hills

Jamil was biking. Faster and faster went the revolutions of the pedals, his fingers hovering near the brakes just in case. Faster and faster. Faster and faster. Now they were just a blur. Jamil was biking, wind whipping his face, his clothes pressed tight against his chest, and baggy behind him, like a balloon. The wind was so fast, he was moving so fast, the wind so fast against him in reaction that he could almost not breathe. He had to gasp to take in air. His fingers were cold, almost cold enough that he could not move them. His eyes were blurring with tears from the wind barraging against them.

Jamil was biking. Down a hill. Faster and faster. His father had told him to be careful before he left. And he had promised his father. And he loved his father. He sought his approval everywhere. With those thoughts, he slowly squeezed the brakes. With those thoughts, he began to slow down. Not a moment too soon, the end was coming near. Of the hill. Not a moment too soon. When he was at a speed that was manageable, the bike bumped against a rock. And careened a little bit out of control. He managed to temper his bike. But he sighed in relief wondering what would have happened if the same had occured at the speed he had been at not too long ago.

He reached the bottom of the hill, and finally had to work his legs more. This was fun. His heart was beating with the joy of it. The sun was shining down nice and warm. Now that the wind was not so savage, he could feel the warmth of it going down through his face, travelling through his hands. Warming every last cell in his body. When he was done, he would sit out and do what his mother called dhoop sekhna. Probably fall asleep during it. Oh, what a wonderful nap that would be.

Another hill, climbing up it was much harder. He relished the challenge. It was slow and tedious. Sweat formed on his brows, he kept his eyes on the ground ahead of him scouring it for any rocks or bumps that would slow down his ascent, that would hurt his ascent. The sun was hard, the rocks tough. He heard a car humming along from the other side. Fast, getting faster, it seemed. It was far away, he thought. He kept his eyes on the road, ears pricked. Cars were not unusual here. But there weren’t too many of them. He knew all the cars in his village. And some of the ones nearby. The driver came up the hill. It was a black car, big Land Cruiser, gleaming in the sunlight. Hood polished. Tires big. He moved to the side. The car stopped at the top of the hill, king of the mountain for a few seconds, then it raced down. Too fast. Faster than he had been going. Why? It all happened so fast. He had moved to the side of the road, but it seemed to be coming for him. It hit him, and right before it did, he thought he saw faces through the windshield, then he was hit, and began tumbling down.