Suddenly I thought of bicycles, and then I thought of my mother. In the broken memory of my childhood, I only saw a little boy sitting in the back seat of an old bicycle, kicking his calf leisurely and hugging his mother with both hands. It was impossible to see the things around him or hear the conversation between mother and son.

The memory of five or six years old has been blurred, but fortunately, in the memory that I can remember completely, I remembered a sentence my mother said. When I was about ten years old, I always had a bad fever, just like my previous illness. The doctor suggested that hanging salt water would be faster. After completing the formalities, I entered a room where many people were hanging salt water. The room is big, but there are not many patients. Soon the nurse who gave me an injection came. Although I was scared, I didn't make a sound, but my mother talked to the doctor. He recognized the doctor who used to give me injections when I was a child.

The doctor also talked with emotion about a high fever when I was seven or eight years old. I remember that time, it was midnight, but my temperature was unusually high. Fortunately, it is close to the health center in our town, so I was put in the back seat of my bike and taken to the hospital. When I came out after hanging salt water, my bike had been lost. Probably because my mother was afraid of delaying the lock, which was a great loss to my family at that time. My mother thinks about it occasionally and often complains.

Then I bought a bike. The back seat is still mine. When I was a child, I couldn't live without my mother, so she always took me with her when she bought food, and I liked to kick my calf and hum the lyrics. I was punished because my legs were active. I kicked it back, my calf got into the wheel, and I screamed at once. Fortunately, my mother rode slowly and stopped soon. I didn't leave any scars or disabilities. I only remember that from then on, before getting into the back seat, my mother always said, "spread your legs and don't get stuck." Until later, I never saw my bike, never sat in the back seat, and chatted with my mother.

Up to now, I haven't seen the bike my mother rode in those years, and I don't feel the joy of the back seat of my bike when I was a child. I just think the little boy in my memory is happy, and I am afraid I will forget it later, so I wrote it down.

The writer is a senior one student in Quzhou No.2 Middle School, Zhejiang Province.