There I was, little miss twelve year old, standing on the corner of a busy boulevard, pressing the walk button, and leaning a 5-speed bike against my left hipbone. I was watching the traffic flow by, waiting patiently for the WALK sign to illuminate. The opposing traffic’s light turned red, and-not-a-second-later the capital letters blinked, prompting me to forge ahead.
Hands firmly planted on the handlebars, my left foot on the left pedal, my right foot pushed off the ground, setting me in motion; then, my leg swung over the narrow seat so I could straddle it. The spin of the pedals rotated the chain, moving me and the bike forward. About half-way across BAM! a car struck me, knocking me to the ground, where my head smashed onto the paved road. I was knocked unconscious, for-how-long-I-don’t-know-but-not-too-long, when suddenly I opened my eyes, rubbed my head, and realized I was causing a traffic jam.
I was extremely embarrassed.
I stood up, and-was-probably-helped-by-someone-but-I-can’t-remember-those-details, then I wobbled my way to the opposing corner from which I had come. Next thing I knew medics were asking me if I was okay. Still overwhelmingly self-conscious I told them yes, looked up and saw my brother Greg standing there, probably by happenstance. I didn’t need any medical attention I adamantly told them, that I just wanted to walk home.
My brother rushed into the house alerting my parents to the fact I had been hit by a car as I was crossing the street. As any parent would, my mom gasped and checked me over, finding a deep gash in my head. I was taken to the hospital where I received some stitches to close up the hole created when I fell.