Dying to Ride
What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?”
Annie Dilliard asks, “What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?”
I’ve been thinking about this question for over 2 weeks. Something with gravity usually comes to me in fleeting moments of shocking beauty but what is really worth writing to someone who is dying? Or if you were taking your last breaths, what would you feel the need to say?
If I had one story from this week that the moment was worth retelling, it’s taking Junior and Masu (8 and 6 years old respectively) bike riding.
Lillian’s kids are lucky enough to have bikes but they’re kept protected and not allowed to ride them outside of their driveway. On Friday it was sunny and I asked Lillian if I could take them to the university and let them ride on the many smooth roads with very little traffic.
They ran to strap on their helmets and find their cleanest tennis shoes. Masu had a fancy hair-do and her helmet sat cocked on the back of her head at a weird angle. I forced them to walk their bikes down the rocky path and past the university gates. Junior kept trying to sneak on and ride for just a few seconds before I’d make him hop off.
At the gates, a security guard stopped us and said “We can’t just be letting anyone enter here.” and I quickly answered, “I’m a student.” “In which department?”, he countered. “Economics,” I said, which was the only department I could think of at the moment. He asked, “What level?” “200.” I kept waiting for the kids to pipe up and sweetly say, “Aunty Jessie, when did you start being a student here?” but Junior said later he didn’t know I was lying. I don’t blame the security guard for trying to do something to stop the madness; after all, I don’t think kids have ever ridden bikes inside the campus before. The students seemed shocked as the bikes darted around them.
When they could finally ride, they were so elated. Masu kept yelling at Junior that he was going to fast and he kept giving her directions to turn left or move away for a car to pass. Masu gently asked me if I could move a little faster so that they could ride faster without losing me.
Masu collected unripe guavas and put them in her little bike pouch. I came around the corner and Junior was standing by as a grown man tried to ride on his little bike. They patiently sat down near the tennis courts and watched a match while Junior chatted up a man beside him.
When Masu got a bit tired, we sat on a bench while her brother kept riding. She smartly said, “Now if only we had a snack!” and I laughed. Of course! Who goes on a bike ride without refreshments?
As they whizzed around, Masu’s pom poms fluttering and Junior dripping sweat, they occasionally yelled back through the breeze “Thank you so much Aunty Jess!”
When I finally made them go back as the sun started to fade, they were so excited about the “best time they’d ever had!” and begged to go on their school playground for just a minute. So we stopped so they could brag about their day to a few neighborhood kids as they excitedly crawled over a small iron set of monkey bars and desperately tried to swing on seatless swings.
Seeing kids do something for the first time and recognize the thrill of the moment is a special thing to be a part of.
We’re going back again and this time, their mom’s packing a picnic.
