Don't Worry-- He's Our Friend!

In Tim I have a best friend, but I think his ankle and I are in some peculiar grudge match. Tim and I are still good friends. But I am sure that his ankle would spike my drink with arsenic if only the ankle could convince the foot or a hand to provide some aid.

One afternoon, Steve, Chris, Terry and I went to pick up Tim from work. Steve had liberal use of his parents' Volare station wagon. It was a crappy vehicle, but like Ferris Beuhler (sort of) once said, "I don't have a crappy car. I have to oggle your crappy car." We went to K-Mart to find that Tim had already biked for home minutes before. We knew his route and we followed it to see if we could intercept him. We found him. Steve pulled up along side of Tim. Chris rolled down to ask if we could give him a lift home. Tim balled up some spit and hawked a lougie at Chris then burst off. Sudden rage! We still knew Tim's route, so we sped away from him and down the quiet side road that he used as a shortcut. Everyone in the car whipped each other into a frenzy.

This shortcut was a steep downhill that was infrequently traveled. Steve drove the car into a right angle with the road managed to block traffic. Tim whizzed down the hill, judged which side to use and buzzed past the Volare. Thwarted! We couldn't have that! We sped past Tim again and Steve put all his effort to making a speedy but effective roadblock. Again, Tim closed. He skidded past the car along the gravel on the shoulder. He was probably going 30-40 kph. Was. His wheels skiddered and he lost control. Tim and his bike went end-over-end. The shock was palpable and we all had a moment of communal telepathy:

Mike: "I've killed my best friend!"
Steve: "I'm never going to get to borrow the car again."
Terry: "I'm never getting into med school."
Chris: "Wow."
Tim: "Ow."

Tim lay there, a tangled mass wound through his bike frame. We dashed out of the car and ran to his aid. From the side of the road a group of homeowners ran out to Tim. One of them had a blanket. Another shouted, "I called an ambulance!" What the hell! This accident happened seven seconds ago.

I thought I could make this all better. I tried to calm the growing crowd of angry, helpful villagers. "Don't Worry! He's Our Friend!" I called. What? Is this how we treat friends? Do we take a flame-thrower to enemies and acquaintances?

Steve, always a man of action, grabbed the bike and threw it into the back of the Volare. Chris and Terry limped Tim to the car and surrendered shotgun rules to give him the front seat. We sped off with our victim and left a throng of confused people by the side of the road.

We got Tim home. We had to keep this secret from his Mom. Mom's have a habit of making a lot out of people running their child down and then speeding off. He made up some crappy story about the injury and was taken to the hospital to discover that he had permanent damage to ankle. Tim didn't hold a grudge. What a nice guy. This wasn't the only injury sustained to that ankle, but with the exception of poisoning me at my bachelor party, he's been pretty good.

Last updated date

Saturday, December 26, 2015 - 19:41