The bike rack

“Do you want to hang out?” I slowly lowered my book and looked at the tall, blond girl who stood at the opening of our caravan awning. She didn’t ask whether I wanted to play. She asked whether I wanted to hang out.

No, I thought, while wondering how old she was. At home, we still played. We hadn't yet started to say hang out. I contemplated. Looked at my book. I didn't really want to stop reading. But also didn't want to miss out getting to know this girl who seemed a bit too cool to be true.

“Ok.” I said. Put down my book and walked out to her. Those were the words that changed my summers.

This is not a story with a pointe. This is only some of my memories with my summer bestie. It all started on that day. We were both ten. She came from one of the bigger cities in Sweden, so yes, she was most likely cooler than I was.

That summer was the first time that we were in Vilshärad, a tiny village on the Swedish west coast. My parents had a caravan, and we used to travel to different camping sites every year. As of that summer we stayed at the same site, on the same street, and greeted the same neighbours. Summer after summer, for five years. It was great!

My summer-bestie and I were out every day playing. Oh. Sorry. Hung out.

There was this ball-game called King. You only needed a football and crayons to draw the play field, or you could draw it in the sand. We played it everywhere. There was this house, right next to the camping site. My friend said that this really good looking boy lived there. I don’t think we ever saw him coming out of that house, or anyone else for that matter. I have no clue how she knew who he was and what his name was, or that there even was a boy who lived in that house. But there we were. Playing King. In front of his house.

At that time, a TV-series called V, as in Victory, was the hype. It was about aliens that looked just like us, except they were really

mean. Like aliens usually are in the movies. These V-aliens could peel off their skins and underneath they looked like lizards, and they ate mice.

We didn’t only play King. We also used to play V. We were the good guys though, and never ate any mice. Names like Diana, Mike and Julie sound like they could fit the characters of that series. I can't quite remember that, because the names were not the point.

The point was that we were out all day playing, singing, dancing and biking.

My summer bestie introduced me to Madonna, the Wham, Bananarama, and Carola’s new album. She was both my music and fashion inspiration. She always knew what was in.

I can’t remember that it rained that often. It must have though. I mean. This was Sweden.

Summer Sweden.

Well. There was that one rainy evening.

We had gotten older, started to hang out in the evenings. One evening we were out and the cool guys who had caravans on a street next to ours stopped us. They wanted to chat. With us! Oh, my were we jittery. We jumped off our bikes. Giggled. Chatted with the boys. Giggled some more.

All of a sudden, big raindrops fell from the sky. Moments earlier, it had been cloudless.

“Oh, no, my bike rack gets wet!” I looked at my bestie who had uttered those totally uncool words. Who cares if her bike rack gets wet? Like. Honestly. What would the guys think of us now? Would they laugh at us and never look at us again?

Not her saddle. Or even her hair. She said her bike rack gets wet. The bike rack.

They boys almost certainly didn’t even hear what she said. They had probably gathered all their courage and were equally nervous about talking to us, as we were talking to them.

We jumped back on our bikes and rode home, through the rain. Excited about the boys. Giggling all the way at her slippage. We still laugh about it today

Today, we live on different continents and don't talk or meet that often. But when we do meet, it is as if it was only yesterday that we played King and V, listened to Madonna and wore pink sweat pants with a white stripe on each side.

I wonder what today’s ten-year olds will remember in 35 years time. I guess it depends on how they are affected by the lock down.

I hope there will be happy memories. Memories about friendships.

V - the series - borrowed from www.therpf.com