Friday, November 23, 2012

hit and run

I grew up in a small town with little traffic on the streets. Therefore, my sister and I learned to ride our bikes, wobbling and squeaking in wavering lines up and down the block and through the odd intersection.
This may have contributed to an inadequate understanding of the dangers of cars and car bumpers.
I can no longer play the accident scene out in its entirety, but I do recall my sister weaving across an intersection on her bike at exactly the same instant as a car rolled through. Neither saw the other in time. My sister hit the ground running, changing the definition of hit and run for me forever. The driver was out of his car in a flash. "Little girl," he cried. "Little girl, are you alright?"
I stood silently watching as my sister, her bike abandoned, raced for home. The volume of her wailing and the ease with which she sprinted boded well for her.
I was rooted to the spot, as I am in so many of my childhood memories. My fight or flight response was always a bit sticky.

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