That afternoon is a blur in my memory. I pedalled to Jeeva’s place, where Kandy Road met the Cross Junction. Jeeva’s mum greeted me with a steaming cup of tea. I couldn’t resist her tea, rich with sweetened milk, a delight to brighten up a late afternoon.
I lounged on their porch, stroking Jeeva’s dog, gulping the tea slowly. Then it hit me: I had promised to meet my friends at the church. I jumped on my bicycle and raced along the tight street. The church would be locked, but I knew my friends would be waiting on the usual hangout’s front steps.
The church loomed in the distance. I bumped along the uneven asphalt, cutting across Old Kandy Road, aiming for the church. Then I spotted Cyril strutting with a cigarette in his mouth, heading for the church. I swerved the bicycle and hit the brakes hard, hoping to stop at Cyril’s feet. I couldn’t keep my balance, and in a flash, I was on the ground, sprawled on the rough gravel. My head would hit the ground hard, and I put on my hands to protect myself. That cushioned the impact, and luckily my head was spared.
I felt stunned. Cyril ran over and picked me up, but I was in bad shape. My glasses lay on the ground. It’s funny to think that the first thing I did was look for my glasses and see if they were broken. Fortunately, they were not. The front wheel of my bicycle was twisted like a pretzel. This was my father’s bicycle, the only thing that kept our family mobile. I felt a surge of dread, imagining how to face my father.
Cyril held me up and then brought my right hand to the light. Then I noticed the blood running from my elbow. Suddenly, the pain hit me. By then, a few boys had joined Cyril. He told one boy to watch my bicycle and checked my elbow. I was now red-faced. Falling off a bicycle was bad enough, but to fall flat was embarrassing, and to be hurt was worse. All that was in full public view, in front of everyone. My fall was now a spectacle.
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Cyril looked me over for more wounds. My knees were safe. My T-shirt had blood stains. But I was more worried about the bicycle. I kept asking Cyril if my bicycle could be fixed without my father noticing it had been damaged. Cyril calmly told one of the boys to take the bicycle to Udaya’s bicycle repair shop.
Throughout this ordeal, I felt safe with Cyril. He came to me in difficult and awkward situations like getting drunk and being near molested.
Cyril cradled me in his arms and whisked me across the street. He gently laid me down on Lal’s doorstep and checked my wound. It was still oozing blood. He urged me to go to the clinic and get stitches. I shrugged it off as a minor scratch, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He commandeered a bicycle from a nearby kid and hoisted me onto the seat. He pedalled like mad to the nearest clinic. I sat on the exam table, waiting for the doctor to show up. He finally did, with a nurse in tow, both wearing white. She scrubbed my elbow with some stinky stuff, then left. The doctor came back with a needle and thread. He sewed me up with the nurse’s help. I didn’t feel any pain, just worry. I kept thinking about the bent and broken bicycle and how I would face my father. Cyril paid the doctor’s fees, some five Rupees.
After surviving the nightmare at the clinic, Cyril and I zoomed back to Udaya’s place. He gave back the bike he had borrowed from his pal. Udaya worked his magic on the bike and made it look good as new. He saw my bandaged elbow and felt sorry for me. He said he wouldn’t take any money to fix the bike. That was lucky because I was almost broke. I only had a couple of Rupees in my pocket.
When I reached home, I had much explaining to do to my mother. My father just checked on my elbow. He didn’t even look at his bicycle, his precious ride. I felt elated.
That night, I hit the sack early and slept like a baby.
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