He's Dead. I Think.
“ Son, are you okay?” I opened my eyes and looked up at the face of a man I was pretty sure I should recognize. The summer sun haloed his head as he leaned over me, and offered his hand. “Let me help you up.” That's when I realized I was not “up”. I was lying on my back in the middle of the road, in a patch of loose gravel. As he pulled me to my feet, I noticed my wrecked bicycle to my left, bent at the crossbeams and the front fork. He put my bike in the back of his pickup truck, guided me to the front seat, and drove this disoriented 16-year-old around the corner and up the hill to my house. My mom met us outside, and I was delivered into her care. My brother stared at me open-mouthed as I walked by. My sister got strangely angry when I asked her “again” what day it was, and I couldn't understand why everyone wanted to know how bad my face was hurting. Dad was called home, and off I was carted to the doctor, then the ER. I had a concussion, and asphalt in the le
