This is from a memory from when I was nine so it may or may not be accurate.
I close my eyes and the colors begin to swirl and dance. Red circles the color of an unripe raspberry bloom into abstract shapes of eggplant purple. Lines the color of dandelions race around each other chased by dots of indigo. Carrot orange blobs morph into soft peach ovals. I am told to open my eyes twenty minutes later.
It was a rusty red. The paint was peeling and only one of the brakes worked. They squealed whenever I used them. The front seat was stuck at a hight that made it painful to ride. My feet barely reached the pedals. The back seat swung and pivoted so she had to work to not only keep us moving, but keep herself on.
The first time we rode it I almost crashed us into a tree. I also lead us off the road and down into the ditch. We eventually learned how to balance the two of our bodies so we could fly, although we were often cut short because the seat dug into my body.
This summer we looked for it and discovered it had been given away. No more pivoting back seat. No more front seat too high to reach the pedals. No more squealing brake. No more peeling red paint. No more tandem bike.
Don’t cry! Don’t you dare cry! You are stone you are happiness you are not sad you can not show weakness! Dammit there are People around! People who can see you! You can not cry!
Two tears rolled down her face one on each cheek the left one slightly lower. She bowed her head trying to hide them. She made no sound.
Focus on the grass don’t listen to the words pick apart the clovers don’t listen to how they died, don’t think about her don't think about how she died too. Dammit! Focus on the grass, focus on the clover!
The boys walked over and sat behind the group of girls, she tried to discreetly wipe away the streaks of her weakness. Her nose started running, dripping out the tears that could not escape her eyes. She wiped away those too.