He wiped off the sweat from this face as he loosened the straps from his chin. He took the heavy, black helmet off his head, feeling the tender warmth of the inner padding slide away in exchange for a cool feeling of a soothing breeze. His long hair blew backwards, and he could feel his hair pulling away gently on his scalp. He let the helmet dangle from one hand as he gazed into the distance as the sun loomed low, giving off a glint of orange-yellow in the midst of the evening clouds.
With one hand, he grasped the handle of his bicycle as he positioned both his feet on the ground. The dusty evening felt mellow. The world felt cool and dry. Even though he was tired, he felt a sense of achievement as he looked towards the horizon.
He felt the wind on his face and exposed neck once again, and felt a chill originate from the base of his spine and scurry swiftly up his back and straight into his mind. Now shivering, he closed his eyes and soaked in the invigorating feeling until it subsided. He listened to the soft rustling of the leaves accompanied now by the echo of singing birds in the distance.
As he opened his eyes, he looked again at the sun, which now hid below the mountains. A crooked line of brilliant orange separated the sky from the deep dark green and grey mountains. The fluffs of clouds gently floated above the hills and the vast expanse of the orange-lit horizon seemed to diffuse their colors into the free sky.
A memory suddenly flashed in the boy’s thoughts. He put his hand on the pocket of his comfortable cotton shorts and felt around for his phone. He took it out and looked at the reflection of himself on the cracked screen.
Just a few weeks ago, at this very spot, his phone had slipped out of his hands and dropped into the chasms below. Of course, he had to ride back in a quest to find it.
He looked into the screen now and scrutinized the vast network of cracked white lines, angles and curves of white imperfections etched onto the jet black screen.
“Phew, at least the front camera is OK,” he thought, with a smile.
Suddenly, his field of vision shifted from the white cracks on the black screen, to the reflective surface of the phone. Then, he saw himself, amongst all the cracks and imperfections; a face enveloped by the warm orange shade of sunlight, a face he knew so well. Or so he thought.
As he closed his eyes, he remembered the long and winding path he had to go back on his bicycle to retrieve his fallen treasure. He remembered having second thoughts about this painstaking trip, all those twists and turns, all those dead ends, twigs and scratchy foliage. A memory of a time so vexing, he would only seldom choose to recall it.
But now, as he stood on top of the hill, he felt as though he had conquered himself once more.
…
A year passes. Now, he is in college. A friend catches a glimpse of his cracked phone lying on the dinner table.
Inquisitively, she asks him, “Why don’t you fix it?”
He smiles, looking down, reminiscing the vexing and blissful memories at the same time.
Those memories were now etched onto him like the cracks were etched onto the screen.
He looks up slowly, at her eager eyes, and replies, “I like it cracked.”
