{"id":15681,"date":"2024-02-03T12:39:46","date_gmt":"2024-02-03T18:39:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/?p=15681"},"modified":"2024-02-07T03:15:25","modified_gmt":"2024-02-07T09:15:25","slug":"a-thornbushs-embrace","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2024\/02\/03\/a-thornbushs-embrace\/","title":{"rendered":"A Thornbush’s Embrace"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

A Thornbush’s Embrace<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Missy Nieveen Phegley<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I find much joy in riding bikes, and I frequently imagine my kids sharing my love of riding as we go on all kinds of cycling adventures. So, one day when my five-year-old asked to ride her bike, I stopped what I was doing, told her to put tennis shoes on, stepped into some flip-flops, and headed out to the garage. I wheeled Molly\u2019s pink bike and Auggie\u2019s tricycle to the top of the driveway and looked down the steep concrete slope. I don\u2019t understand anything about how percentages of grades work but imagine a 45-degree angle\u2014that\u2019s how steep this driveway felt. And that\u2019s also why Molly and Auggie were explicitly told over and over they were, under no circumstances, allowed to ride their bikes down <\/em>the driveway.  I heave the tricycle onto my shoulder, wheels pointing up in the air. Gripping the stem on Molly\u2019s bike and starting my descent, I attempt to keep the bike moving forward in a straight line. The kids bounce around behind me and then, as kids do, decide to race to the bottom.  I try to keep pace but the weight of the tricycle pulls me backward as I fight gravity to control the bicycle. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSlow down,\u201d I yell. \u201cBe careful! Don\u2019t fall.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I regret saying \u201cdon\u2019t fall\u201d as soon as the words come out of my mouth; I read somewhere in a how-to-mommy article to never tell children what you don\u2019t want them to do because they will do exactly that. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBe careful. Slow DOWN!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bottom of the drive levels out to smooth black asphalt. The lane appears flat compared to the steep drive but gradually descends toward a rocky creek. A one-lane concrete bridge extends the lane, intersecting with a county road. The kids were allowed to play all the way up to the bridge, but they were not to go out on the Big Road. Living at the end of a country lane with only five homes scattered along the sides meant my kids did not have the healthy fear of cars that city kids have. Our neighbors always slowed their cars to a walking pace, and the kids knew they should move to the shoulder when a car needed to pass by them. If Molly and Auggie were absorbed in play and forgot to move out of the way, the neighbors patiently crept along until they reached their driveway.  But the Big Road was frequently traveled by teenagers in jacked-up trucks with loud mufflers and adults who knew every curve and kink in the road by heart, all driving at race pace to get to and from wherever they were headed. Two small children would have no chance if they popped onto the road as a driver rounded the curve. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once I reach the lane, I realize I had forgotten Molly\u2019s helmet. I waver between trekking back up the hill to get the helmet and just letting her ride without it. The kids were itching to get on their bikes, and even though Auggie had collided with a tree the last time they rode, I convince myself odds were against another crash. And I don\u2019t trust these two to leave them alone for several minutes with their own transportation, one of the more unfortunate disadvantages of raising independent children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Molly still needs training wheels, so she has a hard time getting on and off the seat.  I help her up and remind her that she doesn\u2019t have a helmet so she needs to be extra careful. The kids pedal around a bit and then Auggie\u2019s back wheel drops off the asphalt, tipping him and the tricycle over. I scoop him up and attend to him for a few seconds, taking my eyes off Molly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I look up, she is pedaling toward the bridge. \u201cSlow down!\u201d I yell. \u201cUse your brakes! You don\u2019t have a helmet.\u201d I am careful not to say don\u2019t<\/em> crash.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

She is clearly determined to ride to the bridge, as she does not brake but continues pedaling. She picks up speed as the lane gradually slopes toward the creek and then spills out onto the Big Road. \u201cSlow down! Use your brakes!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She goes faster. The pedals begin spinning too quickly for her 5-year-old legs to keep up. I start running to catch up with her, still holding Auggie, bouncing him recklessly in my arms. I don\u2019t remember hearing Molly scream, but I can see that fear has stiffened her limbs. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUse your brakes! Use your brakes! Squeeze the brake on the handlebar!\u201d I can\u2019t remember how her brakes work. \u201cPedal backwards!\u201d Her feet no longer control the pedals. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I hesitate long enough to dump Auggie and then keep running, shortening the gap. The flip-flops slow me down so I kick them off, not feeling the bite of gravel under my feet. \u201cUse your brakes!\u201d I scream. She passes the mailboxes, still gaining speed. \u201cUse your brakes!\u201d I hear the high pitch of her crying, my own fear thumping with my feet on the asphalt. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She doesn\u2019t brake. She doesn\u2019t slow down. She gets closer and closer to the bridge, and the Big Road that borders the creek. Scenes of collisions\u2014cars, bikes, blood, screams\u2014flash through my brain. \u201cJump off! Jump off your bike!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She has time to jump before she gets to the bridge, but she freezes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJump off! Jump off!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is her favorite way to dismount, so I call on all the synapses, energy, auras, telepathy, just whatever is in my body to will her to remember this and fill her with confidence to jump. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJump off! Jump off!<\/strong>\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then she is up on the bridge. She shifts on the seat and I slow for a second, confident she can escape the Big Road and the cars that fly by.  She has plenty of room on the bridge to her left side, and she usually jumps off to the left. My panic lessens. She\u2019s going to be OK. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She throws her weight to the right. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stop breathing as she disappears head first over the side of the bridge. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The only sound I hear is my bare feet hitting the asphalt. The silence sucks all the air out of my chest. My mind sees her bloody body, arms and legs splayed out at abnormal angles. The back of my eyes burn. My throat closes. I reach the side of the bridge and can\u2019t see her brokenness. Silence feeds my fear. I don\u2019t hear the flowing creek water or the leaves rustling in the trees. I hear\u2026nothing. I edge down the overgrown creek bank, pushing branches aside. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/em>Why isn\u2019t she crying?!? <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I creep down a little farther, and I see a small arm reaching up to me. I take hold of her hand and as I pull her toward me, the silence disintegrates. Her shoes scrape the rocky clay as she climbs up, leaves crumple as I pull her through the brush, and the creek water is flowing again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I hear her ragged breathing. Thank God I hear her breathing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I carry her up to the lane, stand her up, and inspect her. Her head-first fall was cushioned by dense thorns that cut up her face, arms, and back, but she was whole.  As my own breathing calms, tears squeeze from my eyes. The how-to-mommy articles say to emphasize the positive in a scary situation. I tell her how brave she was and how smart she was for jumping off her bike before she got to the Big Road. I hold her close while attempting to convince myself of the same. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

____________________________________________________________________________________________________<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Molly started high school this year. She is a confident, independent, beautiful young woman. My fears have moved beyond falling down hills or crashing bikes, bloodied knees or broken bones. Now it\u2019s broken hearts, bad influences, and lost potential. As the silence of her occasional teenage moods fill my home, I want to scream out \u201cSlow down!\u201d The how-to-mommy articles shift the approach for teenagers, now advocating the importance of all those Don\u2019t statements. Don\u2019t<\/em> have sex. Don\u2019t <\/em>drink alcohol. Don\u2019t<\/em> do drugs. Don\u2019t<\/em> get bad grades. Don\u2019t<\/em> make friends with people who will be bad influences. But I know she doesn\u2019t want to hear it. \u201cI have it under control, Mom,\u201d she tells me. As she moves further away from me toward adulthood, my only hope is that if she jumps off the wrong side to avoid danger in the road ahead, she has thorn bushes to cushion her fall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Missy Nieveen Phegley has a Ph.D. in rhetoric and composition and she teaches writing at Southeast Missouri State University, where she is also the University Assessment Coordinator and the Director of Composition. She is a regular contributor to outdoor recreation and wellbeing magazines. In her spare time, she teaches yoga on land and on water (on a stand-up paddleboard), and she is an avid cyclist with a preference for single-track and gravel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n

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A Thornbush’s Embrace Missy Nieveen Phegley __________ I find much joy in riding bikes, and I frequently imagine my kids sharing my love of riding as we go on all kinds of cycling adventures. So, one day when my five-year-old asked to ride her bike, I stopped what I was doing, told her to put…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":42,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[196],"tags":[75,26,42],"class_list":["post-15681","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-all-hybrid-this-is-it","tag-boudin","tag-fiction","tag-hybrid"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15681","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/42"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15681"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15681\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15826,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15681\/revisions\/15826"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15681"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15681"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15681"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}