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I couldn't get my eyes to focus; it was like looking into a thick fog. As the mist began to dissipate, I could make out the form of a woman. I squinted to see her face and realized it was Julie from down the street. Her lips were moving but her words were distorted.
We all look back on our lives and recall bad decisions we've made. Some of these memories are inconsequential but others leave an impact even years later. These are the mistakes that cause us to look back and think, "I should have known better." That's exactly what I think when I remember riding my bike into the path of that blue Chrysler.
It was a Tuesday afternoon in the close knit town of Windsor Heights. The day started like any other. I had just gotten home from my half day kindergarten class and decided to ride bikes with my friends Todd and Brian. As I headed for the door, mom called after me, "Be careful! Watch for cars!" We hopped on our bikes and patrolled the streets from Riverview to Sarko then on to Main Street in hopes of finding some wild adventure. Exhausted from our travels, Todd was the first to complain, "I'm thirsty. I need a drink." "Let's stop at your Aunt Connie's; she always has Mountain Dew," Brian suggested. We headed to Todd's Aunt Connie's house for a quick refreshment.
The sun was hovering in the west, blinding drivers as they drove up main Street. Todd raced into the street from his aunt's yard chanting, "Catch me if you can!" With Brian trailing behind me, I sped after Todd. As I entered the street, carefree and unaware, all I remember is a blue gust followed by my head thumping on the ground. I remember trying to stand up but my head was fizzing like a can of coke and blood painted my hair crimson. Thoughts darted through my mind. "Am I bleeding? Am I still alive?" "What will my mom say? Is my bike alright? What hit me? Oh, no. I gotta get home."
I heard a door slam and Julie was trying to talk to me. She wanted to take me home, but I wasn't sure why. I tried to walk up the road but she kept tugging at my arm, "Let me drive you home. You shouldn't be walking." It took a few minutes for me to realize that I'd been hit by a car. I let Julie ride me home, mostly because I was too dazed to argue and I was pretty sure I wouldn't make it on my own.
My mom gasped when I walked in the door, "Oh my Gosh! What happened?" Julie explained quickly that I had ridden my bike into the street and that she had hit me. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see him," She kept saying over and over. My mom tried to reassure Julie that I would be okay but she couldn't hide the panic in her eyes.
My mom loaded Brian and me into the car, and darted off to the emergency room. Driving like Jeff Gordon, she got us there in record time. By now, the washcloth I held on my head was blood soaked, so we were led immediately to an examination room. The doctor told me that I would need stitches. This news was far worse than any pain I had endured thus far. Thankfully, getting stitches wasn't nearly as painful as putting the hole there in the first place.
The laceration healed easily, leaving only a scar. My mom seemed to put the accident behind her, taking from it one more lesson in parenting. However, it took me a little longer to get back on my bike and ride on those same streets where my worst nightmare became reality