucker shouting: “Keep straight! Steer now! Keep straight!”

But his confidence had already ebbed from him in small oily drops; he was losing his battle with the fighting handle bars. The black pavement came up to meet him and skinned his knees, but now off the bicycle, safe once more on earth, he could not feel the stinging and was as proud of himself as he had ever been.

“You did it! You did it! You did it!” Tucker ran to him, swooped him up, clapped his shoulder; they danced in huge circles around the bicycle. Tucker shook his hand, and hugged him, even kissed him, and they whooped and hollered until they were tired and hoarse.

They started home then, along the black straight road, their faces lit and shining in the headlight glare of the few passing cars.

“Tucker, would you teach me how to start alone?”

“As soon as you can stop another way besides falling off.”

“Tucker, would you—?” A car went by, glinting light off Tucker’s glasses, turning his face almost white, and Dewey saw the expression of resignation there, and knew Tucker’s mind was already at home, knew he should keep quiet.

When he thought of that day later, Dewey realized Tucker must have known what would happen even when he said they could stay. He was supposed to be the responsible one; it was up to him to keep track of time, but he had not kept track of it or so it seemed to Dewey’s father, who had spoken to John about it, who had instructed his daughter-in-law to make the punishment one to be remembered. And so as Dewey ate dinner that night, he could hear the smacking of the hot strap across Tucker’s buttocks.