Getting Home

Part 33

"Backwards?" Henry exclaimed. "But why?"

I wanted to throw up. My mind raced: Maybe you don't have to do it in reverse. Jump across the gap normal. What's the difference?

The difference was there were no second chances.

"I've seen this before, Henry," I said. "I mean, not this exactly, but..."

"Seen what?"

I took a deep breath. "Well..."

We had been little kids. It was late in the afternoon—the sun was just beginning to turn the patchy, autumn clouds above into beautiful orange and teal swirls and patterns. We were in front of our house—well, I was in the front yard sitting on the lawn, clothes probably dirty, playing with my old ratty Barbie's cause I never got new ones. Sean was riding his bike out on the street right in front of our house.

Something we did a lot of back then.

Anyways, most of those days blur together—except this day. On this day, Sean had set up a little wooden ramp his friends had built. It was just a little one, but Sean was excited—his eyes were big, and he had made me help him with dragging it out on the street... along with dragging it back out of the road every time a car came.

"Okay, Ava, watch," Sean said, riding in circles. "I'm going to do it."

I don't know what I said—but I do remember being extremely uninterested, as I usually was with whatever Sean was doing.

"Ava!" he shouted.

"What?" I shouted back, annoyed, banging and rubbing my Barbie in the dirt.

"I said watch, dummy! I'm going to do it, pay attention."

I angrily swung the doll. "I don't care, Sean! Hurry up!"

"Okay, here I go." He started pedaling away, getting some distance away. "Are you ready?" he called over his shoulder.

"Yes!"

Sean went to the end of the street, turning around wide, then hauling ass down the street, legs pumping as he stood on the pedals, head heroically jutted forward over the handlebars, his face cutting through the wind like a sleek race car. I yawned as he got closer and closer—I remember the dusky sun reflecting on the chrome handlebars.

He reached the bottom of the ramp, going as fast as he could, pedaling as hard as he could, going up the ramp, up the curve, up to the top and over—

And colossally ate it.

It happened so fast that young me barely registered it, but I can remember it so vividly—and he sure as heck didn't sail majestically through the air. In fact, he literally got no air at all. The front wheel instantly dropped like a rock as soon as he went over the edge, swinging him face-first over the handlebars.

He collapsed in an ungraceful bundle, the bike landing on top of him adding insult to injury.

And I started laughing.

I don't know what came over me, but I just couldn't help it. I feel bad about it to this day... maybe that's why I remember it so well.

Sean had just slowly gotten to his feet, seeming really lost and confused. He was just kind of looking around, confused, but I don't think he had hit his head... he was just...

Dazed.

Sean seemed fine—until he lifted his shirt to check where the handlebar had jabbed him, and seeing the tiny bit of blood on his chest.