The Persistence of Memory: America Under Attack

Part Two

Four years earlier

Oliver ran ahead of me to the garage door and yanked it open with both hands. I couldn't see past him, but I had to smile, too, when his grinning face turned to look at me, eyes wide with excitement. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the garage where two identical bicycles awaited their new riders.

We both ran to the new bikes, which were exactly what we wanted for our birthday, but much more than we expected. I grabbed Oliver and pulled him back so I could get to the nearest bike first.

"Hey! That one's mine!" he said.

"It doesn't matter, Ollie," our mother said as she followed us from the house, "they are exactly the same."

I knew that she believed that, but no two things were ever really identical. There was always something: a scratch, a slight difference in the color, a chipped reflector...

"Thomas," Dad said, a step behind our mother, "That one is Oliver's. There's a sticker on the back reflector of each bike with your initials on it."

I looked. There was a sticker on the reflector and a small envelope hanging from a string. Each bike had a name and a birthday card with 10 dollars inside.

"Come on, Tommy! Let's go to the PX!" Oliver said. Turning to our parents he added, "Can we? We'll be careful."

"I don't know..." Dad said, but I knew was teasing.

"Let's go," Ollie and I said in chorus, taking our father's smile as approval.

"Race you!" I said, and took off without waiting for Oliver to answer. I reached the stop sign first and called back, "Come on. This way." The PX was to the left, but I turned right without stopping.

"Where are you going?" Oliver yelled.

"Ballpark." I coasted to let my brother catch up. He knew why I wanted to go to the baseball park. There were miles of trails through the surrounding woods that were perfect for riding. I knew what he was going to say, too, and I was ready for him.

"You're going to get us grounded," he said. "You know dad won't want us on those trails."

"Wrong," I said. "That's because our old bikes weren't good enough for the trails. These bikes were made for off-roading. Why else would he get us bikes like these?"

"I'm not riding on the trails right now. Let's hit the concession stand and get back home."

"Fine. We'll hit the concession stand."

The park was busy. Two games were going on at the same time. We rode our bikes right up to the concession stand and ordered. We watched one of the games until we finished our shaved ices, then I resumed my campaign of goading Oliver into riding the trails.

"So, are you coming out on the trails with me, or are you going home to try on your new dress and makeup?"

"Nice bikes," an older teenager said from bleachers. "Y'all riding out to Old Mill Pond?"

"Yeah!" I said at the same time Oliver said, "No way."

"We aren't even supposed to be here, Tommie. I don't care what you say, we aren't going all the way to the pond. It's like... five miles out in the woods. If you even try, I'll go back home right now and tell dad."

"Fine," I said, shaking my head in disappointment. "You're such a baby sometimes. Today is our birthday. We can get away with anything we want today, and all you want to do is go the store and buy candy. We are right here by the bike trails. We have brand new, sweet dirt-bikes, and you are afraid to ride yours."

"I'm not afraid, Tommie. I'm just not stupid, like you."

"Then prove it. One lap around the short trail, then we'll head home and get permission to come back tomorrow so we can spend the whole day. Deal?" I threw the shaved ice cup at the nearest garbage bin and held out my hand to seal the bargain.

"One lap," Oliver finally said, smacking my hand. He called me a slow poke and took off toward the trails.

We rode the nearest path through the woods. The bigger kids called it the bunny trail because it didn't have any big hills or dips or jumps like the longer trail that led to Old Mill Pond. Oliver surprised me by turning onto the longer trail instead of taking the loop back to the ballpark. Three older kids sped by as we paused at the top of the first big dip in the trail.

"No stopping!" one of them called, flying over the ledge.

"Go back to the bunny trail," and "Move it!" followed as the other two jumped their bikes into the dip and raced back up the other side.

"Come on, let's head back," I said. To be honest, the fast trails were pretty intimidating, especially since this was our first time on them. But Ollie got a crazy look in his eye and shook his head.

"Woo!" he cried, pushing his bike over edge. He dove down the steep side of the dried-up ravine, hooting the whole way, and caught air under both tires as he crested the other side. I took a deep breath and followed. We kept the older kids in sight so we would know what to expect of the trail ahead, and caught up with them at top of the cliff over Old Mill Pond.

Old Mill Pond was smaller than a standard swimming pool, but it had a deep end near the cliff, and a shallow end near the creek that ran away from it. While it was a popular place for teens to come and swim away from the watchful eyes of adults, it was famous for being a bike jump. There were rumors that a kid had died there once, but if true, it had happened before the living memories of current generation of teens.

"Now's your chance, wild man," I gasped to Oliver. "You made every single jump on the way here. Only one to go."

"Yeah," one of the older kids said. "Is this your first time here? It's tradition, you know? Everyone has to do it their first time, or they aren't allowed back."

"If that's true, then let's see you do it first," Oliver said to the older kid.

"Nah, I don't want to ride home in wet jeans. But you have shorts on. No reason not to do it."

I didn't like where the conversation was heading. It was one thing for me to tease and goad my brother, but I wasn't going to let a total stranger pressure him into something that neither of us was prepared to do. But Oliver had other ideas.

"This is a brand new bike," he said climbing off and leaning it against a tree. "If you are too chicken to do it, then let me use your bike and stand back."

The rest of what happened was a blur. I told Oliver there was no such tradition, and he didn't have to jump. I said he was right, that we should go home. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Ollie climbed onto the other kid's bike, got a long head start, and rode it over the cliff.

He pulled back on the handlebars and went over the edge with his front wheel in the air and a rebel yell on his lips. The rest of us cheered from the top as he continued spinning on his way down. He did a half flip in the air and landed on his back in the sand at the shallow side of the pond. Our cheers ended when he didn't get up.

He screamed louder when we tried to move him, so we left him half in the pond and half out. I knelt and held his head in my lap to keep it out of the water for an eternity until the helicopter arrived with the rescue team.

"I'm gonna die, Tommy. I'm gonna die."

"You aren't going to die, Ollie. I won't let you. You're going to be okay, I promise." It was the last thing I said to him before the helicopter took him away.

I didn't see Ollie again until the end of the summer, six weeks later.