⏱ ~3 min reading
Ivan's bike broke down on Friday. On a walk. Ivan drove into a hole - a crunch, and the chain came off. Ivan tried to put it back on - his fingers were dirty with oil, the chain wouldn't obey, the rear wheel was spinning this way, that way.
Dad looked and looked, then said quietly:
"Let's take him to the master. This is not on his knee.".
On Saturday they took the bike to a small workshop behind the newsagent. The mechanic was a man with a gray mustache and a blue apron. He turned the bike over, felt the chain, touched the brakes. He shook his head.
"I need a new chain. And tighten the brakes. It'll be ready in a week.".
“A week?!” Ivan almost sat down on the floor.
The master smiled.
"Yes, little man. A week. Because I do well, not quickly.".
On the way home, Ivan walked silently next to his dad. It seemed to him that a week was like a whole summer. Without a bicycle. Without evening circling around the yard. Without morning trips to the park.
"Dad. Can I do it earlier?"
— No. He already said — in a week.
"What if I ask?"
— What if someone asks you to do something faster than you can do it?
Ivan thought. He remembered how his mother had asked him to make the bed yesterday, and then said, "Not so fast, more carefully." He also didn't like being rushed then.
"Then I guess we'll have to wait.".
Dad nodded.
Monday was tough. Ivan looked at the hook on the wall where his helmet usually hung. The hook was empty. He sighed and went to play with Lego.
On Tuesday, my mother suggested that we go to the park on foot. At first, Ivan didn't want to — it would be boring without a bike. But he agreed. In the park, he found an acorn — a smooth one, in a brown cap. Then another one. Then he collected a whole pocketful. He came home with his hands full.
On Wednesday, Dad said:
— We have an old box of books in the attic. I've been wanting to take it apart for a long time. Can you help me?
Ivan helped. He found his father's book from his childhood - about a young captain. He started reading. By evening he had read so much that his mother reminded him that it was time for dinner.
On Thursday, my grandmother came to visit. She brought cherry pies. She and Ivan were sitting in the kitchen and she told me how she had a bicycle when she was a child—an old, heavy one with no gears. How she used it to carry water from the well.
On Friday, Ivan found a thousand-piece puzzle on the shelf that he had never put together. He sat down in the living room. He started from the corners.
On Saturday morning, dad said:
— Ivanka. Let's go get a bike.
Ivan didn't even understand right away. A week has passed? Already?
The bike stood in the workshop as if it were new. The chain was shiny. The brakes clicked clearly. The mechanic showed me how to lubricate it every month.
— Try it.
Ivan sat down. He pedaled. The bike rode smoothly, quietly — it didn't click or creak.
"Oh. He's better than he was!"
"Because it's been repaired now," the master winked.
On the way home, Ivan pedaled and thought. Acorns in his pocket. The captain from his father's book. Grandma's cherry pies. Puzzles - he made a frame and started the sky. All this happened in a week. A week that at first seemed like an eternity.
— Dad.
— What, son?
— Waiting is not empty. It is full.
Dad smiled in the wind's face.
— That's right.
💡 A week of waiting is not the end of the world.