I enjoy giving people nicknames and I like calling them by something other than their formal birth name. I think it's personal and somewhat touching to have an "insider" name. It's the "secret friendshipness" that makes a nickname special.
I believe that most people will receive a nickname in their life whether they like it or not.
I had many. Some of the unmentioned nicknames, I am not too proud of. For all rest, I have actually taken a liking to.
While biking down a steep remote back-road, my past and its bruised nicknames became all too vivid.
As I gained speed, approaching 34-35 mph, I kept hearing voices in my head saying, "Hey, Crash!"
"Don't Crash, Crash!"
"Crash, don't get in the pool with all those scabs on your body."
"Crash, I can't believe you crashed again."
Yes, growing up, I crashed many times on my garage-sale bike and I have the scars to show.
In the summer, I road from my folks house to the swim club every day. I like to believe my bike and I were good friends (?) since it was my primary mode of transportation. My licensed family members were too busy to pick me up so I gave up relying on them for rides.
Unfortunately, after many consecutive summers of riding my bike to and fro, I became accident prone. I crashed. I crashed on busy streets. I crashed while my neighbors drove behind me after a late night swim meet. I crashed down my families gravel road a few different times. One special time, I crashed and tried to hide it while eating dinner with my family. I was quiet at the dinner table because I could barely bring the fork to my mouth. My body was covered in road rash and tiny rocks were embedded in my skin. Plus, my head was a little blurry. Ouch.
The following day, I headed back to the pool for swim practice. I tried to sneakily hop in the pool unnoticed until one simmer called me out. They called me that dreaded name, "Crash."
I tried so hard to put that darn name to rest but every summer it surfaced again.
Now, I guess I am an adult. At 29 years of age, I am still getting over my anxiety of crashing. I am so cautious it kills me. I burn through my brakes. I ride my breaks and take corners like a little old lady. Oh well, I think my courage will come back eventually.
I love my new bike. I love the bursts of oxygen in my face, the sunny days and the excitement of seeing new places; I don't plan on quitting anytime soon.
After all, my bike is my birthday treat and I love her. Her name is Black Beauty. And yes, we are friends. She doesn't have a voice and she doesn't call me Crash.
