Rolling Back

The bus stops and lowers over the synthetic asphalt. The stairway isn’t wide enough for my four bags and I have to step down sideways. My knee almost gives out under the weight, but it becomes bearable when my other foot lands on the sidewalk.

With five blocks ahead of me, I slowly make my way through the two-lane avenue. The heavy vehicles levitate fluidly over the road despite that, while smaller ones fly higher up through the faster or exclusive traffic airlines. I always admire their Quantum thrusters.

I’m approaching the corner of the street when a little girl turns around on a tricycle. She’s not going fast, yet something snaps and the rear-right wheel lifts off the concrete. Luckily, the kid manages to get off before falling over.

A man rushes to kneel beside her.

“Sweetie! Are you okay?!”

She gives a trembling nod.

After a quick scan from head to toes, the man sighs in relief.

“Please be more careful.”

They inspect the tricycle together. So do I as I walk past them and turn around the corner. I can’t see them anymore, yet I hear the little girl snivel.

“Sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault. You’ve been having a lot of fun with it, it was bound to happen.”

Unless she has gone crazier with it before, the scratches, dents, and overall wear seemed to have been acquired over a long time. Maybe they bought it second-hand or built it with scraps. It’s good she’s having fun, but safety always comes first.

“Mr. Robot, can you fix my tricycle?”

I halt my steps and look behind.

The little girl stands in front of a technician robot and can barely keep eye contact. It wears a uniform similar to my former job’s and carries a toolbox on its chest branded with the logo of the most popular repair services company.

“If you wish to hire our services, please use your glasses to scan—”

The man holds the girl’s shoulders and moves her aside.

“We don’t,” he laughs nervously. “Please excuse us.”

“Understood. Fix In Cheap is at your service would you require a repair in the future.”

The robot walks out of sight behind a building.

The little girl frowns. “But Dad, isn’t it easy to fix a wheel?”

“It depends. Don’t worry, you’ll be back riding it in a couple days.”

“Days?”

Her head lowers.

“You’re both right,” I smile as I approach them and lower my bags onto the ground.

She looks up again, while the dad stares at me with raised eyebrows.

“Excuse me?” he asks.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” I laugh nervously. I crouch and unzip one of my bags. “It just so happens I have the tools to repair it right here and now.”

The bag has most of my clothes and not what I’m looking for. I close it and open the next. And the next. And the next.

“Here it is!”

The dad’s eyes widen when he sees the glue bottle in my hand.

“Thank you, but I… we can fix it ourselves.”

The little girl opens her mouth, yet she merely glances at me before lowering her eyes.

“It’s okay, it’ll be fast and effortless.”

I nod at the dad.

He looks down at his daughter. After a silent exchange, he nods back at me.

“If it isn’t much trouble.”

“Not in the slightest.”

I kneel beside the broken side of the axle. I confirm my suspicion about why it snapped as soon as I lift it. For now, that’ll keep it stable.

“Can you fix it?” the little girl asks.

“Nothing this super glue can’t fix.”

I pop the lid open and aim the tip at the crack while holding the split pieces together. My glasses display the degrees and a line to compare it with the column that didn’t break on the same side. Once within an acceptable margin, I slowly squeeze the glue out of the bottle and close the gap.

Even though the liquid camouflages with the blue color of the tricycle, I use the thin bottom edge of the bottle to spread the excess evenly.

Less and less glue comes out until it runs out just as I finish.

Both the dad and the girl stare at me, jaws dropped.

“That glue isn’t cheap,” he says. “Are you sure…?”

I reply, “We don’t want ugly bumps, do we?” I raise the adhesive tape in front of the girl. “Can you pull it for me?”

She grabs and rolls it at the same time I pull the end of the tape even though I don’t tell her to.

“Keep going. Keep going. That’s good.”

She stops instantly.

I pull a little harder and, with the help of my teeth, rip a strip off.

“Thanks.”

Still holding the split axle, I wrap the tape around the crack and over the glue, going a little further.

“This will spread the load over a bigger surface instead of just one spot,” I say.

I don’t want to run out of tape before securing it, so I wrap it back around to the center of the crack.

“And… bam!”

I pull the end of the strip down as hard as I can, still holding the axle with all my strength. The whole tricycle shakes, and the tape snaps from gray to blue.

I shake the chassis some more before letting the wheel drop back on the ground.

“That’ll do for a few months,” I say, “but you really should add a support rod from the middle of the body to here.” I point at the now-glued axle. “You need to account for the flexibility, so it won’t be that easy.”

The dad’s eyebrows furrow. “Flexibility?”

Instead of simply telling them, it’ll be better to show them.

“Hey, could you get something from my bag?” I ask the little girl.

She shakes her head up and down and rushes to my open bag.

“Grab the wrench,” I say. “Look for a shape—”

She takes it out before I can even describe it.

My smile widens. “Now grab the rag and the liquid soap. They should be in the same bag.”

They both look at me in surprise.

“Soap?” the dad questions.

I scratch the back of my head and laugh. “I ran out of oil and haven’t had the chance to buy more. Still, soap will work better for this.”

Holding everything, the girl returns and hands it to me.

“Thank you very much.”

I lower everything in front of my knees except for the wrench. I place its top and bottom between the nut that keeps the axle and the main shaft connected and turn the knob with my thumb to clasp it.

I push the bottom of the wrench down hard but not too hard to avoid breaking something.

After a few seconds, I stop and groan.

“That’s why the axle broke,” I say. “The nut is too tight, meaning the tension is so strong that it removed all flexibility.”

I grab the soap bottle, open it, and pour some onto the non-existent gap between the nut and the thread. Using the thin bottom edge of the empty glue bottle, I slowly get the soap between.

I keep pushing the wrench down and the nut starts turning. It gradually gets easier until the axle disconnects from the body.

I use the rag to dry the nut and the thread and blow at them, too.

Once fully dry, I reconnect the axle and tighten the nut without much strength.

I stand up and move the tricycle back and forth, turning the handlebar at the same time.

“That’s much better,” I say.

The dad questions, “Isn’t it too loose?”

“It might look like that and feel scary, but it has to be a little loose. Imagine it’s a car’s suspension.”

The little girl tilts her head. “Car… suspension?”

“Ah, that analogy might be a bit too old,” I laugh nervously. “Anything that moves needs something to cushion its movements, right?”

She nods.

“That’s called shock absorption. The part where the nut is tightened functions as that when loosened. Even the tallest buildings need to be flexible or their walls would crack if they bent too much.”

“Walls bend?”

My mind takes longer to process an answer.

“Not so much nowadays, but it’s good to be cautious. Safety first always.”

She shakes her head up and down.

“Excuse her,” the dad says, “she’s rather curious and asks many things.”

“Ain’t we all at her age?” I grin.

His smile widens after looking down at her.

“Thank you very much for your help. We’ll make sure to untighten the other—”

“I’m already doing it,” I say. “Might as well finish the job. Wanna help me?” I ask the little girl.

She nods frantically.

And so we spend a bit over five minutes repeating the process on the other two wheels and checking for more possible risks. She’s incredibly well-behaved and understands everything in no time.

After a quick test, the girl finally grins.

I wave at them until they disappear from my sight behind a building.

I put everything back in my bag and lift them one by one to wrap their straps around my shoulders.

A SweeperBot rolls past me on the sidewalk.

“Hey, SBot. Catch.”

It snaps toward me the moment I throw the empty glue bottle in the air. It catches it with its vacuum pipe and sucks it up.

I give it a thumbs up. “Nice.”

It turns around and continues its path.

I do the same in the opposite direction.

The buildings shorten and become less flashy the deeper I get into the neighborhood. The traffic airlines reduce to one, exclusive for emergency vehicles use on top of the asphalt. The three-story homes grow more makeshift and familiar.

Finally, I see the junkyard my parents used to make deals with. I wanna say hi, but I’ll pass out if I don’t drop my bags.

After one final stretch, I arrive.

Where it all began… or ended.

My parent’s mining company headquarters.

My home sixteen years ago.

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Edited by RedPandaChick