episode 3

That‘s why we started practicing in secret. I‘d tell Amy that we were just going to ride around the block. We‘d both pedal until the house was out of sight, then we‘d blast off toward the hills wearing the same conspiratorial grin. He was good too, fearlessly bouncing down cliffs and rocky slopes that would have even given me pause. Every day he came home a little stronger, and a little more confident than the day before. Every day I knew it was worth all the exhaustion and sneaking around, because he was going to be the best and I was going to be the one who made it happen. That is, until the day when it wasn‘t worth it anymore. We‘d just gotten home from a trick competition at the skate park, although it was hardly fair since Andrew was still 8 and all the other kids were teenagers. Andrew slipped up while trying a nose-wheelie, and was disqualified before even getting to show off what he‘d been practicing. We were both so frustrated, but I was still proud of him for not wasting any time and getting straight back to the hillside to practice. I could tell he wasn‘t being cautious this time. It was my fault for applauding and egging him on to tackle bigger boulders and obstacles. When you‘re disappointed, you can either give up or try harder, and I just didn‘t want my boy to quit. When he asked if I thought he could ramp off a rock to clear the ravine, I told him what I thought he needed to hear. ―You can do anything you put your mind to,‖ I said. We were wrong for believing in each other. I shouted when I saw his back tire slipping right before he made the jump, but it was already too late to do anything about. The bike pitched forward and hurled him straight over the handlebars, twisting the bike around on top of him as he flipped. Long before I heard the grotesque snapping of his impact, I knew he wasn‘t going to walk away from this alright. Maybe if I hadn‘t pushed him so hard. Or so soon. Maybe if I hadn‘t allowed my own guilt and fear to make me hesitate before I plunged into the ravine after him, then maybe I could have saved him. It took a full ten seconds of listening to his agonized groans before I could force myself to gaze down at what used to be my son. He‘d landed directly on his head, but the helmet did nothing to prevent his neck twisting halfway around his body under the power of the impact. He‘d been jarred so hard that part of his spine ruptured straight through his skin to greet the air with a bloody shine. Screw competing. If he even survived a trip to the hospital, then I‘d still spend the rest of my life feeding him with a spoon. But this was my fault and he was my son, so there could never be a choice. I took the first step of the never ending journey down the slope toward him. ―Let‘s go home, Dad.‖ The words should have been enough to bring tears to my eyes, but instead I froze in the grip of absolute terror. It wasn‘t my son who said it – I didn‘t even know if my son could talk anymore. I turned slowly, careful not to lose my grip on the pebbled earth and topple helplessly down the ravine. ―I‘m okay Dad. Let‘s go.‖ Andrew – or at least someone who looked exactly like my son, all the way down to his freckles and the mustard stain on his sleeve – was waiting for me on the top of the hill. Back down the ravine, I still saw the twisted and broken version of the same boy lying there. ―Come on,‖ the unharmed Andrew said. ―Race you back.‖

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