Flashbacks

This short story uses the flashback technique to tell episodes of childhood adventures.

Flashbacks

I glanced to my left. The black pickup truck coming out of the parking lot of the music store would hit me in about a tenth of a second. I rode my one-speed bicycle on the sidewalk to avoid being hit by a car. I had no time left. I could only face forward and hope I got out of the way in time.
The driver must have looked only for traffic from her left. This makes sense. Everyone knows that all traffic is only in the right-hand lane. I was the exception to the rule. The truck hit my bicycle. The Truck immediately stopped. It stopped soon enough to avoid throwing me across the street or into a passing car. As it was, the truck struck only my left-hand knuckles. Since I was holding tightly to my bike's curved handlebars, the truck's momentum went into the handlebars. From the handlebars, it went into the front wheel. The wheel turned, and I found myself heading for the street. Instantly, I allowed the bike to fall to my left and slid off the bike, landing on my feet in the street, only a foot from the sidewalk edge. While holding onto the bike's handlebars, I walked it to the sidewalk.
I ride one of those old-fashioned bikes. They were popular in 1955 but required fenders then. It has thick balloon-type tires, high handlebars so I can sit up and hold on to them, and coaster brakes, but it has no fenders to keep the mud off my back when it rains.
How did it happen that I was here, on North Monroe Street, about a mile from the center of town, to be struck by a black truck?
I had been going to the small appliance store on 5th Avenue to check if they had repaired my VCR yet. As usual, in my absent-minded manner, I had ridden my bike about a block past 5th Avenue when I realized my error. I hesitated. Should I go back to the small appliance store, or should I go on to the university? I decided to go back. So, I pushed off and started pedaling. I did not anticipate my being struck by the truck moments later.
After I reached the sidewalk with my bike, I turned and examined the pickup truck’s cab. For a moment, I studied the lady driving and the younger lady in the passenger’s seat, who was probably the driver's daughter. I could tell that they were upset. The driver said, "I didn't see you! Are you alright?"
"Of course. I'm fine; I wasn't hurt at all." I wanted them to feel better and not to worry. So, I looked carefully at the driver to see how she would respond as I said, "These things happen occasionally. The best we can do is take them as a lesson for next time."
She immediately said, "Exactly!"
I turned away, perhaps embarrassed that I had underestimated her. I had expected her to take longer to appreciate my statement. I rode away, but stopped after a few moments, looking back to see the truck as it turned into the street and vanished in the distance. This lady had made quite an impact on me, and I probably would never see her again.
I pondered the irony as I shoved my bike forward and jumped up on it to continue my journey. I had just learned that drivers about to turn right from a parking lot into a busy street are looking leftward down the street. They do not anticipate bicycles coming from their right. I've learned many lessons in my life the hard way. One of my earliest lessons in life was to be careful around wet cement.
***
I'm three years old. A neighbor is having workers make a walkway to his house from the street. They have just poured a slab of cement. My older brother and his two friends are having fun jumping over it. I want to play with them. I jump. I do not jump over the cement slab. I jump into the middle of it. Plop. I roll over to get up. This results in cement getting all over me. I'm lucky the workman who made the cement slab saw what happened and pulled me out.
My mother answered the knock on the door. "Lady, is this your kid?"
She screamed when she saw me covered from head to toe with cement. "Oh my God! What happened?"
The workman said, "I jerked him out of the cement. "
***
I round the corner of 5th Avenue. It has been several weeks since I dropped off the VCR at the store. I anticipate that it will not be ready this time either. But since I pass the store on my way to the university, it’s trivial to check anyway. I will be patient if it's not ready.
Over the years, I've learned the value of patience. One of my first lessons in patience was learned in elementary school.
***
I'm in third grade. "Hey, there, squirt. Whatcha doing here? You don't belong here. You're too little."
I stare at the big kid. He's not nice. This surprises me. I thought everyone was nice to small kids. I don't say anything. And I don't think I'm too little. Indeed, I'm quite small for my age. My mother kept me home for an extra year before letting me go to first grade, claiming I was too small. I'm 9 years old now.
Later, I complained about the big kid to my older brother, who’s in fifth grade. "Don't worry about him. He won't be here next year." This is not the answer I wanted, but it makes sense. I decided to endure the big kid until the end of the year. But I didn't have to wait a year. My parents moved to a different town soon after that. I left that school before the big kid did!
***
The VCR wasn't ready. It did not bother me. I have practiced not being upset or angry about things for many years. I first resolved to control my anger when I was nine years old.
***
I'm sitting in the corner reading a comic book, and my five-year-old sister is pestering me. "Come on, Lucky. Play with me."
I don't want to be interrupted. "No! I'm busy reading. Go play somewhere else."
She continues to pester me. After a while, I became mad. I got up and approached her. She doesn't know what's coming. I take her left arm, between the wrist and elbow, in both my hands, and twist it. She screams.
Mom comes and yells, "What's going on here? Stop that this instant!".
"She wouldn't let me read my comic book."
Mom's voice is quite loud. "You should never hurt anyone because you are mad."
At first, I was surprised. Then I realized my mistake. I've hurt my little sister. It was because I was mad. How can I avoid hurting her again? The easiest way is to avoid anger. I mostly kept my vow. I was never mad at her again. However, I sometimes got angry at other people.
***
Since the VCR was not ready, I continued my journey to the university. I'm on the way to music school. Last week I applied to use their computer lab. I can learn music when I get permission to use the lab,

I have striven for self-reliance for a long time. A hurricane fence was probably only one of many things that taught me to be self-reliant.
***
I'm 11 years old. A sign on the steel-spiked fence around the schoolyard had the name "Hurricane Construction Company". My friend and I discussed why the school needed a fence around it. I decided it was to keep us kids in the yard.
So, I decided to test how effective it is. I had never climbed a fence before, but I quickly learned to support my weight by standing on the fence wires while using my arms to pull myself upward. I climbed to the top easily, then paused.
Those spikes look dangerous. I must put my leg between the spikes. I swing my leg up and over and down. It does not come down between the spikes. My leg comes down directly on one of the very sharp spikes! Ouch! I felt only a brief, sharp pain as the spike brushed the pain nerves just below the skin. The spike is inside the back part of my leg. I'm stuck!
I test my position by leaning backward slightly while making sure I do not move my leg. I cannot move in any direction. I must not move, or the spike will tear my leg. My arms will soon get tired of holding me in this position. My friend looks at me, not knowing what to do. I told him to go get help.
He merely stood there. He couldn't help me.. After a minute, I realized that I must help myself. I focused on my leg and told myself to lift it straight off the spike. I slowly lifted my leg. When my leg is off the spike, I can swing my leg around and climb back down the fence. My friend has vanished. I assume that he has gone to get help.
I'm limping for a week after this, but I never tell any grownup, not even my parents, about this misadventure.
***
I am thinking about my application for the music lab account. I was not automatically permitted because I'm not a music major. I asked the instructor in my music theory class for an endorsement. Last week, he gave me a letter to take to Charlie, the guy responsible for letting me have the account. I anticipate that my being a grad student instructor doesn't pull enough weight to get me in.
But I'm a quite peaceful guy. I imagine myself suggesting to Charlie that he ask some of my VIP friends, like Lisa King, the first violin in the music school concerts, or George Applebee, the dean of the music school. I'm not worried. I'm used to peacefully getting my way.
Why I've been a very peaceful guy almost all my life.
***
I'm in fifth grade. At the end of the school day, I'm walking toward the school bus parking lot. Suddenly, I noticed a younger kid and his older brother standing in the shade of an oak tree.
The younger brother pointed to me and said, "That's him." The older brother angrily walked at a deliberate pace over to me. I stood my ground, wondering what was going on.
When he reached me, he began to hit me. I had no reason to fight with him, so I did not hit back. After a few blows, I decided I should try to defend myself and began blocking his fists aimed at me. Fortunately, at that moment, the teacher arrived. I presumed the kid next to the teacher had alerted her to the fight.
The teacher separated us. "What's going on here?"
I cried. It wasn't right that I should be picked on because someone made a mistake. "It was a case of Mistaken Identity."
"What? Why were you fighting?"
I repeated, "It was a case of mistaken identity."
The teacher frowned. "I don't want to see you two fighting again."
I nodded and, fighting my tears, continued to the bus stop.
***
I've arrived at the university. As I cross the street to the music building, I wonder why I'm thinking about my recent near accident with a black pickup truck. Then I realized why. It is on this very street where I had a similar bike accident years ago.
***
It occurred several years ago during the 5:00 rush traffic at the end of the workday. I stood on the sidewalk holding my bike, looking across the street, waiting for an opportunity to cross. Finally, the way was almost clear.
The lane on my side of the street was clear, and the cars on the other side were stopped at the stop sign. At last! I can take a chance to cross. It's risky, but I think I can make it. I started to walk my bike across, and then began to run with it. As I approached the front of the stopped car in the far lane, I hopped onto my bike to coast away from it in the direction it was going. I stood up to pedal away from the stopped car behind me as quickly as possible.
Suddenly, I felt a severe jolt on the back wheel in the direction I was going. Then I stood on the ground, looking at my bike sprawled about three feet ahead. I looked back at the car that had just knocked my bike out from under me and stopped just short of hitting me.
I presumed that the driver had started very fast from the stop sign, and immediately stopped when she realized I was in front of her. The driver was upset. I picked up my bike and walked it over to the passenger's side of the car. I peered in the window and gave her a questioning look.
She asked, "Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"You appeared out of nowhere. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. I wasn't hurt at all."
"What about your bike?"
"My bike is ok. I can still ride it."
She was still upset, but I couldn't do anything about it. I turned and rode away. I looked back in time to see her start up again and drive away.
***
I still remember that. So that's why I'm extra careful when crossing this street with the three-way stop signs. As I cross the street, I can't help but think about my previous bike accidents. In most of them, I have not been hurt in the least. Only once did a bike accident seriously injure me.
***
Usually, I ride on the sidewalk because it seems much safer. This time, I broke my rule. On my way to work, there is a steep hill. It would be fun to coast downhill on my bike.
I'm coasting down the steep hill. I'm probably up to about 30 mph.
A car passes me on my left. The lady on the passenger's side gives me an intense look. I don't realize it's a warning. The car's driver makes a right-hand turn toward his driveway seconds after passing me. I'm only a few seconds from impact. I stand on my coaster brakes, but my panic probably caused me to put force on both pedals, reducing my braking power. My bike begins to slow down, but it's too late to avoid a collision.
At the last moment, I let the front bike tire hit the car's back fender. As I fall off the bike, I look at the car and the lady sitting on the passenger side. I caught myself on my left hand. All the force of my fall went into my left wrist.
I didn't know at the time that my wrist was completely shattered. I picked myself up and, with my right hand, picked up the bike. I couldn’t use my left hand at all. The car stopped when I hit it. After I picked myself and my bike up, the driver drove into his driveway. Then they both got out.
The lady asked, "Are you okay?".
I cradled my injured wrist and said, "I'm fine."
The lady looked doubtful. "Can we call someone for you?"
I did not want to miss work. I could still type with one hand. "No, that's ok. I'll be fine."
I then began to walk my bike the rest of the way to work. My wrist did not hurt. I looked at it. It seemed to be out of shape. With my right hand, I took hold of my left hand and pulled it gently until it looked more normal. Then I continued my walk to work.
***
Back to the Present moment. I park my bike and enter the music building. I found Charlie's office.
Just as I stood in the doorway to his office, Lisa King came out of the room across the hall. "Lucky, what are you doing here?"
I gestured toward Charlie. "Last week I applied to use the computer lab, and I'm checking to see if it was approved." I thought maybe Charlie could overhear us. It would be perfect if he did.
"They'd better approve it. It should be automatic for you!"
"Thank you."
I walked into Charlie's office as Lisa went on her way. I saw the endorsement letter from my instructor on the corner of his desk. I go over and point to the letter.
Charlie looks at me. "This is ok since Lisa knows you. And of course, around here, Lisa is King."