My Most Embarrassing Injury

It just popped into my head. I had to have been 10 years old or so. I was like any other boy with an older brother, I wanted to go everywhere he went.
We’d been out riding our bikes all day long and when we finally got back to our block I decided to gun it down the sidewalk, pedaling as fast as I could, past my house, until I was about a dozen houses from the end of the block when I started coasting.
I stood on the pedals, letting the breeze blow cool me down. I saw several of my neighbors outside, said hello to some as I passed, and turned my gaze to my feet.
I shouldn’t have done that.
One square of concrete was slightly lower than the two it was between and I guess the small jolt was all it took.  My rear foot dropped down on the brake, stopping the bike instantly, and throwing me into the air.
I was still holding onto the handlebars.
I flipped, hitting my head on the front tire, and landing on my back, knocking the wind out of me.
I remember groaning and looking up to see the bike standing on its front tire (I was still holding onto the handlebars) just before the whole mess came crashing down on me.
Did I say my neighbors were outside?
I’d wiped out right in front of a house with a porchful of people, one of whom was a girl I had a crush on, and they stared a long moment at me (or maybe it was my mind still in slo-mo). Eventually, the grandmother came over and scraped my bike off me and helped me to my feet.
I leaned heavily on her as she walked me and my bike home, all her grandkids in tow (including the girl I liked). I was a little scraped up, a little shaken up, but otherwise fine.


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