Treads

Cousins. Man, what can we say about cousins? Family members who are the ones we really choose to be our first best friends. They are the ones we rat on, swing on, and laugh with, and if you are lucky, they are the ones you get to learn the most of life's first lessons with. These selected few are irreplaceable, often filling the moments of your memory in the same meaningful spaces that are the backdrop to your childhood. I am one of the lucky ones. I grew up in a family where, on one side, my mom had 37 first cousins, my dad had at least half that, and every family function was excessive. It was what I knew. But the stark difference in my life was I had one single first cousin. One. Of all the extended family and cousins that we were surrounded by, I only had a single first cousin, Jaelynn.

Jaelynn was, and still is, different. Jaelynn is a picture-perfect example of someone being a product of their environment. Jaelynn is the only daughter to my Dad's youngest sister, Lorrie Lee. My Mamaw Margorie, one of 4 children to Papaw Logan and Granny Beulah, was the only known and trusted child caretaker in Keavy. I will never forget at her funeral how many people from our community showed up and showered our family in love. Each one of them had been raised by her or helped them by raising their children. She was Sissy Margie, that loved babies more than anything. She raised more than just her 4, which is why I'm convinced as the only boy in the family, the expectation to uphold the family name was almost not enough to reproduce. The only one of the 4 Rice kids to love babies as much as her momma was Lorrie Lee, the youngest. Lorrie was a stereotypical youngest child. The final girl, who had her pa, Papaw Eddie Joe, wrapped around her finger and spoiled plum rotten. She was entitled, and it showed.

My mom was 6 months pregnant with my younger brother Jeremy when Lorrie announced she was pregnant, too. Shock flew around the room. She wasn't married, and the man she had been secretly seeing was older than her oldest sister, my Aunt Beth, had no job, had never met the family, was rumored to be married, and frequently gambled on races. But Lorrie expected attention. I remember Lorrie and Allen living in Mamaw and Papaw's basement after Jaelynn was born. It was dark, like you can imagine a stand-up crawl space that had been refinished to house an unwed couple and reeked of mothballs. In order to get into their living quarters, you had to walk around the sidewalk, past the sitting porch attached to the kitchen of the house, to the lower rear of the house, and enter through a single screen door in the center of the house. When you entered, you were standing in the middle of the "kitchen" space that was divided from the living room in the far back by a single column in the middle of the room, no doubt holding up the home that rested above. It was wet feeling, uncleaned, and felt cold.

It wasn't the situation that I believe caused Jaelynn to be who she is now. I believe it was the lack of love and the reality of extreme independence that really shaped her. There was never a week that passed after her birth that Lorrie and Allen could be heard fighting into all hours of the night from the floor vents that connected both homes. Jaelynn, by the time she was 2 years old, could climb onto the counters, get a jar of peanut butter open from the upper cabinet, and fix herself a sandwich (if they had purchased bread at the grocery) so she could eat that day. It was nothing to walk in if you hadn't seen her in a day, and she would be sitting naked in the middle of their living room floor, eating expired popcorn out of a tin drum because she was hungry and had no clean panties. Both parents slept until well into the day, and she left to her own devices. She was strong and independent, and after she was no longer a snuggly baby, she was on her own. This was her reality, but she was my family. Always there, but never actually understood by me or the least bit relatable. I was older, but there was always something that separated us. Oftentimes, I remember this day as potentially my piece in making her who she is.

It was a cool fall Sunday afternoon. We were all gathered at Mamaw and Papaw's house, but this day was particularly unique because some of Audrey's (my Mamaw's younger sister) grandkids were in town. They were the closest to my age but still a tad younger. Audrey's house was a yellow two-story plantation-style home that sat in the middle of the property to the right of my Mamaw's in the homestead property. The best part of the additional cousins meant that instead of just having to play and ride bikes from Mamaw's to the dead end over to the farm, we could now ride up to and past Audrey's, turn about a quarter mile from the house at the fork in the road which also just happened to be the best hill on the whole property. This hill was perfectly angled to maximize speeds along the entire descent, and even at best, the road from the hill to the dead end was all our holler and never inclined, meaning the best take off and, with a little help from the hill, could launch you across the property. The kicker was that we were only allowed to go that far when our cousins, who were much rougher around the edges than we were, came out to play.

Now, I have a love/hate relationship with bicycles, even before this incident. You see, I learned to ride on the worst parcel of land imaginable. I started clinging to a 6x6 post on a concrete slab, pedaled uphill on uneven ground, dodging small maple trees and swing sets to loop around the top of a bluff, cut it hard enough not to plow into a metal shed, back into a brick house or another 6x6 post at max speeds. Out of all the lessons that I could have been taught while learning how to ride a bike, the one thing I never (even to this day) learned how to do was use the hand brake. I would swerve and prepare my body for epic blows, bust knees, and split lips, all while never programming my brain to protect myself with a simple brake. Oh, the poor shoes I ruined and toes I almost lost attempting to stop my body, and my bike with my feet is embarrassing in the count. I loved the wind in my hair and the speed of the hill, but it still came with an understanding that I could make it all the way to the dead end, across the garden, around the above-ground pool back toward the house, back on the road, and halfway past our hosanna tree we used to strip and line the road with all before we slowed to the point we could rest our feet on the ground and stop safely.

The biggest equalizer in a cousin relationship in my day was spending all day riding bikes. No one person on our holler had a better bike than the other; we all had hand-me-downs from Mamaw childcare kids. It didn't matter if you had a trike or a bike, the hill propelled everyone at the same rate, the same distance, and no one person was ever consistently better. The difference was Audrey's grandkids, Kimberly and Jacob, in particular, were always going to try to one-up everyone, every time. They were the instigators of the race of a lifetime. The race for all bragging rights in the cousin clan. And if I was anything, I was stubborn enough I wasn't going to lose. I would race, and I would win, no matter what. Like all good races, we met up in front of the large oak that divided the properties to discuss the rules. No little kids were allowed; this race was the real one. Jeremy and Jaelynn were automatically out. They weren't happy about it, but they got it, and off to pluck leaves off the hosanna tree they went. I knew by the time we got back to this section of the road, it would be slick, but as long as you hunkered down and kept straight, you would be fine. The first one to hit the grass on the dead end wins. No other rules. No other guidelines.

We all biked up to the top of the hill. We lined up as early as we could get, with Kimberly on my left and Jacob on my right. Kimberly sat a full head taller than I did, and Jacob was heftier than I was by far. Both bikes were in the same condition, except they still had their plastic pom pom string things out of the bike handles. My bike was baby blue, but you really couldn't see the color or any distinct markings on it. I had long since torn out the frills of girly plastic streamers, but I think, in part, it was to help me remember I had one thing they didn't: hand brakes. Could I use them? Did I ever remember to use them? Would I use them? No. Did that matter at this moment? No. The countdown was on, and the smack talk had started.

I'm competitive in nature, but I never really thrived on a team. I have the drive to push myself, and the only limitations I have are the ones that I put on myself. I didn't have siblings close to my age, so I also didn't learn how to grow and develop my own safe space to enhance my skills with anyone. They did. Audrey had 3 kids. The first two they adopted and also lived a rough life. They went through multiple marriages, multiple sets of half and step and full kids. They were imprisoned for not-so-healthy choices and were the bunch that was just really rough around the edges, but boy, could they reproduce. Kimberly and Jacob were the two closest to my age, and in that moment, right before launch down the hill, the tension changed and it was no longer three cousins racing, but was now them against me, and I was the lone wolf in their space until we got to the oak at the line, turned a slight left turn, and could then see the straight shot to the dead end. I just had to clear my view at the oak and I was home free.

The race started, and I was in the lead, but only by a single word. Then, the taunting started. Kimberly started to swerve closer to me. I tried to pivot to my other side, but Jacob was there facing her and grinning. This grin was one I was all too familiar with. Before any cousin got decked in the side of the head or kicked in the shin while I grown up wasn't looking, that warned their victim with this same grin. I got scared. I started peddling faster and faster, and faster. I was flying down this road, still picking up speed from the incline and pushing my legs to pump new speed into the wheels of this old bike. I could see the oak, but I had to make the curve before I could see the straight road. I kept looking, leaning into my bike to flow just a tad bit closer to Kimberly to avoid Jacob. They started talking to each other. They were distracting me. What did they say? I honestly couldn't recall or remember, but I remember the fear I felt about getting out between the two of them. Kimberly broke eye contact with me as she caught the oak in her view. I launched back to the road and focused until I could see both Jeremy and Jaelynn at the hosanna tree in the distance, and it appeared that the road was glistening like it would if there were leaves scattered across it. It was slick, but I had a ways to go to get there.

The only thing I had to do was peddle as fast as my little legs could take me and stay straight. I still had this in the bag. But I was distracted. Kimberly and Jacob, at this point, were not interested in finishing this race nearly as much as they were wrecking me to prove a point. I may be competitive, I may be the oldest, and I may have what it takes to win, but what I don't have is someone on my team. I remember the wind in my hair and nervously flashing between Kimberly's face, stern and focused, and Jacob's, mean and sealed with a devilish grin. Back and forth between their faces, arms locked in a straight position, unwavering; I was in the zone, except I had no idea where I was going. I was jolted out of my trance by a blood-curdling scream immediately followed by the largest jolts, thumps, and bumps that were so powerful I was almost launched across the handlebars and onto the main road. What just happened?!

Immediately after the impact, I braced myself for the epic crash; my feet landed flat-footed on the riveted roadway right in front of the driveway. I could hear and see my aunt Lorrie Lee, my mom, and my Dad running in sync to a spot behind me. Then my dad made a beeline to me, furious. I was straddling my bike, trying to turn it to see where those screams were coming from and what the commotion was about. At this point, there were no Hellion cousins anymore; those two were gone. I could hear my dad yelling, "Get off! Get off that bike! I'm going to rip your arm off and beat you with it! I'm going to run you over myself! GET OFF AND PARK IT!" Still oblivious to what was happening, I got off in a hurry and looked around, back to the screams and commotion of mommas. In the middle of the road, lying belly up on a bed of hosanna leaves, was Jaelynn. My mind was racing, but I knew in that moment what had happened. I had run her clean over with my bike. I never looked.

I got a tongue lashing from my dad all the way to the garage as I pushed that bike and parked it on the outside wall under the walnut facing the pool. "Look at that bike! LOOK AT THAT BIKE WHITNEY COLE! Do you see that bike?! You will look, AND ONLY look at that bike until my ass gets tired of looking at that bike before you ever touch it again! Do you understand?! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" Mute, I was mute. I actually ran her over. But did I run her over? I don't even know what happened. I would like to tell you temperatures and hostility simmered that day, but they didn't. It was about 15 minutes after the incident that they led Jaelynn to me. I was quarantined to the front porch to sit alone and look at nothing and no one except the road where I almost killed my cousin. She was obviously in tears, as was I, and I started apologizing. Profusely. The last thing I actually wanted to do or meant to do was hurt her. Then they showed me. Lorrie stood to Jaelynn's back, my Dad off the porch in the flower bed at the perfect level to make direct eye contact to where I was sitting, and Jaelynn slowly lifted up her shirt. Treads. A perfectly straight tread started at the base of her lower abdomen on her left side, all the way up her stomach, at an angle that split her chest completely in two, and then up her poor face across, gracing her right cheek before fading into her hairline. I didn't just run her over. I left the perfect tread of my bike across her entire body. She wore the treads under her shirt for 2 weeks before they faded.

It was years before I ever got brave enough to ask to touch that bike again. Jaelynn and I never really talked, much less developed a cousin relationship after that. I still get accused of doing it on purpose. I still get jokes launched my way at extended family functions of leaving marks on people. I still don't like people ganging up on others just because they can. When I do wish I had looked. I wish I could go back and ride a bike down that hill one more time. I wish that wasn't the last time I ever played at Mamaw and Papaw's. As horrible as that day was, the opportunity to play like that is still a simple I miss. ,