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I’m looking for Shelby when I hear the boy’s bike sputter and die. He topples over in one of the turns, then scrambles to his feet and dusts off his pants. He strains to pick up his dirt bike but isn’t able to lift it. I look around for his parents but don’t see any adults in the area. Every vehicle is parked in the pit section of the main track, not over here.
He keeps struggling with the bike, digging his boots into the mud but making no progress. I put down my sandwich and jog over to him.
“Need some help?” I use my most kid-friendly voice.
“Yes please,” he says, breathless. I lift the bike and hold it up while he climbs on and cranks the motor back to life. He thanks me and rides back on the track. I jog back to my sandwich and watch him make a couple laps. He’s so freaking adorable. When he comes to the small jumps he stands up on the foot pegs, slows to a crawl and idles over them.
Five minutes pass, and he falls over again, this time in a different turn. Once again, he can’t pick up the bike, so I help him lift it out of the dirt. He wears blue g
ear with a black helmet and blue goggles. The only part of his body that’s visible is the skin under his goggles and his blue eyes. He is much younger than Teig. Where the hell are his parents?
I finish the first half of my sandwich and reach for the other. The boy gets more courageous with each lap. He increases his speed ever so slightly each time he goes over the biggest jump. It’s about four-feet high and six-feet long, which doesn’t even qualify as a jump on the main track.
He picks up speed and heads toward the jump, this time getting his bike a few inches off the ground. I cheer and clap loudly so he could hear me. Even though he’s slow, he’s more entertaining than looking at my phone all day. Two more jumps like that, and I’ll be completely over the pain in my chest caused by Ryan.
On the next lap, the boy rides even faster and jumps a few inches higher off the ground. When he lands, his handlebars wiggle and he falls over. I jump up and jog over to him.
“You were doing good, buddy.” I tap his helmet as I hold up the bike for him. His cheeks get fatter as he smiles under his helmet.
“Thanks! Did I get a lot of air that time?”
“Ye,” I say, not wanting to disappoint him. He is so freaking excited, and I wonder why his parents aren’t here to see his progress.
“Keep watching! I’m going to do it really good this time.” He flips his goggles back into place and races onto the track faster than before.
I take my seat on the bleachers again and watch him make another lap. This lap is faster than the last. This time he gets a foot of air over the big jump.
I look back at Ash’s pit and see him put his bike on the stand and yank off his helmet. Shelby still isn’t here.
The boy’s bike roars to life and he stands up to prepare for the big jump. He pulls back on the throttle without fear. The bike lurches forward and hits the face of the jump faster than before. He flies three feet into the air and panics. His handlebars yank sideways and his feet come off the pegs. I quit chewing the food in my mouth and watch in horror as he tumbles off the side of the jump into the grass. He falls hard on top of his bike. I wait for him to get up.
Five seconds go by and he’s motionless. My sandwich falls to the ground as I bolt down the bleachers. My heart races. Finally, he moves. His arm flies up in the air. That’s the sign that he’s okay. Shelby had said that a wave means you’re okay. But he doesn’t wave.
His hand goes limp in mid-air and slams to the ground. I break into a run and yell for him to tell me he’s okay. When I get to him, he is crumpled in the fetal position, laying on half of his bike. I drop to my knees and shake his arm.
“Hey!” I scream, shaking harder. His eyes open and roll back in his head. A painful shot of fear blasts through my chest. Something is seriously wrong. I can’t think of what to do. I know I needed to do something, but my mind is blank.
Call 911.
Why did I leave my phone at home? How could I have been so stupid?
White foam drips out of his mouth. Tears sting my face. His body starts to convulse, slowly at first and then faster. I scream, and scream again.
I stand up and look toward the main track. “HELP! SOMEONE HELP!” I look all around for someone – anyone. Where is this kid’s parents anyway? Why aren’t they here watching him? What if I hadn’t been here?
“HELP!” I scream with every fiber in my soul, with all that I have. The earth spins and I can’t make it stop. This boy is going to die if someone doesn’t help us soon. I want to run but I can’t move, so I keep yelling for help.
I fall to the ground again and grab his gloved hand. The foam comes faster now, and his body shakes. I squeeze his hand.
Please God, please.
Someone runs up behind me, their boots striking the ground hard with each step. Ash drops to the ground next to me, startled, but in control like always.
“Ash, help!” I plead. My throat is dry from yelling and burns when I swallow.
He surveys the boy and pushes three buttons on his phone. Tears roll down his sweat-soaked face. Seeing Ash cry feels like someone kicked me in the stomach. This must be really bad. I watch him in disbelief, paralyzed with fear. His eyes meet mine, and my whole world stops when he speaks to the operator.
“We need a helicopter at Mixon Motocross Park. Now. My little brother is hurt really bad.”
