Learning To Love You More




Assignment #11
Photograph a scar and write about it.

Tanya Trishchuk
Vancouver, Washington



It happened when I was eight.
On a sunny afternoon in the summer.
Good bicycles were scarce during that time in Ukraine. But my brother was fortunate enough to have two bicycles, one of which he gave to our cousin Mike.
My brother happened to be away from home for the day and I had full liberty to use his bike. My cousin Mike was visiting. My cousin and I were at my grandma's house and both had our bikes.
Being adventurous and dare-devily that I was, I suggested to him to race to my house, which was five houses down.
He being five years older than me, having the experience of riding a bike for five years more than I have, and being intelligent enough to know what this kind of a race can entail, agreed without hesitation.
Before him no one would dare to race on such a terrain.
The only streets that were paved were the main roads. The peripheral streets in the neighborhoods were in such condition that it was enough to drive for one mile have your alignment go completely out of whack. One mile on our street was enough to have parts fall out from underneath the car because of severe jerking. Every few feet there were artificial rocks made of cement lying around. Their size ranged from a small pebbles sized rocks to rocks as big a man's fist. These are the kind of streets we had to ride our bikes on.
To begin the race, both of us started in the middle of the street in front of our grandma's house behind our imaginary Start line.
After the first few seconds my cousin was way in front of me. I desperately wanted to catch up with him, so I paddled as hard as I could. I soon realized the mistake that I did.
Half way to my house I spotted the biggest rock that I could possible find on the street and realized I was heading towards it. It was too late to swerve. I closed my eyes and committed myself to fate. I don't know what happened next, but when I opened my eyes, I was on the ground with the brake handle wrapped in my skirt inside the front of my thigh.
Naturally I was in shock and didn't feel anything. I took the break handle out, took the skirt out and limped home.