Issue #189 : Over Heels
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His last memory was of the bicycle underneath him. Now that relationship had been reversed as he sensed the weight of the frame hovering over him. The ground was down there, seemingly miles below and everything was spinning. A second ago he had heard Ricky screaming his name but now, all he heard was the sound of rushing air and his own panicked breathing.
All he had wanted was to fit in. It was hard enough finding friends in the seventh grade, having to learn a new structure at a new school. So when he finally made his way into a group, he wanted to do whatever it took to stay there. He wanted them to think he was cool. He wanted them to think he was a hard-ass.
Every day, they rode their bikes through the apartment building’s parking lot. A dirt hill separated the two halves of the lot and every day they rode up and over it. He loved the way his stomach dropped out from underneath him and every time he wanted to get just a little bit more air. He wanted this jump to be that much more bad-ass.
He was going to blow them all away, get himself a piece of history.
The street plummeted down at a steep angle before emptying out into the parking lot, six or seven blocks to accelerate to an unknowingly suicidal speed. The four of them started out together but he put his head down to the handlebars, pumping hard on the pedals and had soon left them far behind. He kicked the bike up into the highest gear and put every bit of muscle into each revolution. The wind rushed past him even louder as the parking lot grew closer.
He rode out into the parking lot and watched the mound of dirt draw closer. There was the vaguest sound of Ricky screaming out his name, surely to cheer him on, disbelief at the level of awesomeness that they were about to witness. He stopped pedaling and let the bike coast the rest of the way, bracing himself for his ramp up into teenage fame and legend.
The front tire hit the small hill and in less than a heartbeat he was spinning around through open space. He couldn’t see anything and in his sudden disorientation couldn’t even remember for sure how he had gotten up here. The world around him had become distorted; a blurred perception of what would later become a flashback, now happening before him in real time.
Was that concrete rushing up at him? Why wasn’t he slowing down? Almost nonchalantly, he stuck out a hand to ward off the impact.
Dark. Empty spaces.
The first thing he saw was the floor of the woman’s kitchen. It looked familiar and made him think about their old apartment but this couldn’t be that kitchen. They didn’t live there anymore. Everyone was staring at him while somehow diverting their gaze uncomfortably. When had they all come inside, anyway? The woman was speaking to him now, asking him questions. Was that his blood on the floor?
Then he was trying to remember his phone number, giving the woman three or four different ones before finally getting it right.
It was only then that he wondered if they were going to be able to fix his bike.
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