Thinking to myself, I wondered what it would be like.

“Josh, I’m starting to think you might be a little bit, you know? Woohoo.” Travis put his finger to his temple and spun it in a circle, the universal sign of being insane. “That’s a little too out there.”

“Why? Like you’ve never thought about it?”

“Thought about it? No, dude. I’ve never considered it. Not once in my life.”

“Never thought what it be like . . .”

“LA LA LA LA LA! I’m not listening to you! C’mon. Let’s go play some Spy Hunter. Or Pinbot. You like that machine, don’t you, Josh?”

Hours of our young lives were spent on our bikes, contemplating things like this. Mostly contemplating things like this. It was the first time I told him how I really felt. What I was really thinking about. And, true to my imagined fears, he rejected the thought, clearly panicked about the mere idea of it. We talked about all kinds of things, like what it would be like to have three arms or fourteen fingers. (Yeah. We were those kids).

“You know I do. Trav, you’re just in denial.”

“Am not!” We didn’t fight. Well, not all that much.

“Then why don’t you tell me why this conversation is so uncomfortable for you.”

“No.” Travis stood up on the pedals and rode away from me. Not fast. Travis wasn’t all fast on his bike. Me? I was the fast one, so I quickly caught up to him. “Stop following me. I’m going to play games. And I’m not going to talk about this anymore.”

“C’mon, Travis. It’s not that big of a deal.”

The tires on Travis’ bike came to a screeching halt. If he was driving, it would’ve left tire marks on the street. As it was, riding on the dirt trail sent up a dust cloud, nothing more. “The last time sometime mentioned wearing . . .” he couldn’t bring himself to say it, “my brother decided to change everything that me, Mom, Dad, and Suzie knew about him. You think it ain’t no big deal?” He threw down his ten-speed on the derailer. “Well, damn it, Josh! It damn well is!” I came close to losing my balance, Travis grabbing ahold of me. “Stop talking to me about this!” He pushed me back, not hard, just enough to get my attention. Travis wasn’t about hurting people but didn’t like repeating himself. I pushed him hard enough today.

“Dude. I didn’t know.” Travis picked up his bike.

“Yeah.” The chain broke, and a brake cable came loose. I did not expect that, considering his routine treatment of the Schwinn ten-speed. The bike was like an old Timex watch. ‘It takes a lickin’ but keeps on tickin’.’ The old Schwinn did, too, until today.

“Damn it!” Travis kicked the tire. It popped, making a horrible hissing sound. “I’ve had it with this piece of junk!” Picking up the bike by the frame, he threw it hard. It bounced on the dirt path, and the handlebars snapped clean off. “Dude! Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

“So, does that mean you’ve never considered wearing a Fezz?”

The blood drained from Travis’ face. “What?”

“A Fezz. You know.” I pantomimed the cylindrical shape of the Fezz. “Fuzzy? Red? Hat?”

His face turned bright red. “A Fezz? A mother f’ing Fezz? I broke my bike for a damn Fezz?” Travis never swore. Damn was the worse of it. But when he was outraged? He’d say f’ing instead of the word.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

He rolled his eyes, dropped to his knees, and laughed. “You’re a jerk, you do know that, don’t you, Josh?”