The next morning, Arsen woke up earlier than usual. Sunlight had just begun to filter through the gap in his bedroom window when he heard birds singing from the yard.
He immediately remembered his little bike, which he had cleaned the night before.
Arsen went outside and saw that the bike was still in the same spot. The chain no longer rattled, the bell was working a little better, and the dirty parts looked clean.
“Good morning,” Arsen said, smiling at the bike.
Of course, there was no answer, but to Arsen, the little habit made him feel closer to the bike his grandfather had given him.
As he was checking the tires, his mother came out carrying several grocery bags.
“Arsen, can you help Mom deliver something to Ms. Rini’s house later?”
“Sure, Mom. What are we taking?”
“I want to deliver some food. You can take the back road so it won’t be too far.”
Arsen nodded. He grabbed a small bag and attached it to the front of his bike.
A little while later, he started pedaling along the quiet village road. The morning air felt fresh. A few residents cleaning their yards called out to Arsen.
“Morning, Arsen.”
“Morning, Mr. Wawan.”
The little bike moved slowly along the rocky road. Even though it wasn’t as fast as his friends’ bikes, Arsen enjoyed every ride.
When he was almost at Ms. Rini’s house, he noticed something by the side of the road.
A small wooden box lay near a large tree.
Arsen stopped his bike.
“What’s that?” he murmured.
He got off and picked up the box. It looked old, but it was still sturdy enough.
Arsen slowly lifted the lid. Inside were several old things, like marbles, a short piece of string, and a slightly faded photograph.
Arsen studied the photograph.
His eyes widened when he saw someone he knew.
“That’s... Grandpa.”
In the photo, his grandfather looked young, standing beside a little bike.
Arsen leaned closer.
The bike in the photo looked exactly like his.
“Why is this photo here?”
His curiosity led Arsen to bring the box to Ms. Rini’s house.
After delivering the food, Arsen asked the old woman,
“Ms. Rini, do you know who this box belongs to?”
Ms. Rini looked at the photograph Arsen handed her. Her face immediately filled with shock.
“This is a photo of your grandfather.”
“Yes, ma’am. But why was it by the side of the road?”
Ms. Rini slowly sat down as she looked at the photograph.
“Your grandfather used to take this road all the time on his little bike.”
“His little bike?” Arsen asked.
Ms. Rini smiled.
“He loved that bike very much. Just like you do now.”
Arsen fell silent.
“So before it was given to me, the bike already had so many stories, huh?”
Ms. Rini nodded.
“Your grandfather used to help people with that bike. He delivered medicine, carried things, and even took children to school.”
Arsen gazed at his little bike parked outside.
All this time, he had thought the bike was simply a memory shared between him and his grandfather. It turned out there were many other stories he didn’t know yet.
On the way home, Arsen couldn’t stop thinking about it.
When he arrived home, he immediately looked for his father.
“Dad, do you know about this bike?”
His father, who was repairing a chair, turned to him.
“You mean that bike?”
“Yeah. I found a photo of Grandpa with a bike that looks just like it.”
His father gave a small smile.
“Before it became yours, that bike really did belong to your grandfather.”
“Why did Grandpa give it to me?”
His father stopped working for a moment.
“Because your grandfather saw something in you.”
“What?”
“He said you were a kid who always wanted to try, even though you often failed.”
Arsen fell silent at the answer.
His father continued,
“He said the bike wasn’t for the greatest kid. It was for a kid who was willing to keep learning.”
Arsen looked toward the yard.
He felt even more affection for the little bike.
That afternoon, Arsen invited Raka to go biking again.
But this time, they weren’t going out to play. Arsen took them to several places his grandfather used to visit.
“Why are we coming here?” Raka asked.
“I want to learn the stories behind this bike.”
They stopped at several places. At each one, Arsen imagined his grandfather traveling along the same roads.
As the sun began to set, they sat near the field.
“Sen,” Raka said.
“Hmm?”
“I don’t think your bike is just a bike.”
Arsen turned to him.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like the bike carries stories from one person to another.”
Arsen smiled.
Maybe Raka was right. The bike was small, but the journey it had traveled was very long.
That night, before going to bed, Arsen placed the photograph of his grandfather beside the bike.
He looked at the little bike and spoke softly.
“We’ll go out again tomorrow, okay?”
For the first time, Arsen felt that the bike wasn’t just an heirloom.
It was part of his life’s journey.