Assignment

My first English 121 Assignment:

"The tearing crunch of gravel spoke directly to my memory. It threw me back over seven years ago, over the handlebars onto the path of a park in Mt. Albert. As I blinked and turned around visions of a ten-year-old’s exaggerated injuries crossed my eyes and I started to think about that evening; that moment when I sat, still dazed and tumbled, blinded by the simple realization that the world- and the people who live on it- is not as kind as we think.

It had been one of my father’s failed attempts at getting me into exercise. He was tall and thin, dark-haired and a bit of a fitness freak; I was blonde, short and chubby, so it was inevitable that he would endeavor to turn me to the dark side. I was somewhat unimpressed by all this, but he was my dad and I had to humour him.
Every evening after dinner we would go for a bike ride through the local park. I had to have an escort, because it was the kind of park where people hung out and smoked strange smelling cigarettes and dumped trolleys from Pak n’ Save in the creek. The pathways through it were made of loose, chunky gravel, hazardous at best for an inexperienced cycler. Dad was teaching me how to use the gears, as up till then my own personal choice of wheels had been pink and sparkly with a back-pedal brake and streamers on the handlebars. He was always telling me to push harder, especially on the inclines. At the time I thought he just wanted me to “challenge myself”, but this wasn’t the case; and like so many childhood accidents waiting to happen, I didn’t listen.
On one particular hill I was slowing near the top. One tiny, inconsequential handlebar movement later and I was in the air, flying sideways, the wheels of my ten-speed ripping through the gravel as it toppled. With a sound like the tearing of a dove’s wings, I landed, sliding for metres, bewildered and panting.

My family used to call me a “drama queen”, and make out that the things that I got worked up about were trivial, and I was just looking for attention. But the truth is I was never very good with attention. If I’ve been upset by something and somebody tries to be nice to me, it only makes me cry more. If I’ve fallen, I’d rather people just left me be, because I get so embarrassed. But if I ever needed attention, I made enough fuss to get noticed. If I ever needed comfort, it was then.

“Are you alright?” My dear father said, laughter shaking his words slightly. I know now that this is a male thing- they can’t help but laugh at people falling over- but at the time I couldn’t believe that he could be so condescending.
“No, no, I’m not alright!” I responded hysterically.
Dad pedaled over to me and sat on his own mountain bike like a disapproving statue, towering over me. “Come on,” He said. “Get up.”
I found this such an inadequate response that I didn’t even try to comply. I just sat there, defeated and hurting, as my many scrapes and cuts began to sting and bleed.

All this jumped through my head in an instant when I heard that sound again, the tearing of someone’s pride, happiness and skin all at once. The scrape of flesh and metal against concrete. I turned around on the stairs and saw a boy who looked around my age half sitting, half lying on the ground. Without thinking, without even alerting the friend I was walking with, I rushed back down the steps. An instinct as strong as motherhood and not far from it urged me to run to this boy’s side. I crouched and extended my hand to him and saw my ten-year-old face gaze back up at me out of memory, dazed and confused and upset.
I knew what we were thinking, both my child self and this young man. True altruism is becoming rarer and rarer in this world. With our mouths we say, “Yes, I do help people when they are in need”. With our minds, we begin to quietly reel off exceptions. Unless I’m too busy. Unless I’m running late. Unless there’s lots of people watching. Unless they are fat, ugly, poor, rich, black, white, Asian…
Since that evening seven years ago, I’ve made my mind echo my mouth. I help people in need. No exceptions.
Today I can’t figure out why the fallen boy sat there so long, why he didn’t take my hand and get up. The look on his face still baffles me; he looked childlike, astounded… as if he had found his own epiphany in the dust."