I Didn’t Know His Name


By Tyrean Martinson

I saw him every day, riding his one-speed bicycle and wearing his bright yellow sweatshirt. He always said hello even if he passed me twice. He was our neighborhood “old bike guy.” I didn’t know his name. I just knew his smile. He loved bicycling up and down the neighborhood.

He’s gone. Or I think he is. I didn’t know his name or which house he lived in, but I haven’t seen him this month or last. Maybe it’s been a year. Has he died? Moved? I don’t know. But I miss the old bike guy and his smile.

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