The day I'll never forget

The day my uncle gave me the bike is a day I will never forget.

When I first got the bike, I knew it belonged to my uncle. After my uncle got the bike, he gave it to my cousin, who then gave it to me. I had not been given any official instructions telling me that the bike was mine. I was very careful with the bike just like I would take care of something that I actually owned.

That hot summer day was one of those days when the heat would make you do stupid things. I was going down a hill on the bike way faster than I should have been. I remember seeing a shadow of an olive tree and a cat that darted out at me. And then I heard that cracking noise.

The handlebars were broken.

I stopped on the side of the road and looked at the handlebars, hoping somehow they would fix themselves. I tried to ride again, and the bike moved, but not the way I was used to. I knew I had broken it. And I also knew that if anyone asked me what happened, I was not going to be able to tell them.

I pulled the bike behind me as I walked home at a very slow pace, hoping no one would see me. I put the bike back exactly where I always did. The handlebars were pointing at an angle. It was like they were trying to tell me something but were embarrassed to do so. Then, I went back inside. My mother was washing the dishes. My father was sitting at the table. Nobody in my house noticed anything wrong.

All night long I felt a heavy weight in my chest. Not because I broke the bike, but because I did not say anything to anybody. I could feel it was going to happen that someone would ask me about it or would look closely at me, to see if I did something bad. But nobody did.

After several days, the bike just sat there behind my house, broken and quiet. Nobody used it, and every time I passed it, I felt like it was watching me. I thought about saying something about breaking it hundreds of times, but fear held me back. It was not until later that I realized it was not just fear; it was hope that maybe I would not have to say anything at all.

Eventually, one day, the bike was gone. No one ever said anything about the bike again. I learned through that experience that being quiet can easily become a habit.

That day, I did not learn how to tell the truth.

But I did discover how it feels to hold the truth inside of yourself.

To this day, when something goes wrong for me, I always think of the handles of that broken bike and the first day I chose to be quiet.