Moving On

What doesn't kill us now, can only make us stronger. Well...for some.

                There were some things the family couldn’t bring along on the move. The old washing machine the mother grew up with was sold for parts when a new family bought the house weeks before. The collection of pottery that was scattered throughout the house and yard were left to be eroded away by wind and time. The well-tended yard and potted plants that were under the father’s guidance and love were set free and were allowed to grow wild as they pleased. Even the couple’s child, a girl with hundreds of kilometers under her feet, was forced to give up her plans on cycling through the hills and plains that were part of her home’s natural backyard.

                Financially, the transaction from old to new owners was easy enough. A few negotiations here and some paper work there, and the old family lingered around a few meters away as the new family settled in with basketball nets and eight dogs and five cats. The new family’s children, a boy and a girl, ran around the open space like newly-released horses. Eventually, their high energy settled down to moderate as they helped pick up boxes for the old family. With the last box tucked neatly away in a van, the children crowded around the old family’s daughter.

                “You’re gonna like the city!”

“It’s noisy and cramped, but it’ll be like a second home before you know it!”

                The old family’s daughter murmured “Thanks” as she tossed her school books and pencils into the passenger seat. With a public high school five kilometers away from the recently bought city house, homeschooling won’t be needed anymore. At least Mommy will still be making lunch. “Noah, help me with the bikes!” the father yelled. Snapped back to reality, Noah replied back with,

                “Okay!” Together, she and her father moved the bikes out of the garage. Together, they mounted them�"a mommy bike and an old road racer�"to the top of the van, and the two fanned themselves afterwards because of the summer heat. The new family’s children jumped up and down at the sight of the bikes.

                “Two bikes? You must be a cycler!” said the son, eyes twinkling.

                “No, I’m not,” Noah replied, poking the boy’s forehead. Climbing into the van after her parents, Noah stuck her head out the window and waved the children goodbye. The van started up a bit slow but it soon picked up speed. The mother sniffled and wiped away her tears as she watched the house grow smaller and smaller through the rear mirror. The father kept a stone-face, but his hands were shaking on the steering wheel. In the back, Noah stared at her feet, keeping a hand on her chest in case her heart decided to pop out.

                “Two bikes? You must be a cycler!” Those words echoed in the back of her mind like a broken record. Sure, she did have some experience with biking but…the title “cycler” belonged to someone else, someone long gone from her life.

                It was just a race, a charity race that was held at the country side almost a decade ago. Noah and her parents were in the sidelines, cheering as cyclers rushed by to finish their final lap. That summer day was one of the hottest of that year, and many had dropped out from heat cramps, dehydration, and whatnot. But, Noah couldn’t help but admire the ones that still pushed on through the heatwave. The sweat, the energy, the fatigue…Even though she wasn’t racing with them, she could feel all of those things through watching the cyclers.

                They weren’t racing to be the best, but instead, they were racing for what they believed in. Huge charities were at the sidelines that day, either helping with supplies or cheering along with the crowd. Among them, the one that stood out the most to Noah was the Rest to Movement Charity. With their big signs, big voices, and big people, it was hard not to notice the charity.

                But it stood out to her, personally, because someone she knew was racing for that charity’s cause�"her brother, Gil. She saw the sweat dripping down his back, his messy windswept hair, and heard his husky breathing as he passed by a few seconds after the lead cyclist. Every drop of sweat and blood that Gil used to turn his pedals was another cup of admiration Noah had for him. Gil wasn’t just doing this for the charity but for the family, especially for his little sister.

                Noah remembered waiting, waiting for her brother’s wheels to cross the finish line when the lead cyclist held his arms up in triumph after crossing the line. One cycler came by, then two and three passed by as well. But, Gil never came. The afternoon heatwave was wearing the crowd down. Everyone grew restless as the minutes passed by.

Finally, someone passed by the finish line. It was two people. One was barely biking straight as he held someone from the other bike steady. The other person was sprawled over his bike, badly bruised from head to toe, and was bleeding. From where? No one could tell.

                A roar from an ambulance parted the crowd like the Red Sea as paramedics brought out a stretcher for the injured cyclist. Somehow and someway, Noah pushed herself through the crowd to get to the ambulance. Before the doors closed, she saw a familiar face and jersey being covered with a white blanket. Noah’s heart pounded against her chest, and her hands wouldn’t let go of the ambulance’s back doors. Her parents scooped her up into their arms and tried to comfort her, but Noah was already in tears. Gil, her brother, died for what he believed in.

                “Sweetie?” Noah blinked and looked up at her mother, who passed back a tissue box. “Gil…is going to a farther away now. We won’t be able to visit him every week like we used to.”

                Noah looked away, keeping a hand over her mouth in case a wrong word might slip. “No, Mommy. Gil’s always with us.” She looked at the van’s ceiling and closed her eyes. She imagined her brother, live and well, sitting next to her and chatting away about the new terrain he would get to bike on when they arrive at the new house. He would say he was proud of her for choosing an active life style and would congratulate her on another year of being his cycling buddy. She imagined her father laughing along with the conversation and her mother would be telling fun jokes as the old house disappeared behind a couple of hills.

                Noah opened her eyes and looked around. The van had already passed the hills that surrounded the old house. Noah bit her lip as the hills waved goodbye under the summer sky. All of those kilometers she biked…those would be the only memories the hills would have of her. All the kilometers Gil biked…the hills hadn’t forgotten yet. If Noah squinted hard enough, she would still be able to see the old trail Gil used to bike on. She remembered he took her on a ride over the trail once when she was younger.

                She had asked him why he was working so hard.

                “I work hard so that you can follow in my footsteps, baby sis.” Those two words, that nickname Gil always used on her…She could still remember the way he said it. Gil would say it in a country way and he would laugh afterwards as the wind swept through his hair. Gil was always happy, even if he was struggling in a local race against the other country kids. He would always smile as he climbed a steep hill with his road racer, wait for Nature’s signal, and ride with the wind to the finish line.

                “Gil’s always with us,” Noah whispered under her breath. The old bike trail that Gil started wasn’t going to end at the hills. Noah promised that the trail would start again at the city and stretch on forever.

Author's Note

Now, I haven't posted anything on this site for a long time, but this story was itching to be read.