Memoir

That day started just like any other typical day.  Sunny, a couple clouds, a slight breeze.  I was riding my bike up and down the hill that was my grandparents' road.  The road was cracked like a broken mirror  and desperately needed to be filled in with tar. It was summer, and summer in Wisconsin was that time of year when you get so many mosquito bites it looks like you have chicken pox. (Honestly, I don't know why anyone would want to live in a state that's full of people that look like diseased cheeseheads.)

So there I was, being a kid, when yet another blasted mosquito came and bit my arm. At this point, I was riding down the hill, so I didn't want to let go of the handle bars.  But it itched so bad! Leaving the safety of the handlebars, I let go with one arm and scratched the other.  I was gifted one glorious moment of relief before the front wheel of the bike hit a big crack in the road. I flew off the bike and landed on the ground with a thud.

Shakily, I stood up and reached up to take off my helmet (Thank God I had worn it).  As I moved my right arm, pain shot from my elbow to my shoulder.  Tears welled in my eyes as I cradled my arm and started walking back to the house.

As I walked up the pebbled driveway, I saw my brother staring at me. Just staring at me.  Why isn't he doing anything to help me? I would later learn that he thought that I was just freaking out because I saw a bug.  (Yeah, like I'm the one who freaks out at bugs.)

When I walked through the door, my mom heard me crying and she quickly came over to me.  She walked me to the bathroom and sat me down on the edge of the bathtub.  When I had calmed down, she asked me what happened and what hurt.  I told her what happened and that my right shoulder and elbow hurt the most.  My dad dropped in the bathroom and instead of asking whether or not I was okay, he asked where my bike was. "Oh, real nice Peter." My mom said.

"What?  I don't want the bike to get ran over."

"Your daughter is bleeding!"

Through gritted teeth, I told him that I had left my bike and my helmet on the side of the road.  He left and my mom shook her head and started cleaning the graze on my knee.

By the time my dad had come back in the house, my knee had been cleaned and my elbow and shoulder were covered in Neosporin and gauze pads.  Chuckling softly, my dad handed me my helmet and pointed to the dent on the right side.  "That dent would have been in your head had you not worn your helmet."

Shivering slightly, I set the helmet aside and almost subconsciously felt the side of my head.  A couple cuts and bruises were nothing compared to brain damage. Just imagine if you had gotten permanent brain damage just from one little measly mosquito bite.....