Run Over by a Bike

This time I was terrified, but not because of the fighting within the walls of our home. 

Normally we’d spend most of our days in Stirling playing with the other kids on our block. There was nightly kick the can games in Summer, sleigh riding down our front lawn hill in Winter and building real igloos against the garage to hide out in when we had a snowstorm. Back then it was safe to walk to the lake at the bottom of our street, up to the field in woods and back and forth to play at different neighbor’s houses. We even walked our pet rabbit Sara on a leash down our street so she could get fresh air and not always be stuck in her indoor cage. But on this day, what started as innocent fun outside on a beautiful summer day turned into terror quickly when I noticed him chasing me.

In a split second, I was running for my life trying hard not to look back and afraid to lose my footing, but I had to keep one eye on him and one on the bumpy sidewalk ahead. He kept getting closer and closer chasing me down the subtle slope of our neighborhood street. It was as if I was in slow motion and instead all the houses on my block were the ones racing past me. I was cut off from the world—secluded in my sea of terror.

My insides were screaming yet silent, containing the overwhelming energy pulsing through my body as my little legs numbly moved as fast as they could. I had no choice but to look back again—and down I went. Laid out flat across the sidewalk, face down with the blades of weeds and grass that filled the cracks—now in my face. I laid there, defeated, shameful and frozen for what now became my fault because I couldn’t outrun him.

The side of my face smashed on the hard cement; I saw the giant front wheel of his bike coming towards me. All I could do is look away and cover my head with my arms, laying still and stiff like a wooden board—as if that would shield me from what was coming.

I was helpless, and surrendered to what I couldn’t control. And then I felt it. First hitting the side of my ribs, his bike ran over me like a curb cut. I felt the vibration of fear pulsing through me as the thick rubber tire skidded over my spine like a dirt bike on a rocky trail. I could hear the crunching sound as the front wheel ran over the center of my back right below my shoulder blades. One more to go I thought. I braced myself as I heard the voice inside me say, “hold VERY still it’s almost over.” In a matter of seconds that felt like forever, the hot rubber raced across my mid back again, this one deeper and heavier than the last. I could still hear his laughter as he rode away in utter glee and accomplishment. Humiliated, I also felt a deep sigh of relief as my body melted into the hot ground. One bicycle. 2 wheels. I was now free.

I don’t remember how I made it back inside my house or who else was there because I also have a PhD in forgetting. At the dinner table that night the only nurturing and sympathy I got was from a bedroom pillow wedged between the high yellow vinyl chair and the pack of frozen peas pressed against my back. It was as if getting chased and run over by an older boy on his bicycle was a normal part of being a kid on the block. Like good girls do, I quietly ate the hot dogs and beans as I stuffed and minimized the all the pain and all the fear still pulsing through every cell of my body.

I sat as still and frozen as I laid, strewn out on that concrete sidewalk, only now I was supposed to be in the safety of my own home.