I woke up on a quiet Sunday morning to find our front yard covered in something that hadn’t been there the night before. When I saw who was standing in the middle of it all, I knew there was a story I hadn’t been told.
“You need to see this.”
My husband shook my shoulder hard enough to wake me.
I squinted at the clock.
It was 7:00 A.M. on Sunday.
“What happened?”
“Just look outside.”
The urgency in his voice made me sit up.
I hurried to the bedroom window, pulled back the curtain, and stared.
“What the…”
Our front yard was covered in bicycles.
There weren’t five or six.
There were dozens.
Little bikes with training wheels, old mountain bikes, beach cruisers, and rusty bicycles that looked as though they hadn’t moved in years covered the grass.
Some leaned against our porch.
Others stood in rows across the yard.
One was even lying beside our mailbox.
And standing right in the middle of them was our 74-year-old neighbor, Walter.
He looked up at our bedroom window and waved.
I turned slowly toward my husband.
“Why is Walter standing in our yard?”
My husband rubbed the back of his neck.
“There’s something I forgot to tell you.”
That was never a promising start.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
I pointed toward the window.
“There are about 50 bicycles on our lawn.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Technically, I told Walter he could use part of the yard.”
I stared at him.
“Part of the yard?”
“He said he needed some space.”
“For what, a bicycle dealership?”
“I thought he meant two or three.”
I looked outside again.
A car had just pulled up, and a woman opened the back of a minivan and began unloading more bicycles.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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