What life lesson did you learn too late?
At the time I was living in a very small-minded, big-hearted town nestled between mountains and a dying rust belt city. The overwhelming stench of nearby mushroom plants was something that was always there. The wind direction determined if it was your day. Most people in my hometown did not like the idea of mushroom plants. Many people who worked in the plant were fron San Juan. Unfortunately, most of the people in my hometown think that Puerto Rico is a far-off country.
This paradox was a reason I enjoyed going for a ride in the place where I was born. I was a mess, and it took me a long time to find my helmet and my water bottle. The first mile was straight downhill, and I was feeling energized and on top of my game. My mind wondered off to the hoagie I was going to enjoy after the bike ride. In Berks County, Friday nights are hoagie night.
I pedaled with trepidation, as I was never a master bike mechanic. The wind was annoying at best given my current bike riding ability. Confidence whispered quietly in my ears, urging me to go where I pleased. You never sit back and enjoy the place where you grew up, and I was mesmerized by the beauty of the day. Light and color hit my senses perfectly; I did not notice the warning signs ahead. Admittedly, I took my eyes off the road, as a woman in a flowing cotton dress strolled confidently down the street. I knew that woman from many years ago. We would talk about music and art. I remember talking to her wanting to know increasingly about her. This girl was so different, and I liked that very much. It made me a much more curious person. It was the first time in my life I was deeply interested in what somebody had to say. There would be many more. I had completely forgot about her existence until I saw her strolling down the street on that day.
We all have moments of carelessness; I found myself blindsided by the truth in the form of a speeding energy efficient automobile. It was not a direct hit a tangential nudge into cinders left over from a winter storm. With every catastrophe, it came at a tough time.
Confusion pain and wonder engulfed my senses as I slowly regained consciousness. I honestly expected to be dead. Dazed and disoriented, I found myself lying amidst what I perceived an interview at the pearly gates. Heaven is a made-up concept, yet my mind went there anyway. My bike was mangled and admittedly no worse for the wear. Initially utter panic and despair gripped my heart however something deep inside me hinted that everything is going to be all right.
We dream all our lives so when we stop dreaming who are we to know the difference. A sparkling woman emerged from the crowd. More likely she appeared from my slumber, while concerned onlookers gathered around the accident scene. A man in his mid fifties, looked at me for awhile and said, “Didn’t you used to play third base for our local ball team?” I picked a few rocks out of my soiled thigh and a presence was illuminating the darkest corners of my distress. It floated in the corner of my consciousness with grace and ethereal charm. Somebody comforted me and tended to my wounds. I was a lot less hurt than it appeared. I had a bunch of stones in my legs and the sweat stung acrid like. A certain beauty emanated a healing energy that transcended the physical realm.
I knew of her presence radiating in the street. It was a wicked accident, and it certainly could have been a lot worse. I had never been through something so close to death other when I had a heart attack thirty years later. Of course, I did not know that at the time.
Like a watercolor in the rain, she simply disappeared or she was never there.
And it is like riding a bike. You simply must get on the bike and most everything will come back to you. From what I remember, I asked the guy who recognized me as a star third baseman, to give my partner a call. Back then we had a few phone numbers memorized and we used them often. It seems like I crashed in his front yard. I gave him a number to call, and he continued slowly to walk up the lush green lawn that led to his house. He certainly took his time, or he saw little urgency in the situation. More likely, he was an old man, and it took him a long time to get back to his house. In retrospect, how he got to the scene of the accident is still a mystery.
My brain was not quite working quite right as I sat sprawled next to my bike. At least it seemed that way. The sky seemed a deeper blue than usual and I sat and listened to birds talking from tree to tree. It was never something I would have taken the time to listen to.
And the girl appeared out of nowhere. She looked me deeply in the eyes like we knew each other from a different time and place. I sat bewildered, for a second or two until a voice broke through what felt like an illusion. I thought she disappeared.
“Are you going to be all right?” She said while giving a gentle furtive wink. I stood and looked at her without saying a word. She smiled broadly. I smirked.
“Yes I am.”
At that point, the man in search of the phone returned carrying a large glass of lemonade. Not trying to be purposely hyperbolic, it was the most delicious glass of lemonade I ever had. I was so damn thirsty.
“Your ride home will be here soon. She seems like a nice girl.”
“She is the best.”
“Did you ever learn to play third base.”
“No”
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I ran across this essay. I wrote a while ago and there’s so much in here including 86 grammar mistakes and a few dangling participles. The story of the bicycle wreck is absolutely true. The girl in the sundress at the accident scene as a figment of my imagination. This person represents the creative people I met along the way who gave me the courage to tell a story or paint a picture..There are a few of those in my life.
My story also represents a little more than that as deep down inside my hometown was not where I wanted to live. I was a very good baseball player, but I didn’t play third base., Somebody thought I did.
I would love to hear you opinion as well