Brian's Last Ride

by Marianne Curtis

hair and the freedom of speeding off into the darkness. I had never felt so alive and thrilled.

  The dirt bike wasn’t built for two and I could tell that Henry was concentrating on keeping us on the highway. It was obvious that neither of us wanted to end up back in the middle of the field, so I kept an eye out for any hazards. Somewhere in my peripheral vision I caught a flicker of lights. I looked over my shoulder and in the furtive glance I spotted headlights. They were coming quickly behind us; cutting the darkness like a knife.

  I turned and started to nudge Henry, trying to warn him that we had company.

  “I think there is a car coming!” The words had barely escaped my lips when something hit us from behind. Our bike skid sideways from the impact. While the bike slid along the pavement, our bodies took to the sky. I was airborne for moments, but an eternity flashed before me. I am going to die. Lord, don’t let this be it. I prayed as I slid across the pavement. It is amazing how those few seconds seem to go by in slow motion and more thoughts than you can imagine possible can surface in those precious moments. I had enough time to put out my arms in a feeble attempt to keep my face from hitting the highway. I barely noticed the burning sensation in my right arm where the skin was stripped off by the cold black asphalt during my fall. I lay there a few moments trying to catch my breath and bearings. I was alive!

  Wrapped in shock and pain, I lifted my head and barely understood the highway was mere millimeters from the tip of my nose. I had to get up. Trying to move, a sharp pain ripped through my ankle. It was then I noticed I was missing a shoe. Tears were streaming down my face when I finally managed to peel myself off the ground. The night was so still. Even the crickets had gone silent.

  I peered into the night, hoping to see if whoever had hit us had stopped to see if we were okay. But no taillights could be seen at any direction. There was nothing but silent darkness. Whatever hit us was no longer there.

  “You okay?” I heard Henry ask. I didn’t hear or see him rush over. I couldn’t see his face but I could tell by his voice that he was shaken. I was also relieved that he was okay.

  “I am so sorry, I don’t know what happened.” He looked terrified.

  “Yes, I think so – where is my shoe?” I took a few limping test steps; my ankle was screaming in pain. I was starting to panic. “We need to go back NOW,” I was nearing hysterics and sobbing even harder. Trying to calm me, Henry gathered me into his arms.

  “It’s okay, it will be okay – I am so sorry,” he kept repeating over and over while I trembled in his arms. When he finally pushed me away, he went to find my shoe. I could not make out anything in the dark. It was as if the flash of head-light or whatever it was I saw had blinded me temporarily. While Henry searched for our shoes – he’d lost his too - he tried to reassure me. I couldn’t see him but I could hear him stumbling around in the darkness. Finally, he found it and returned to my side.

  “We have to go back,” he barked. “Are you okay to ride?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. Righting the bike, he gave it a quick once over in the darkness. When he was satisfied that it would get us back, he pushed to leave immediately.

  “I can’t – I am going to walk back. I can’t get back onto that thing.” I was terrified to get back on after the spill we just took. To prove my point, I started walking back in the direction we had just come. I had already spotted a nearby farm and was more than prepared to walk down their driveway and get a ride. Henry stopped me.

  “No – you are hurt; you won’t make it because it is too far to walk. We have to get back to the church and get help.” I knew he was right – my ride would be waiting for us. I had lost track of time and it seemed like we had been gone for hours.

  “Listen, I know you are scared but we have to get back. Trust me, I will be careful,” Henry promised. Afraid he might leave me behind, I stopped arguing. I felt like I had just cheated death. This was my first “close call”. Despite my fear, I pulled up my pants and climbed back onto the bike. We were soon heading back to the church as quick as possible while I tried not to panic. After what we’d just been though, the last thing he needed was a crazy girl throwing his balance off.

  A deep sigh escaped me, along with my pent-up tears when the church finally came into sight. I fought back tears of relief. As we pulled into the driveway, the majority of the group was already gathered outside. Some kids were waiting for their rides and others were just visiting with classmates.

  “Hey – get over here,” Henry yelled at the group as we drew adjacent to the door. But instead of pulling the bike up to the door, where help was already unknowingly waiting, he steered the bike towards the back of the building. We must have looked like hell because there was no hesitation – everyone came running.

  He’d barely stopped when two pairs of arms grabbed onto me, while Henry steadied the bike. There was a lot of confusion and I vaguely remember him telling the guys we’d been in an accident. A hit-and-run, he said. I blubbered something about thinking it was a car that sped away in the darkness. All three boys helped me hobble back to the front of the church, just as the adults were coming out. Our arrival had caused a commotion and word had already spread that we had been in an accident.

  Finally safe and in the care of other adults, the adrenaline rush wore off and my body began to throb. Bearing weight on my ankle was impossible, and the shock on the night set in. Uncontrollable trembling took over as I was placed into the minister’s car. I would have preferred to leave immediately but the minister went back to talk to Henry. I couldn’t hear the exchange but I assume he wanted some answers. They didn’t talk too long.

  We were soon on the road and heading back to my foster home. Knowing that I would soon be home, I curled up into the backseat of the car and tried not to think about the pain I was in. By this time, my arm was on fire and blood pooled on my fingertips. I couldn’t see the damage yet, but I was starting to feel it. Limiting my movement help me control the pain. I couldn’t wait to crawl into my bed and forget about the night.

  The Aftermath

  A mile from the church, we were pulling up to the corner stop sign when a car came screaming up from behind us. I was still very jumpy so the blaring car horn startled me. At first I thought the driver was trying to signal us to pull over. We started to pull over to the shoulder, but before the minister could stop the little Honda civic swerved around us with hazard lights flashing and horn blaring. The driver barely slowed down as he made the corner and headed towards Steinbach. The car vanished into the night as quickly as it had arrived.

  “Someone is sure in a hurry to get somewhere fast,” commented the Minister before continuing down the gravel road.

  When we pulled into the driveway, the house was ablaze with light. Someone had already notified my foster family and briefly updated them on what happened. Not only were they waiting for an explanation but we had yet to determine the extent of my injuries. My foster father met us at the car and helped me inside.

  “What happened?” He asked. The minister quickly filled in my foster mother with the little details he knew. I sat in a stunned silence. It was finally hitting me how close I had come to death. When you think about it, we were both ill prepared for the ride. Neither one of us were wearing helmets, I was wearing wool and sneakers. To this day, I cringe when I see riders wearing shorts and runners while on a motorcycle.

  Then there was the fact my family was unaware of the incident. My mother would freak if she knew how irresponsible I was. I felt a lot of shame, but that was soon forgotten as my foster mother began in inspect my wounds. Used to tending equine injuries, I trusted my foster mother’s medical expertise. A quick once-over revealed my red and black jack-shirt was embedded in my skin. Its affect on my arm was similar to rug-burn, with an added mixture of fabric and gravel. My hand was also skinned; the flesh was barely hanging in along my right pinky finger.

  The more I sat, the harder it got to remain mobile. Walking was impossible at this poi
nt. My right ankle had swollen to twice its normal size. It was also starting to turn a hideous purple. Even if no bones were broken, my other wounds needed a good cleaning. I was unaware of the fact that Child and Family Services required a full report on the incident for my records, which was another reason I needed to be seen by a doctor. I was given something mild for pain before the men carried me to the car. Within minutes we were on our way to the Ste. Anne Hospital. On the way, I filled in my foster family on what had happened.

  The rest of the night was a fog. At some point a kindly nurse gave me a shot in my hip to help with the pain. I am assuming it was Demoral or something similar. I vaguely recall being rolled into X-ray, where images were taken of my arm and my ankle. The only reason I remember it, was the excruciating pain I experienced whenever the nurse moved my damaged limbs one way or the other to get a better picture. Examination revealed that nothing was broken, but I was missing a lot of skin along my right side. Before the needle, the pain was unbearable.

  At this point, I am glad the nurses drugged me. I had gravel imbedded deeply in my skin, pavement fragments, and wool fabric fibers. Each one had to be removed with a pair of tweezers. Of course the wound