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I think I've told this story before around the boards, but there it goes again
This was either 1986 or 1987, I think it was 87 and it was in January.
I was 8 or 9 and those were my first days of going alone on the streets to play.
I met this kid, his name was Hendrix. He was a little hellraiser, just like me, and people used to think we were brothers, because both our appearances and behavior were kinda similar.
I remember playing on his house, we'd go up the roof, walk on the outside walls and climb trees. I remember we drove his mom nuts and for that reason, she wasn't very fond of me. I remember she was always worried about him, afraid he'd fall or something. He had a BMX bike, which along the Atari, were the most desirable objects any kid back in those days would want. I remember bugging my dad for one, but he would say I was too young to have a bike.
Every year, a week or two before Christmas, my family would go on a trip and we would return around mid January. So I remember well that we played together not for long, maybe a couple months. End of the year here is summer, schools close for two months and those were the times to make new friends and whatnot.
So when we came back, I remember immediately heading to his home, he lived less than 1/2 a mile from my house. When I got there, I felt something strange and there were a few cars in front of his house. I remember seeing his bike on the veranda, the front wheel was bent. I remember hearing a few voices in his home, so I thought they were having a party of something. I called him and all the voices went quiet and I heard what looked like someone sobbing. I called him again and a window opened just a bit and I saw his mom simply saying "Hendrix not here". Being the pesky kid I was, I called him again, thinking his mom just didn't want us playing. When I called him the 4th time, the window opened completely and his mom yelled "Hendrix is dead!"
That scared the shit out of me but I remember not believing her, but I started heading home. When i started walking, I heard his house gate opening and some lady that looked like his mom came in my direction. She was his aunt and she asked me if I was friends with Hendrix and I said yes, but his mother didn't like me much. She looked incredibly sad, her eyes were red and she told me that he had passed away, run over by a car while his was riding his bike. For some reason I still didn't quite believe her, but at my way home I felt very confused, kind of in disbelief.
When I arrived home, my mother was mad at me, saying I had barely arrived from the trip and I was already going out, she was always wary about me walking the streets alone and she only allowed it because our borough was pretty safe. So I told her what had happened and said I thought they were lying. She looked kinda shocked and said that people wouldn't say something like that just to avoid us playing together, but she was going to find out. She went to the neighbor and asked if something like that had really happened and she confirmed. She said they took him still alive to the hospital, but his injuries were very serious, so he died 3 days later.
I had other friends and we met, we kinda talked about that and I was the only one who really knew Hendrix but being so young, I didn't feel a lot of sadness. I did learn, however, that kids DO die stupid deaths and that my mom had a point when she was always worried. I also remember my dad telling me that was EXACTLY the reason why he wouldn't buy me a BMX.
My english school was close to his home, so one day in class, the teacher told what had happened, as a cautionary tale. And she gave "details" about the accident, how he had gone down the curb coming from behind a wall and the car never saw him and ran over his body before stopping. She said he had braked the bike hard and was thrown forward because the front brake locked the wheel, sending him right in front of the car. That was common here, because the rear brakes are used more, so the front ones tended to do that when pressed too hard.
This was either 1986 or 1987, I think it was 87 and it was in January.
I was 8 or 9 and those were my first days of going alone on the streets to play.
I met this kid, his name was Hendrix. He was a little hellraiser, just like me, and people used to think we were brothers, because both our appearances and behavior were kinda similar.
I remember playing on his house, we'd go up the roof, walk on the outside walls and climb trees. I remember we drove his mom nuts and for that reason, she wasn't very fond of me. I remember she was always worried about him, afraid he'd fall or something. He had a BMX bike, which along the Atari, were the most desirable objects any kid back in those days would want. I remember bugging my dad for one, but he would say I was too young to have a bike.
Every year, a week or two before Christmas, my family would go on a trip and we would return around mid January. So I remember well that we played together not for long, maybe a couple months. End of the year here is summer, schools close for two months and those were the times to make new friends and whatnot.
So when we came back, I remember immediately heading to his home, he lived less than 1/2 a mile from my house. When I got there, I felt something strange and there were a few cars in front of his house. I remember seeing his bike on the veranda, the front wheel was bent. I remember hearing a few voices in his home, so I thought they were having a party of something. I called him and all the voices went quiet and I heard what looked like someone sobbing. I called him again and a window opened just a bit and I saw his mom simply saying "Hendrix not here". Being the pesky kid I was, I called him again, thinking his mom just didn't want us playing. When I called him the 4th time, the window opened completely and his mom yelled "Hendrix is dead!"
That scared the shit out of me but I remember not believing her, but I started heading home. When i started walking, I heard his house gate opening and some lady that looked like his mom came in my direction. She was his aunt and she asked me if I was friends with Hendrix and I said yes, but his mother didn't like me much. She looked incredibly sad, her eyes were red and she told me that he had passed away, run over by a car while his was riding his bike. For some reason I still didn't quite believe her, but at my way home I felt very confused, kind of in disbelief.
When I arrived home, my mother was mad at me, saying I had barely arrived from the trip and I was already going out, she was always wary about me walking the streets alone and she only allowed it because our borough was pretty safe. So I told her what had happened and said I thought they were lying. She looked kinda shocked and said that people wouldn't say something like that just to avoid us playing together, but she was going to find out. She went to the neighbor and asked if something like that had really happened and she confirmed. She said they took him still alive to the hospital, but his injuries were very serious, so he died 3 days later.
I had other friends and we met, we kinda talked about that and I was the only one who really knew Hendrix but being so young, I didn't feel a lot of sadness. I did learn, however, that kids DO die stupid deaths and that my mom had a point when she was always worried. I also remember my dad telling me that was EXACTLY the reason why he wouldn't buy me a BMX.
My english school was close to his home, so one day in class, the teacher told what had happened, as a cautionary tale. And she gave "details" about the accident, how he had gone down the curb coming from behind a wall and the car never saw him and ran over his body before stopping. She said he had braked the bike hard and was thrown forward because the front brake locked the wheel, sending him right in front of the car. That was common here, because the rear brakes are used more, so the front ones tended to do that when pressed too hard.
