Betty's Child by Donald Dempsey

Author:Donald Dempsey [Dempsey, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Dream of Things
Published: 2013-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

Even at age twelve, I’d heard somewhere that all good things must come to an end. My friendship with Thomas Washington came to an abrupt end on a summer afternoon near the end of August.

We were at the park, and the city workers had come through with their bush hogs and mowed down a ton of thick weeds along the creek. We’d made a huge pile of the dried brush and were jumping our bikes off the bridge where the handrail was busted, soaring as high as we could before landing in the massive mound of dead grass.

Tommy’s best trick was doing a black flip. I didn’t have the guts to try anything so dangerous. My only daring move was to stand on my seat and jump off my bike as I sailed through the air. To gain speed, we’d pedal our asses off all the way down the hill and hit that bridge, as close as we could get to the speed of sound. That first moment I was airborne always gave me such a rush. The most difficult part of all this was dragging your bike out of the tangle of grass without getting gouged or scratched to death.

I felt bad doing this without Rupe. This was probably his favorite of all our activities. But Tommy and Rupe had gone their separate ways. That’s putting it mildly. Their split left me juggling time with both of them, and watching what I said about Rupe around Tommy. We’d been jumping all morning, going faster and farther, competing with each other on height and distance. People kept stopping to watch us jump, clapping and cheering. We were like a ghetto X Games.

I had a chipped front tooth and a scar inside my upper lip from doing something very similar to this when I was younger, only we’d been using a ripped-down slide as a ramp. My front tire had slipped out from under me. I’d bitten the nasty edge of the upturned metal slide, and the slide had bitten back. That was a bloody mess, but not my first or last rush to the emergency room. I had my scars, and even though I was an excessive bleeder and screamed like a little girl when I was hurt, I never stayed down long, or was afraid to come back for more.

I checked the sky as I hauled on my bike, trying to get a stubborn branch out of my rear tire’s spokes. It had to be getting well past noon. I was hot and thirsty, and hoping Tommy would agree to take a break when I heard the thrum of rubber tires kissing wooden planks. I dove for cover as his shadow fell upon me. He slammed into the debris just beside my bike, howling at the top of his lungs.

“You crazy fucking Negro!” I screamed at him, spitting dead grass probably coated with poisonous pesticides and God knew what else. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Tommy was rolling,

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