My Wound

We were walking with your family and friends ahead of us in a city. It begins to pour rain and you feign confidence, decide to cross that intersection on your bike anyway. I watch concernedly, the light turns from yellow, to red, and you are leaning hard, sliding from thick rain and hard wind. We all gape as you fall, you slide out, try to catch yourself, save it. Soundless, I remember just being so thankful you made it through the traffic. You got up immediately, humiliated and angered with yourself. You walked your bike over to me. I started talking about how it wasn't your fault, but the downpour, and how I was worried about you in such a dangerous situation. Realizing this wasn't helping or what you wanted to hear I said, "Are you okay?" I put my hand on your shoulder then, but couldn't feel anything through your jacket, I remember wishing I could. Laconically, you told me that you wish you had taught yourself better, and we looked at your hand where you had broken the fall. Your siblings and mother saw that you were alright and kept walking, we continued to walk too, conversing all the while. As we caught up on each other's lives the best we could, I looked down, feeling a sharp excruciating pain. I audibly spoke, "Ow" which I instantaneously regretted upon what I saw. I lifted my left hand, and saw your injury there. You glanced at it as well, so I quickly hid it, hoping you wouldn't notice it was identical to yours. It hurt still, but I made no further comment. Instead, told you about my brother and my travels, wanting you to conclude that I was independent, and happy. You spoke a lot too, I remember thinking about how much you had to say, I took it in the best that I was able, conscious that our time was limited. We did not mention my wound again, and definitely not yours.