Pedals

Ana Maria Dobre-Nir
My dress lifted slightly in the breeze, and the scent of cherry blossoms made me dizzy. The gentle light cut through the streets in warm, almost unreal stripes. Suddenly, the old man stepped in front of me, and I didn't even have time to catch my breath. The front wheel hit his knee, his body bent suddenly. The handlebars slipped from my hands, his head struck the curb with a wet sound, like a crushed walnut. Blood flowed among the petals, slowly, almost gracefully. Spring floated, translucent. The crowd began to gather. He had died.
 
 Monica Bologa
Grandma stirs the polenta in the pot, grandpa smokes by the ditch. I look at the bicycle leaning against the house. Get on it, kid, he tells me. No, I'm scared. Grandpa puts out his cigarette, picks me up, and puts me on the Pegas. Come on, you can do it. Press the pedals, I'm holding the saddle for you. I start moving along the dusty road, feeling wings grow from my shoulders. Grandpa forgot something, he didn't teach me how to stop. I reach the edge of the village, pass the forest, the city, summer, childhood, now I am a wife, mother, grandmother, and I'm still pedaling.
 
 Nicolae Popescu
Come on, your sister can and you can't? Mom dressed her hazel eyes with a smile. Under it, I felt the reprimand. I grabbed the frame-less Tohan bike by the horns. I got on, but didn't manage to pick up speed. The front wheel wobbled. I fell on the unpaved road, a small stone got into my elbow. Blood was running in a thin stream toward my palm. I swallowed my flood of tears, it was choking me. I looked back, hoping for some comfort. She shook her head, shouted: go, come on, courage. Mom taught me how to ride a bike.

 
(Translated by Eduard Mihai Uretu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by prof. dr. Nadina Vișan / Edited by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)