Missing the necessary axles to make a sweet push through the park, rollerblading is absolutely out of the question. Anyway my bike is totally fucked from flipping it on 158th street where Harley decided to take her own life by jumping out of the doggie-bike-basket she was secured into with a harness. Needless to say it ended horribly but Harls was alright if not totally, completely freaked out. I was the one sprawled out face down on the pavement bleeding and coughing and trying to catch my breath and check on the dog. A puppy screaming bloody murder is the most awful sound known to mankind! I can think of nothing worse in this world than an injured animal. My girl was just shaken up but nothing serious. I, on the other hand, bled profusely with a chewed up left elbow that had pieces of gravel and rocks stuck in it and a left palm that had a half-dollar sized perfect circle peeled back and hanging on by a disgusting oozing thread. Dance classes have been canceled for me because my right toe nail was split and peeled back about two weeks from falling completely off. There will be no squeezing this mangled toe into a split-soled dance sneaker for some hot jazz anytime soon. My bike chain is completely tangled in a greasy, oily knot (only to be undone with heavy duty gloves.) The dog basket is completely ajar and off kilter along with the handle bars and seat. What freaked me out the most about this heinous incident (other than the blood and the puppy scare) were all the people that walked right by me and my screaming dog, never lending a hand or even so much as asking if we were alright. It was the ultimate New York brush off. I myself would have dropped anything that I was doing and rushed to help a person that just flipped his bike n' child.
I hit the jagged asphalt hard and fast and slid about five feet. !!!BAM!!! I didn't try to brace myself at all because my only goal was on catching the dog safely. Mission not accomplished! I caught neither her nor myself. It was a hard cement slip n' slide of sorts that completely took my breath away. The skin on my hands and elbows peeled back like the meat of a carrot being shaved. If I saw some pizza delivery guy flip his bike and completely wipe out right in front of me I wouldn't step over his twisted, mangled and bloody body and pretend I didn't see it go down. Come on New York!
A fat white woman straight out of my nightmares walked around me with Oprah weights in her hands pumping them high and fast for maximum effect. She looked at me coughing and crying and stepped over my scraped up body and pumped her hand weights off into the sunset like Richard Simmons after a huge heartless line of cocaine. Help a brother out chubbs! She didn't even consider lending a swollen puffy hand. This bitch was dead inside and I could see exactly how much she didn't care about me or Harley in her jaded, washed out, menopausal gaze. She was really way too busy slapping her thighs together and having hot flashes to care about us. And her special curved toner shoes were proving to be perfectly pointless. She was one of those big girls who's knees buckled inward like an X from all the weight she'd been schlepping around year after year. In fact I detected a rolling of the eyes as if I seemed to be inconveniencing her somehow with my immediate tragedy. It baffles me how extreme things have to be here in the city before someone is bothered enough to notice anything outside of their little urban bubble and lower their New York times to text in a mugging or taxi accident to the police. Where is that human connection among all these millions of strangers? I find that New Yorkers all share one thing......unnecessary isolation.
After the eternity it took for me to quiet and calm Harley down I began to angrily assess my cuts and scrapes. It wasn't looking good. I'm fine in other peoples emergencies but a huge gay disaster if I'm the one hurt. I swoon and faint easily when it's my blood that's gushing! Once I badly cut my finger while slicing oranges in the Crescent Moon lesbian cafe where I worked part time as an closeted awkward teen. The morning prep required that I cut hundreds of orange slices for the lunch garnishes. My hand slipped and the blade cut right through a huge, meaty chunk of my left thumb. I looked at mama Teri and told her what happened. And as soon as I got the words out "I'm totally fi......" I slid down the kitchen wall onto the floor and totally passed out. Later I was told that as I crumpled down the wall into a heap on the kitchen floor I mumbled to the rest of the staff that "I'm just going to take a little nap" I don't remember saying that. I don't want to loose all sense of caring for people and become so numb and detached that I would probably hop into a cab that just dumped a dead body on the curb. I need to become the person that I want to save me one day. I just want to know New York....................where have all the cowboys gone?
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