No Breaks
The wind, I remember the wind. It filled my ears as I flew down that hill, like the feeling of being on the outside of an airplane. I forced my head up and straightened my spine; I was preparing for what would come next. I tightened my hands around the sticky electrical tape that wrapped the sides of the bike’s handlebars, trying to force my body to stay present. The fear was winning, and I was on the verge of losing control.
My mind called for order as it knew injury was certain but how it happened was not. I had to choose how it would hurt: crash into the garage door of a house at the bottom of the hill and risk breaking through the sheet metal cutting myself to ribbons or just knocking out all my teeth and breaking my hands. I hadn’t experienced this type of panic before, not entirely at least. Or keep going down the hill and take my chances with the woods. A vision of getting impaled tore across the front of my mind. I had hurt myself before: cracked molars, eight stitches to the chin, broken all the toes on my right foot. But this, this was primal, my body knew it would be hurt and that I wasn’t prepared for it as it had already calculated from my speed and the imminent impact.
The air reminded me of being on a rollercoaster when you’re going down the highest peak, but right before disaster, you remember you are safely attached to the steel car. I wasn’t safe, and I was also not attached. My body decided before my mind. My right foot lifted from its pedal to the bar that connected the bike seat to the frame, and then, with one swift motion, I was over the top of the bars I had just gripped so tight that it disappeared behind me as I flew up and forward.
There was no going back now. My vision started to go dark as I could feel my body begin to drop from the air. I saw my sister, her face painted with a wild look of amazement, then my vision went dark. I heard a pop followed by a flash of red that brought my vision back. Then came the pain, one I would never forget.