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10 SIENNA SOLSTICE<br />
Toronja<br />
J. Villanueva<br />
When you take a heavy motorcycle, that’s not meant<br />
for offroad use, through dirt trails filled with shifting sand,<br />
mud, and rocks—after some time there comes a sweet<br />
moment when you stop noticing all of those things. Your hands<br />
no longer feel the vibrations on the handlebars.<br />
The arches of your feet no longer feel the pain<br />
brought by the digging of the two spiked footpegs.<br />
And you float on dialed-in suspension as if your weight<br />
meant nothing at all, like I assume it means<br />
absolutely nothing in the vacuum of outer space.<br />
I remember feeling that, as a boy, when I would take<br />
an old beat up Huffy through areas I would<br />
call trails. Through rows of toronja tree labores<br />
and up on top of canal levees is where that hand<br />
me down would go. Whether it was fixing flats,<br />
stealing a grapefruit for lunch, or rearranging the old<br />
bike’s chain, I was able to handle anything. Even the<br />
horse sized dogs, from that one house near the<br />
monte, that would chase me were nothing. Whatever<br />
those trails put in front of me and that bike, didn’t have any<br />
weight at all. Sometimes, when I felt extra brave,<br />
I would stay out there ‘til nighttime and watch the stars appear.<br />
Scattered like grains of salt across the black table that<br />
is the night sky. I wondered how long I would have<br />
to pedal to reach one of those specks of light. As always,<br />
some noise from the void would smack me out of my<br />
stupor, and I would fly straight home. Standing tall regardless<br />
of my fear, tears in my young eyes, weightless on<br />
my pegs. I learned in astronomy class, once, that<br />
the nearest star to us, Alpha Centauri, is
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