The Spinning Pedal

I slipped beneath the unlatched screen door. The outdoor air rushed in, cold and sharp. Across the weathered wooden porch planks stood a tall metal bicycle. Huge tires. Deep shadows underneath. A silver pedal hung right at chest level, still and tempting. I tensed my hind legs and lunged with all my weight! Smack! The crank spun backwards. The rear wheel hub erupted into a frantic mechanical chatter—*clack-clack-clack-whirrr*! Spokes blurred in the afternoon sun. I dropped instantly flat against the floorboards, pulling back into the tight shade beneath the porch bench. Motionless. Watching the metal circle slow down to a crawl.