Joe Turns 20

Joe was 20. On a gray, misty, cool September morning.
Joe’s celebration included American Government at 9:00, McDonald’s for everyone at lunch, and a bike ride with Carrie at four. A subtle way to usher out the years of teenage-hood for good. He had also received a pair of good biking shoes from Mom and Dad in preparation for upcoming races.
During the morning, Francis was partially busy in the garage piecing together a new bike for Linnea. He returned for lunch, covered in grease.
“Francis!” Mom exclaimed, “Wash your hands.”
“I did, Mom,” Francis insisted. “They’re stained.”
“Someone’s going to think something’s wrong with that kid,” said Carrie. “He’s covered in chigger bites, poison ivy rash, and grease stains.”
Francis still had to do math, despite the birthday. And, as usual, he had tales to weave on the side from his escapades with Puff ‘o Lump and Creole.
“Once,” he was saying, “Creole was so tired of his old bike, that he just left it in someone’s yard.”
While Francis continued his algebra, Collette rewrapped Carrie’s dreads.
It was a good day for Joe to turn 20.