Speckled blue memories of Mexico?
Just listened to her new love, Jesus the Mexican boy. It took me back to a little yellow house I lived in when I was the less than two hands old. It didn't really take me back to the house as much as it took me back to a seat. The seat of my first bicycle was soft and vinyl, or something resembling vinyl. It was a banana seat, blue like the bike, with three quarters of a silver halo on the back end. Trapped beneath the blue vinyl were shiny blue specks. In the right light, or most any direct light, the specks seemed to dance on the elongated seat. I can almost remember my dad holding onto the halo, as I gripped the handlebars. I certainly recall the street where I learned to ride. It was 50th street. It was flat as could be and lined with well-trimmed lawns, perfect landing spots for a biker in training. The bikes brand escapes me now, as does the shape of the handlebars, but that seat I can almost press my 20 years older hand against its squishiness and watch the blue specks sparkle between my fingers.