Year 14/28 – Section 2

"You're lucky I don't have to tell your father that his son is dead." It's a sunny July day. About 25 degrees with a perfect breeze. A few days after the cinema film, preparations for the new football season begin. To keep fit, I only travel by bicycle. So, on this Friday, I set off to cycle the 4 kilometres to Friday prayers. And as if a gust of wind had hit me from the side, I fall with full force. I slide hard along the kerb for about 3 metres and immediately lose consciousness. In a dark glow, I see residents standing in front of me asking if I'm okay. With my last ounce of strength, I dictate my father's phone number. I regain consciousness briefly as I sit on the residents' terrace and am given a glass of water. My arm. The sight of it sends me completely unconscious. Blood is flowing freely. I can see my bones. I can't remember anything else. Very slowly, the darkness gives way to light again. The doctor is just pulling out the last stitch and notices that I am waking up. I will never forget his serious look: 'You're lucky I don't have to tell your father that his son is dead. The way you fell, your head would have been split open. Why aren't you wearing a helmet?' The first thing I think at that moment: I hope I don't get in trouble, because my parents took the helmet requirement incredibly seriously... Nine stitches. This scar will remain forever. And sometimes, when I can't go on, I look at it and think to myself: I haven't come this far to turn back now.