I can tell you the day.
It was a cold drizzly day.
A perfect day to get out of the bong filled apartment.
Every pour of my being was full of marijuana.
If I didn’t get out, I’d puke. Even the carpet stunk of bong water.
The place was zombifying me.
I was too young to be sitting around watching Check & Chong movies.
I was born for better things.
I was a motorbike fan and considered myself a good rider.
I could do the speed so long as I had good breaks.
I loaned the bike from Dute who said it was in good condition.
He was a Sebastopol boy and friend of my older brother. Now he was friends with his younger brother and really dug his company, inviting me over to his mother's house for video marathons and good home cooking. Cheek & Chong featured heavily in the video lineup played off a VCR machine in a room continually filled with bong smoke.
Dute smoked hard on weekends and during the work week, would drive from Ballarat to Melbourne every day to work on a construction site.
Did the brakes fail on this bike.
Or was I going too fast?
Both, in retrospect.
No, the brakes failed me.
But it was my brother who stopped around a bend.
He had no reason to stop. I couldn’t stop in time.
So, I smashed into him.
That simple.
He was the cause of the accident, not me.
It’s been decades since I’ve thought about it.
I’m glad to square up the blame.
It wasn’t the breaks or my driving skills.
It was my brother trying to kill me.
‘What the fuck were you thinking?”
I was thinking why are you in my fucking way.I could have easily made that curve.
And then gently slow down on the straight.
But no no, the fucking stoner had to stop at the bend. He forced me into an accident. That much was obvious. His mind worked in evil ways. You would never believe it, with his curls and almost girlish looks.
I was thinking, why did you stop at a curve.
Why didn’t you keep on riding?
You wanted to kill me. I know.
All I’m thinking is seeing a doctor.
I have a broken foot and the web of my finger on my right hand is torn.
Just get me to the Base Hospital I said.
It’s an hour drive back into town.
Older Brother isn’t hurt.
Just a few bruises. But the way he's carrying on, you'd think it was he who had the accident and a crushed foot and ripped hand.
Violence is only a curve away, I’ve since learnt.
