There are many memories I cherish from time spent growing up on Flamingo Street: climbing trees, then riding them slowly back down to the ground as they bent over, performing flips off rope swings into cool waters of Cripple Creek, and weekly water balloon and dirt clod fights. But this story isn’t about any of them. This story is about the time I saw Twin Brother Mark kidnapped from right in front of me. Or is it?
Mom had had enough. We all knew that because she screamed, “I’ve had enough!” Leading up to her declaration, my three brothers and I had spent the last hours chasing one another all over the house slamming doors, jumping on furniture, and dragging Twin Brother Mark down the main hallway.
Even though Big Brother James, Older Brother Richard, and I took turns, it was still hard to do. For some reason Mark just didn’t want to cooperate. The more we dragged him, the louder he protested.
After an hour or so, Mom had had enough. “You kids get outside and ride your bikes. And don’t come back ‘til dinner.” So that’s what we did.
By the time Mark and I jumped on our bikes, Richard and James were already flying down Flamingo. It would be impossible to catch up so we went in the opposite direction. Cresting the great hill just past our house, we started to gain speed peddling our way towards the end of Flamingo.
Screaming at each other while rocketing down towards the end of the street, we decided to be the first to successfully jump across Cripple Creek. Old Ms. Crabtree’s was the only house in the cul-de-sac, and it was her driveway we had to first go down, then through her backyard to finally reach the ramp we had built that would launch us across the creek.
Or so we thought. No kid had even tried it yet. And, unfortunately, we wouldn’t either.
Up to that day, I had never seen a kid fly, but Mark looked like a giant bird as he flew through the air. Hitting a pothole right when he reached Ms. Crabtree’s driveway, Mark went airborne. He flew 10 feet in the air before skidding to an abrupt stop into her front porch bushes.
To be honest, it was difficult to hear his screaming because I was laughing so hard. Mark flying that day was one of the funniest things I had ever seen. Unlike what happened next. Unbeknownst to either of us, Mark was about to be kidnapped!
Old Ms. Crabtree had heard Mark’s screaming, flung open her front door, scooped him up and ran back inside. I immediately stopped laughing, ran to the front door and started to pound on it while ringing the doorbell.
No answer. Even though he was broken and bloody, Mark was still my twin brother. Even though Ms. Crabtree was our third-grade teacher at Mount Olive Elementary School, she couldn’t just steal him away!
I tried to open the door, but it was locked so I did the only thing I knew how to do. I started to peddle my way back up the great hill of Flamingo. Our Dad would know how to get Mark back. Knowing I had to get home as fast as I could, I bent my head over and peddled harder than I had ever before.
The minutes seemed like hours and my legs burned but eventually, with sweat pouring off my face, our driveway was finally in sight. Dropping my bike at the mailbox, I ran the rest of the way to our front door. I only paused for a moment. It wasn’t closed. It was standing wide open – something that never happened.
Yelling for Dad, I crossed the threshold and burst into the kitchen. What I saw stopped me dead in my tracks almost as fast as those bushes had stopped Mark. Old Ms. Crabtree, the person who had kidnaped my twin brother, was sitting in a chair at our kitchen table!
Mom and Dad stood and turned around as I came into the room, both asking what was the matter. I still couldn’t breathe, much less speak. And that’s when I saw what was behind them.
There, sitting on the other side of Ms. Crabtree eating a chocolate chip cookie and drinking a glass of milk, was Twin Brother Mark. Seems she hadn’t kidnapped him after all.
Upon hearing the screaming from her living room, Ms. Crabtree ran outside, scooped him up, and scurried back inside to clean and bandage his scraped hands and knees. The front door had locked after her. After calling our mom, she placed him in her car and then drove him back up to our house. With my head down, struggling to peddle as fast as I could, all wrapped up in my world of worries, I didn’t see them as they passed me.
If your head is down and you’re peddling as fast and hard as you can, it’s easy to forget to look up during your journey. If you don’t look up to see where you are going and what’s going on around you, you could miss things that are important and they could pass you by. I have never forgotten how mistaken I was to judge someone without all the facts.
Mark was “kidnapped” 50 years ago this Saturday, and I still struggle with those two lessons that I learned on that sunny day in March. Guess I need to look up and pay attention a little more as I peddle through this life.
Don’t we all?
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
