Momentous Happenings

Most of life is a series of coincidences.

Jeff is a lanky ten-years old, too tall for his old kid's bike, not tall enough to ride his dad's. When Mark and Dennis came to ask him out on a ride, a balanced, adult person would have said 'I'm sorry, I'll have to pass'. But Jeff is a kid, and doesn't want to let his friends down, and his life is all measured on a complex balance of the fear of missing out and the invisible sanctity of friendship bonds, that he'll swear will last forever.

Dennis said he could ride on the back of his bike, and they'll drive in turns; that looked like a perfect solution.

Coincidences.

The city had been built on a hill. Old European city. Story goes, it used to be near a river once; but it kept getting attacked by pirates, so it was razed and rebuilt on a safer spot. Nobody can elaborate on when this foundation myth took place or who the citizens were back then. Yet, the city is on a hill, with steeps slopes leading back and to the old center.

We're talking a 45°, maybe 50° slope running down from the old walls to the high school. Asphalt road, barely wide enough to let one line cars in one direction. Just a strip of land for the walkway. Coincidences. Even on top of his friend's bike, Jeff can see the path down is steep.

It won't be a problem. They're going downhill after all. If they go in a line - Mark in front, Dennis and Jeff behind - there's enough space to sprint on the side of the slow cars, riding up.

Let's go back a bit, because Dennis' bike can't properly brake. How is that? Well, according to Dennis, Mark and some other friends taught it would be real funny if they cut his brakes off. Mark snickers at the recollection. Jeff has no way to check if this story is true, and if it is, he doesn't really understands it. After all there is no 'fun' when you write down 'vandalism', but maybe this is a concept Jeff would understand later, with more exposure to life than his ten years of age allow.

Let's refrain from pass judgement on Mark. Kids are kids. And they can be pretty inconsiderate.

So, ruminations aside, a fact remain: the bike has no brakes. This is quite true and tested. Mark, behind perched on the seat pack above the rear wheel, is in the perfect position to break with his feet. He just has to slam his heels into the ground and let attrition do the rest.

Circumstances are looking peachy.

Even at ten years old you can, however, hear the nagging voice of fear in your partially developed brain. This is not a good idea, it says. But they're young and their friends and most importantly, nobody can back down.

Mark goes first, immediately picking up speed on the mean slope. Dennis, who's driving, and Jeff, behind, follow up in his trail. The wind start howling in the boys' ears, blowing away fringes and loose hair. It's a straight way down. It's exhilarating. The street blurs in their side vision, and as Jeff holds fast to the bike's metal frame, he's happy.

Now, some one in the city council must have planned this road long ago. It ends up with a narrow roundabout, so narrow and steep, in fact, that old cars have to speed up if they hope to go up the slope without the engine dying on them. Chances dictates that the first exit on the right is also a slope.

They see the car turning right at their exit, climbing towards them. The driver is a fifty-something salesman specialized in farming equipment. He usually drives a truck, but today he's in his old white FIAT. The car - which used to help his father, an old farmer - purrs and sputters.

Mark sees it. And Mark can break, taking the elbow bend required to avoid the white car.

What about Jeff and Dennis? Well, of course, they see Mark turning sharp. They see the car, as well. Dennis' hands clamp on the non-functional brakes, as he steers towards the narrow walkway. Jeff's plants his feet against the street, trying to slow down, the road eating at his soles.

Of course, Jeff is not thinking that while his body is launched mid-air, above the car, in a parable that will eventually make him crash in the middle of the roundabout. It would be fair to say that Jeff is not thinking, hasn't got the time to, the last thing he thought was less than a minute before, that nagging voice of fear while they were on top of the slope and life was good.

Jeff didn't have time to think, but he did feel. As did Dennis, whose body kissed the car's front.

On the contrary, Mark will have plenty of time to think back to this day.

If Jeff had his own bike, if his parents had been less unfocused, if Jeff had staid home, if Dennis' bike could brake, if Mark had shared his bike instead, had they turned another way or chosen another path entirely...well, most of life is a series of coincidences.