Two, tiny wheels rolled against a concrete sidewalk, connected to a miniature frame, a cramped deck and two pocket-sized handlebars, propelled by a boy who looked a little too big to be riding such a paltry scooter. His body towered over the handlebars. His feet awkwardly stuffed onto the deck, with one foot edging up where the frame and deck connect, and the other in a tip-toe position when it wasn't pushing. His weight alone could drive this scooter into motion.
He didn't ride such a tiny scooter because he was too poor to buy a bigger one, nor was it because he did it as some kind of joke. Instead, he rode such a minuscule scooter because he found solace in it -- solace in knowing the pressures of his life couldn’t attack him while he spent his time as a recluse on a scooter.
The route the boy used for his commute of solace was an escape of its own. The sidewalk passed through tunnels of trees that held millions of autumn shades, grass green as the producers of life coated the fertile ground. Special surprises, gardens, bordered the high rising, uniform apartment buildings. The sidewalk itself wasn’t much too special. Little potholes dotted the bleak concrete canvas, accompanying frequent patches of gravel, sand, dirt, and obscure fruit..
The boy weaved through the potholes and fruit. He knew every obstacle like instinct. The sidewalk remained almost frozen in time; every fruit fell the same from the tree, every pothole remained untouched by repair, and every bit of the ground failed to change at all. Most people didn’t bother to stroll along the concrete path. To them, the beautiful trees and well-kept grass were a requirement in scenery, not a compliment to the stroll, the uniform apartment buildings were monotonous and got in the way of, “Real, scenic views.” not a place to be grateful for, for sheltering wonderful people and their families, the potholes that dotted the sidewalk were hazardous, not a sprinkle of character. To most people,  even a simple stroll had to meet high expectations, everything had to be grandiose. Clothing had to be name-brand, restaurants had to be rated five stars, stores had to cater to their every need. And when these pieces of clothing, restaurants, and stores didn’t meet their needs? They threw a fit. They isolated the clothing brands, neglected the restaurants, and hated the stores. Something the boy could relate to. The sidewalk was his friend, the only one he knew he shared troubles with, and so he kept on riding.
The sun fell lower after every lap the boy completed, and soon enough the exhale of daytime activity was sucked back into the lungs of life as quickly as it was breathed into existence. The once jittery squirrels that darted around trees and through grass fields quelled into rest, the trees whose leaves exhibited the vibrancy of nature’s wonders fell victim to the dimming hand of night, and like the squirrels and the trees, the boy too began to calm and prepare for the night.
The boy rounded into the inner workings of the apartment blocks. He barely gave notice to the old-style numbers that read adjacent from finished wooden doors, instead keeping to his thought and letting instinct pilot their journey home.
Down he went on Woodworth Street until he hit a building crowded by teenagers. There were about seven of them, most of them juniors or seniors in high school, although a couple were younger like the boy. Some did tricks on bikes fashioned for five-year-olds, while others threw rocks, and others leaned against buildings and smoked.
He looked around for a back entrance to the apartment building, or an adult he could walk with into the building, anything to avoid contact with the teenagers. But, there was only one entrance, and it was too dark for adults to be strolling about, and there was nothing he could do to get into the building undetected. In fact, the teenagers already spotted the boy.
“AY.” One said. “Who this ‘lil nigga?” and then to the boy “Whatchu tryna do cus?” Another one piped up.
“Ay ay ain’t that that scooter kid? Riding around with his fuckin tiny ass scooter and shit?”
“Ay ay yea that is that is.”
“He weird as fuck bro.”
“I know cus, always riding that shit and shit like that.”
The teenagers went on and on for a solid minute before they acknowledged the boy, until the boy who originally spoke stepped forward towards the boy. He was quite a bit taller than the boy, and wore a baseball cap and ripped clothing that blended into the night. Only expensive running shoes as bright as hopes and dreams fought against the dimming night and showed their pristinity. The boy looked down at Skechers and analyzed the ravaged mesh and deep dirt stains before looking back up at the teenager.
“The fuck you doing cus?”
“I-I um… I was um.. riding my scooter? Yea?”