Jessica Lantos
Narrative
“Paddles!”
“Right here doctor!”
“Charging...clear!”
There was still no sign of life. I closed my eyes.
“Charging…clear!”
Steadily, the monitor started its beeping once again.
“We’ve got him back guys!”
One, two, three, four…
Today is the day, today is the perfect day. I knew no other racer could stand the hot, humid weather and that smoky scent of Boston that hung in the air. I on the other hand, didn’t mind. I mean how could I, growing up in such a fine city.
Five, Six, Seven, Eight…
Eight people I have passed, the gold medal is so near! The first placer I knew personally. Tricky, conniving, 16 year old Charles Winkum’s sweat poured down his body. I could spot his greasy mop head and small head on his oddly large body from miles away. His annual victories are coming to an end today. I can feel it in my veins, this year is different then any other year. I’m stronger, more prepared, and determined.
Joe, my best friend of 8 years, was leaning against the old rusty fence that keeps the rowdy spectators afar. Hearing my name shouted from Joe’s direction, made me crack a little grin, but I disappointingly searched the faces for the old, gray one but whose features slightly resembled my own. Year after year it was the same routine. Year after year I knew I wouldn’t see its warm, blue eyes contradicting its cold heart.
It did not matter anyways, anymore. I meshed hard down on the pedals and kept my focus on Winkum. I couldn’t let my thoughts wonder anymore, not when I was this close. I wanted this more than anything. It is hard for many people to understand how winning a bike race could mean so much, but look at it in the perspective of a kid wanting desert. He knows he will have to eat his veggies, but that warm chocolate cake is so rewarding, a kid will do anything for it.
I want this more than anything; I want this more than anything. I want this more than you; I want this more than you. I am strong, I am not weak. I am strong, I am not weak. Pain builds character, pain builds character.
Pain shot through my left arm, so I kept rethinking my last though. Pain builds character, pain builds...
“OW”
Its ok, its ok…keep going. I pulled something lifting earlier, that is all. I didn’t stretch. You are so close, don’t pussy out now stupid. Keep going.
I felt like I could hear my heart pounding inside my head, like it had jumped in there and was clawing to get out. Why can’t I see? Everything is so blurry, that is just how fast I am going. Oh my chest, something is squeezing it, crushing it. It won’t let me breathe. Blackness.
I dialed 911 but someone had already beaten me to it. I could hear the ambulances sad tune and see its lights flashing. I watched them separate him from the mangled bike. Bloody, bruised, broken they wheeled him into the ambulance and it sped away. I didn’t hesitate to jump in my car and follow it with my sad blue eyes.
“18 year old male athlete Mike Callahan with sudden heart attack and possible concussion. Fractured arm from impact into the tree. Fighting for his life at this point.”
“We need to stitch, and bandage his head STAT”
At his lowest points, and his high points of his life he always thought he was alone. I could never suck up my pride and let him know I was watching him. How could I? I walked out. But today I walked in next to his bedside. His eyes opened, like a newborn baby’s would. He eyed the room, but then his eyes settled on mine. I grasped his hand in mine; he held on, he always does.
The monitor’s started beeping rapidly and like a scene out of one of my soap’s, a mob of nurses flooded into the room and pushed me out. Our grasp loosened. I winked at him. It was a strange thing to do at that moment, but it came almost automatically. It is all my brain would let me do as I was shoved and tossed out of the room.
I watched from the window as the monitor flat lined. I felt it was me who should be in there. How could a father even consider outliving his son?
“Paddles!”
“Right here doctor!”
“Charging...clear!”
There was still no sign of life. I closed my eyes.
“Charging…clear!”
Steadily, the monitor started its beeping once again.
“We’ve got him back guys!”
I
“I did it,” I thought, “I stayed alive! Can I see my dad?”
Narrative
“Paddles!”
“Right here doctor!”
“Charging...clear!”
There was still no sign of life. I closed my eyes.
“Charging…clear!”
Steadily, the monitor started its beeping once again.
“We’ve got him back guys!”
One, two, three, four…
Today is the day, today is the perfect day. I knew no other racer could stand the hot, humid weather and that smoky scent of Boston that hung in the air. I on the other hand, didn’t mind. I mean how could I, growing up in such a fine city.
Five, Six, Seven, Eight…
Eight people I have passed, the gold medal is so near! The first placer I knew personally. Tricky, conniving, 16 year old Charles Winkum’s sweat poured down his body. I could spot his greasy mop head and small head on his oddly large body from miles away. His annual victories are coming to an end today. I can feel it in my veins, this year is different then any other year. I’m stronger, more prepared, and determined.
Joe, my best friend of 8 years, was leaning against the old rusty fence that keeps the rowdy spectators afar. Hearing my name shouted from Joe’s direction, made me crack a little grin, but I disappointingly searched the faces for the old, gray one but whose features slightly resembled my own. Year after year it was the same routine. Year after year I knew I wouldn’t see its warm, blue eyes contradicting its cold heart.
It did not matter anyways, anymore. I meshed hard down on the pedals and kept my focus on Winkum. I couldn’t let my thoughts wonder anymore, not when I was this close. I wanted this more than anything. It is hard for many people to understand how winning a bike race could mean so much, but look at it in the perspective of a kid wanting desert. He knows he will have to eat his veggies, but that warm chocolate cake is so rewarding, a kid will do anything for it.
I want this more than anything; I want this more than anything. I want this more than you; I want this more than you. I am strong, I am not weak. I am strong, I am not weak. Pain builds character, pain builds character.
Pain shot through my left arm, so I kept rethinking my last though. Pain builds character, pain builds...
“OW”
Its ok, its ok…keep going. I pulled something lifting earlier, that is all. I didn’t stretch. You are so close, don’t pussy out now stupid. Keep going.
I felt like I could hear my heart pounding inside my head, like it had jumped in there and was clawing to get out. Why can’t I see? Everything is so blurry, that is just how fast I am going. Oh my chest, something is squeezing it, crushing it. It won’t let me breathe. Blackness.
I dialed 911 but someone had already beaten me to it. I could hear the ambulances sad tune and see its lights flashing. I watched them separate him from the mangled bike. Bloody, bruised, broken they wheeled him into the ambulance and it sped away. I didn’t hesitate to jump in my car and follow it with my sad blue eyes.
“18 year old male athlete Mike Callahan with sudden heart attack and possible concussion. Fractured arm from impact into the tree. Fighting for his life at this point.”
“We need to stitch, and bandage his head STAT”
At his lowest points, and his high points of his life he always thought he was alone. I could never suck up my pride and let him know I was watching him. How could I? I walked out. But today I walked in next to his bedside. His eyes opened, like a newborn baby’s would. He eyed the room, but then his eyes settled on mine. I grasped his hand in mine; he held on, he always does.
The monitor’s started beeping rapidly and like a scene out of one of my soap’s, a mob of nurses flooded into the room and pushed me out. Our grasp loosened. I winked at him. It was a strange thing to do at that moment, but it came almost automatically. It is all my brain would let me do as I was shoved and tossed out of the room.
I watched from the window as the monitor flat lined. I felt it was me who should be in there. How could a father even consider outliving his son?
“Paddles!”
“Right here doctor!”
“Charging...clear!”
There was still no sign of life. I closed my eyes.
“Charging…clear!”
Steadily, the monitor started its beeping once again.
“We’ve got him back guys!”
I
“I did it,” I thought, “I stayed alive! Can I see my dad?”
1 comment:
This reminds me of Lance Armstrong... haha
lameeee <3
Michelle
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