We touched wheels.
He glanced back.
I braked.
Too late.
Down.
—
Bitumen.
Silence.
Then that slow check of limbs.
A graze on my calf.
About the size of my hand.
—
My brother stood over me.
Same as always.
Two years older.
Still stronger.
—
“You right?”
—
I nodded.
Picked the bike up.
—
I’m riding again this afternoon.
Going to pick up Remy.
—
He’ll want to play.
Probably something involving running.
Maybe falling.
—
We’ll see.