The Race

I am the cutest wheel you’ve ever seen.  My tire is pink, and I have little, jangly beads up and down my spokes that sound like the tinkling of a music box.
          I am a unicycle wheel.  It’s a wonderful profession, and I love knowing that I and I alone am the one thing keeping my bumbling human from falling face-first onto the ground.  In the beginning, she did that a lot.  Thank goodness she had such pretty neon bandages, otherwise it would have been embarrassing to be seen with her.  But she has become a very proficient unicyclist.  She is so proficient, in fact, that she has recently revealed some very exciting news to me.
          There is going to be a race!  I’m told it’s all for fun.  It’s going to be held on Valentine’s Day, and the winner will receive a trophy and a free meal for two at the best restaurant in town on Valentine’s night.  This is the part I don’t understand.  I don’t eat, so why should my human want to win a meal for two?  I have sometimes seen her speaking to a young man, and I have been made to do tricks to impress him.
          I love impressing humans.  It takes so very little to make them ooh and aww.
The race is not meant solely for unicycles.  Oddly, there are not many of my kind about.  Instead, unicycles, bicycles, and tricycles are all welcome.  Motorcycles are strictly forbidden.  Good riddance, I say!
          My human and I have been practicing since she found out about the race, three weeks ago.  She found a road similar to the one the race will be on, and we have been testing the grade, getting to know the terrain as well as we can.  We are ready, I think.  The young man has designated himself as our cheerleader, and now all that’s left is to make sure we arrive at the race on-time.

***

Valentine’s Day has arrived, and my human has been primping herself.  She bought a brand-new red helmet with pink and white hearts, and she has put her hair into pigtails.  If I had handlebars, she says, she would decorate them with tassels.  Instead, she tied a bow just below the seat and above me.  I watched very carefully to make sure the ends of the ribbon didn’t trail into my spokes.  That would be disastrous.
          The young man says that if we don’t win, he will be glad to purchase himself and her a dinner for two at the second best restaurant in town.  My human seems pleased, but I find his offer less than satisfactory.  I fail to see how we can possibly not win, and I find the second best restaurant a cheap substitute compared to the actual prize attached to the race.
          It’s time to leave.  The young man drives us.  My human sits in the front seat, and I am placed gently on the back seat beside the helmet and, appallingly, a hamburger wrapper.  It is a short ride, and soon enough, I am removed from the wrapper’s company.
          So many bicycles!  I don’t see a single other unicycle.  There are a couple tricycles.  One belongs to a little girl, and another is the old-fashioned type with one giant wheel.  The man who owns it is wearing a period costume and has a garish moustache.  My beads tinkle in laughter against my spokes.
          My human looks so excited.  We have gotten several compliments about how cute we are.  The race is scheduled to begin shortly, and we get into line between two bicycles.  Their wheels are busy talking amongst themselves.  The wheels on the bicycle to my left seem to be very friendly toward one another, and the ones on the bicycle to my right keep teasing each other about how the front wheel will finish before the back.  How silly of them.  When I win, all of me will finish at once, and that will be that.
          My human gets into starting position, and I focus on the race ahead of us.  There is a bang, and suddenly we are off.  I have done this so many times, I can feel the wind against my tire already.  My human retains perfect balance, and she peddles quickly, cranking me forward.  But, and I am surprised, the bicycles beside me are moving faster, although their humans are not peddling any faster than mine is.  I listen to them, straining to catch their words as they start to pass me by.
    “You can do it,” says the front wheel of the bicycle on my left.
    “We can do it,” the other corrects.
    “You can do it.”
    “We can do it.”
     Their words are a mantra.
     The other bicycle has a similar conversation going.  “Come on, don’t lag behind!” says the front wheel.
     “Pshh, easy for you to say!” the other replies.  But there is no harshness between them, only teasing.  “Oh, look,” the wheel continues.  “The unicycle is falling behind.  Poor thing.  It must be hard being all alone.”
     “Yes, yes,” the front wheel agrees.  “I can’t imagine not having you to keep me going.  We are a team, darling.  A team.”
          My human and I are going as fast as we can.  We are going faster than we ever have before, but it is not fast enough.  I love being the only thing supporting her, I remind myself.  So what am I missing?
          I look around.  The tricycles are also lagging.  “It’s the third wheel that’s the problem,” I hear one of the bicycle wheels remark.  “Third wheels are always getting in the way.”
          My human is laughing, and I don’t understand why.  Doesn’t she understand how humiliating this is?  We are losing!  We are losing, and it sounds as if it’s because there is only one of me!  I am doing as well as I can.  I am independent!  But I am missing something.  I have no companion to help me and to encourage me.  I feel stricken and completely panicked.
          A bicycle to my far right sails across the finish line, and the crowd cheers.  We finish at last, barely ahead of the children who were racing their bicycles, and well ahead of the little girl who is on the tricycle.  She doesn’t seem to mind coming in last.
          The winning bicycle wheels are congratulating each other, and I wonder if I am growing more pink.  I feel more pink, as if I were flushed, if that were possible.  My human is very happy.  The young man has come to greet us, and neither of them seem even slightly disappointed.  He asks what time he should pick her up for their dinner at the second best restaurant.  He also hands her a flower that was hidden in his jacket.
    “You did well,” a bicycle wheel says to me.
    “Yes,” its companion agrees.  “I don’t think I’d have done so well, racing on my own.”
          I thank them for their words, though I do not feel very proud or grateful.  I am left confused, and for one strange moment, I find myself wishing to be a bicycle wheel.  But I am happy on my own, I remind myself.  I will be just fine on my own, as I have always been.  But I feel a bit of disappointment, for the first time in my existence.  Things could be different, but I will never know for sure.  I am a unicycle wheel, and I am destined for solitude.