Always Wear a Helmet

By William Jenkins

               My eyes shutter open while I pull my pillow over my head to block out the noise of the Morning Prayer, which echoes throughout the neighborhood on loud speakers.  These were my years in Malaysia, when I went to Mont Kiara International School.  One memory that will never fade was the day I had a magical encounter that ultimately saved my life.  It happened on my last day of school in Malaysia, when something should have gone wrong but didn't.

               Kicking up the bike stand and listening to the rust scrape and squeak, I was on my way out of school for the last time and headed to my friend Cole’s house to meet up with friends.  Once at Cole’s house none of us hopped off our bikes because we were too eager to ride around his neighborhood.  As the dust clouds were kicking up Cole’s younger brother stood like a rock in a stream and would not let me pass.  He bombarded me with demands that I wear his helmet even though he let his older brother go without one.  This sort of thing never happened with him. He was always quiet, especially around older kids, so it was very strange to see him get so worked up about my helmet.  So with a sullen face, I ran over, snatched the helmet, and sped off to catch up with everyone, I didn’t realize at the time that Cole’s younger brother might have saved my life.

               I had thought about just taking the helmet off when he was out of sight, but for the first time it did not bother me at all.  With the hot sun beaming down on our backs, we began the decent down the giant hill. With the high pitch whistle of air reaching my ears I realized I had passed everyone.  After the first seconds of fun I noticed the stream of traffic below and I needed to hit the breaks, but when I did nothing happened.

               The crunch of the metal car hood made me think it was my leg at first.  Then the horn and screech of the breaks snapped me back into reality.  I was laying down in a daze and couldn’t really see that well.  All I could make out was the large dent in the silver Toyota and the pool of blood below my stomach.  The first person I made out was a large man with a turban looking directly at me with an angry expression. The high-pitched voices of my friends yelling at the guy and calling their parents for help rattled in my head.  He immediately sped off and left me there with my friends who got me to my feet and took the helmet off to examine the damage. 

               When I woke up in a hospital nothing made sense.  I kept asking the nurse when I was going to have surgery without realizing it had already happened.  My dad came rushing in and hugged me so tight, whispering “William you dumb ass, thank God you were wearing a helmet.”  
           I don’t think it was luck when Cole’s younger brother handed me his helmet: it had to have been some other force.  I could have died or been injured even worse had I not had a helmet on that day.  I’m very grateful to have magic save me before that bike ride, and I have always worn a helmet since.