Buck Is Nearly Killed
Buck Is Nearly Killed
I pedaled as fast as I could, my bike zipping past stop signs, with just one thought: “Is he dead?”
I had to get home and let my parents know. Tears streamed down my face as I pedaled like mad.
It must have been an early August afternoon. Hot, and no school. Killer sun, thought the adults, and Great sun! I thought, as I always loved the summertime, and the heat, and the sun baking on my skin, turning me beautiful berry-brown and slick as an otter, my skinny little body like an overdone enchilada. Mixed image, I know.
The carnival’s here! That was the cry in the neighborhood and, yes, the traveling carnival was setting up in the field over by the school.
What’s been set up is the roller coaster. The steel beams were in place, and three cars sitting on the tracks, at the bottom of that first hill. And no one around to prevent mischief. Nothing to be done but for the kids to push the cars up that hill, and jump into a car before it can pick up speed, and ride it all the down and up and down and around until you’re back where you started, at the bottom of that damn hill again. Nothing for it but to go through the whole adventure again, and again, and again…
At the end of one trip, I found it had gone very, very badly. Buck had not been able to jump back into the coaster car, but had hung onto the side of the car long enough for an upright steel beam to knock him off. I ran over to see him on the ground, and was horrified to see his pants ripped, his buttocks torn and hanging open, the raw flesh exposed and bloody.
By the time I got home I was so distraught that I could barely tell Mom and Dad what had happened; I think I gave the impression that Buck was dead or dying. Horrified, they rushed off, leaving me there to sob and worry..
Buck was home from the hospital that evening, a large number of stitches holding his rear end together. I was thereafter terrified of roller coasters.