When I was in middle school, I had the best BMX bike that any kid could get their hands on. This best BMX bike was a vintage Diamondback bike from the 80s, which cost around $900 right now. I had such affection for this bike; I would always clean it like it was a classic car. After I would clean it, I would stare at it in amazement and be so thankful for having such a beauty in my possession. Sadly, this beauty was forcefully taken from me when I was hanging out with a group of my so-called “friends”. First, let me tell you how this BMX bike got in my hands.

My brother and parents went to Goodwill one day and my brother saw this bike and wanted it for himself. My parents decided to purchase this bike for him and when the bike was brought home, my brother brought it into the garage and there it stayed for months. That is, until my eyes caught this green vintage beast, when I wanted to hang out in the garage. My brother did not know yet but this bike was no longer his, this bike belonged to me. I thought to myself, how could someone neglect such a pristine machine? I believe this bike had to be shown off. Every time I would take it out of the garage, everyone from far away could tell this bike was special. The white tires and the nice paint job on it made this bike stand out more than any bike any kid had in the neighborhood.

One day, I had the chance to take it out of the country. I had my parents take the bike to Honduras along with other things like furniture to the house my father had since he was 18 years old. My father, with me, took it on a long road trip to Honduras that lasted about a week and a half. It was a memorable trip. It was long, but my father and I bonded a little bit. We finally arrived at our destination and I could not wait until the next day to ride my bike with some recent friends I made the last time I was there.

Then, on the last day I had my bike, I went riding with a group of friends. We all were racing through the neighborhood and I was very observant of my surroundings at the time. I saw a man wearing a Celtics jersey with some khaki shorts looking at me with a devious smile. For some odd reason, I did not feel safe; I felt something was about to go wrong. Later, I thought to myself, maybe, I was being just being paranoid. So, I forgot all about it. I continued to have fun with my friends and showing them cool tricks I taught myself on my bike while we were hanging out at the park. Then, we decided to go a few blocks away from home. My mother often warned me to stay close in my neighborhood because something bad could happen. I wished I had listened.

Everyone gets back on there and we ride to the place my mother forbid me from going. We arrived to a circle of friends and we all there talking about what boys talk about. We all were giving compliments on each other’s bike; my bike was getting most of the attention as usual. Everyone wanted to ride my bike. When you had a bike at the time everyone would ask to ride your bike, even if they had one for themselves. I never let anyone ride my bike, I felt that it was my bike and the only person that could ride it was me. Then, it happened, I was never going to see my bike again.

As I am in a circle of friends, the same man with a devious smile came from behind me and put me in a headlock with a sharp knife to my neck, vulgarly telling me to get off my bike. As everything was happening, I close my eyes and then as I open them just to see the kids that were around the circle running while looking back and leaving me behind. The guy then pushes me off my bike and as I saw him ride off with my bike. If he were any closer as I snapped back into reality, I would’ve done something to get my bike back even after what happened.

I arrived home without the bike, and I am was on the verge of tears because I knew that I was never going to get a bike like that again. I told my mother what happened, I told her what the man looked and then she and a couple of my family members got into the car to see if they could find the man that took my bike. After a half an hour, they came back home, and they told me they couldn’t find the man that had my bike. I was crushed; I wanted to slap myself because my mother warned me to not go too far away from the house. This was the consequence of my actions and I will live with the regret for the rest of my life.

After years have passed by, I have grown older and I think of that moment, I think of the bike. Sometimes, I go online on the hunt, for a bike that was exactly like mine. Yet, I have not had any luck after years of searching. I know one day, I will have a bike like that again somewhere. I will make sure to be more careful so I do not have this bike taken away from me like my last BMX bike. To tell you the truth, I sometimes wonder if the bike is still around somewhere…