Blood Red Bike

October 24, 2008
By Julia Miller, Reston, VA

The day cannot erase from my mind. I could tell you how my whole day happened. Every detail, every action, every word said as if it was yesterday. It all started on a hot, blistering summer day in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. What none of my friends and I knew was that life would, go stumble down a landslide faster than an avalanche.
Wayne, a good friend of mine was fifteen, and fearless. He never let the worst aspects of life bring him down. He was strong and powerful, and I always looked up to him when I was younger. Wayne’s best friend, Chris, was also with us, enjoying another summer away from school. At Wayne’s split-level house we celebrated his older sister, Joanne’s graduation from college. Everyone was having a good time. Wayne’s father was barbequing on the grill and hysterically laughing at Wayne’s jokes while his beer gut jiggled like Santa Claus. Wayne’s mom frantically ran around the house, keeping the guests entertained with cheese and crackers along with a fruit bunch beverage.
As night sky began to engulf the day, it became late in the evening. The celebrations started to come to life. Wayne’s mom wanted to carry on the party with fire works in the street. She glanced over at us and asked if we’d like to set them off. Immediately we jumped up from the plaid three-seat couch and shouted “Yes! Let us set them off!” The party poured out from the house onto the street, relaxing and getting comfortable in the grass and in the beds of trucks ready to see the show. We grabbed the lighters from Wayne’s mom’s hand and sprinted out to the explosions blasting off from the driveway. As we lit the fuses we ran far away from the ticking time bombs as fast as possible to avoid catching on fire. Beautiful streams of green, blue, red, gold, and purple burst high into the sky.
The night grew more eerie by the minuet. Bored out of our minds, Wayne, Chris, and I left the house, grabbed our bikes, and roamed the neighborhood. At the end of the court where Wayne lives is a four-way intersection. To the left, a long hill that ends in the middle of the intersection and on the corner there is a house with a wooden picket fence. The rest of the three roads are flat and contain tiny pebbles and rocks. As Chris and Wayne raced down the long hill street, I hunched over on the bike waiting to see who won at the bottom. After about three times of speeding down the ominous hill all hell broke loose. I was sitting at the top with Wayne while Chris was anxiously waiting for him at the bottom/ Wayne was going to speed down the incline and skid to a halt creating the largest skid mark he could.
He began peddling fast gaining speed becoming a dark blur as he approached the bottom. The unthinkable happened. As he was slamming on the breaks ready to skid, he lost control of the bike from the gravel on the paved road. Wayne flipped head first over the handlebars of the small bmx bike, flying forward he crashed into the wooden fence with only his head to break his fall. Unfortunately none of us were wearing a helmet that night thinking nothing would happen to us, we’d be careful, we’re invincible. Chris sprinted to Wayne laid unconscious against the ground. I ran down the hill as if I was being chased by a masked killer. Chris was doing everything in his power to keep Wayne alive, giving him CPR, trying to move him, and talking loudly to keep him from heading towards the light. I stood there watching my body stiff, my muscles tense and frozen like artic ice. I stared at the blood flowing from Wayne’s head, a waterfall of red, oozing liquid. I couldn’t move and Chris was begging me to call 9-1-1 to have a fighting chance to save Wayne. My body thawed and I dialed as fast as I could. Within minuets the ambulance arrived, speeding down the very hill that caused us so much pain. From the blank, white vehicle they pulled out a long stretcher to take away Wayne. As they sped off again rushing him to the nearest hospital, dozens of police cars came out from around the corner, lights flashing blue and red. Neighbors stumbled out of their homes, sleepy eyed from the lack of rest. Chris and I began answering a series of questions such as what happened. How did it happen? What were you three thinking?! I felt like I was taking a never ending exam.

It reached two in the morning by now and I was ready to wake up from this nightmare. Wayne’s family arrived in the crystal blue mini-van. His mom flew open the door and ran over to me crying her eyes out, all those tears made me feel like I was going to drown or she was going to drown herself in her pain. She threw her arms around me pleading to God asking him to forgive her for whatever sin she had done to deserve this. She held me in her arms making me feel like a lost and helpless child. After everyone shared their stories about what had occurred we were finally released to the hospital. We sat waiting for a sign to tell us everything was going to go the way we wanted. The doctor appeared through the swinging doors with a saddened look across his face. “I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Zindel, your son is dead.” Silence broke with everyone shocked. I remember Wayne’s mom shouting “No! No! No! Not my baby boy! This can’t be!” I began to cry knowing that one of my good friends, a boy whom I’ve known for years is now gone, but never to be forgotten. Who knew a summer day could feel as is you were taking a stroll with the devil in hell.
Months later, came Wayne’s 16th birthday. His dream was to have a mustang to call his own and drive it around to show off to his friends. That day Mr. and Mrs. Zindel had his car sitting in the driveway waiting for Wayne to come home and drive it. Across the windshield car paint wrote out “Happy 16th Birthday Wayne! We love you never forget that. We’ll see you in heaven one day driving that stang!”

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Swoon Reads

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!