Sonata, Cyclist Extraordinaire

"Don't do it," Mother's voice came in a strong and steady stream over the answering machine. "It's too dangerous and it's going to take up too much of your free time." In utter defiance, Sonata was further convinced by Mother's words that it was the right thing to do and she would make it her personal obsession for the next three months. She knew that her schedule would never allow a hint of leniency - that she would have to take time from her borrowed sleep schedule and virtually non-existent free time to train. She anticipated the physical torture her body would endure from the continuous laps around the parks and through the twisty and tumultuous terrain of the city's streets.

Sonata carefully clipped out the advertisement from the newspaper and attached it permanently to the refrigerator door with double-stick tape. The dates of the event, circled boldly in red marker, practically glowed in the dark and acted as a glowing reminder of when all of her hard work and dedication will be tested thoroughly. Our telephone lines were tied up night and day for nearly a week as she logged on to the event's web page, hungrily devouring any morsel of information the sponsors and past participators might be able to provide.

I accompanied my sister to the bike shop to watch her purchase her speedster. She chose a hot, sexy red model with a manly frame and a bold shape. "It's a hybrid bike," she gleefully informed me as we entered the store. Once inside, my sweet and innocent sibling transformed into a hard-nosed, bargaining riding expert. I merely stood back and watched the fireworks explode in front of me. In the end, my sister strolled out with a gorgeous bike and plenty of accessories, leaving behind a once-confident and iron-sided saleswoman haggard and defeated.

At home, Sonata busied herself with inspecting the bicycle and reading the manuals on how to do quick repairs, while I wandered around the house aimlessly. I nearly tripped over her notebook, bursting with loose notes, downloaded information from the web, highway maps detailing the route from Boston to New York, as well as personal scribbles. I perused a few pages before putting her reorganizing her packet. She was serious - there would certainly be no turning back now.

I brought her a cold drink, which she refused, and sat down to watch her. "Do you even know anyone with AIDS?" I asked.

She stopped what she was doing for a second and rubbed her head with the back of her hand. "No," she started slowly. "I don't even know anyone who's HIV-positive, I never have. It�ll be good for me though � I want to see if I can make it through the run, and if I can support a worthy cause � bonus."

I searched for something nurturing, something a wise, elder sister would say. "You're pretty cool for doing this!" I blurted.

She smirked and turned to face me. "I just think that, on top of being a great cause, this ride will help me understand how it feels to know someone with the disease. It could really help me be a good doctor." She returned her attention to the bicycle.

I knelt down beside her and steadied the front tire as she checked the alignment. "Listen. I'll help you get pledges. It's what I do for a living anyway. It wouldn't be hard for me. Hell, I'll even drive you and the bike to Boston."

Sonata looked up and gave me the warmest smile � all traces of the bargaining fighter I'd seen at the bike shop had dissipated. "Thanks. I was actually going to hit you up for the entire amount anyway, but this is better." Sarcasm rages uncontrollably like a flash flood in my family.

So now with my foot, ankle and entire leg in mouth, I am charged with the privilege of helping to collect pledges for my sister�s ride. Any well-to-do folks out there who would like to make a donation in my sister�s name are welcome to do so.

PLEASE do so! Just drop me an email at: [email protected]

Or, for more info, contact:
AIDS Ride
Boston to New York
September 15-17, 2000
http://www.aidsride.org

Thanks, all.
E. Lin
7/6/00

Home

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws