Some people are cursed with blunders and accidents in whatever they do. It's not that they are not careful in what they do, but somehow, for whatever reasons, they just always end up leaving a trail of destructions along their paths.
My younger brother Dennis was one such person. But in all fairness, he has improved somewhat. But when we were younger, I used to be "afraid" of him. I couldn't decide whether to be angry or amused whenever he blundered with my stuff.
I can still remember the first day I rode my new motorbike home from the dealer. That evening, I rode the bike around the village where I used to live in to show it off to all my neighbours in the village.
But brother Dennis was there too, and he asked to be given a chance to ride the bike. I wasn't really sure what to do. I mean, with his reputation, would it be wise to let him ride my brandnew bike? There, by the road side, I paused for a while, thinking whether to take the risk with the pathetic accident-prone creature. All the neighbours' eyes were on me. They were all waiting to see how this big brother would decide in the end. What would you do? Knowing Dennis and his curse, would you let him?
Well, in the end, I took the big risk and let Dennis ride my bike. He wasn't very familiar with the hand-clutch and accelerator. Each time he released the clutch, he'd forget to turn on the accelerator, resulting in the bike jerking forward and the engine would die off immediately after that. That happened several times that evening—some people are slow learners, you see. I kept telling him that he needed to turn on the accelerator as he gradually release the clutch, but he kept forgetting my instructions.
Anyway, soon it was already getting dark. Miraculously Dennis didn't wreck up my bike into a tree or someone's fence. That night at the dinner table, we were still talking about my new bike. And then Dennis said he knew what was his problem; he said the next time he's given a chance to ride my bike, he'd be able to handle it well. So I asked him how so? He said he will remember to increase the turn of the accelerator while releasing the clutch, and he would see to it that the engine would not die off.
Yeah right!
Then later that night dad asked for my favour. Apparently earlier that day, dad borrowed uncle Mike's van to transport something. But as it was getting a little late, he asked if I could help return uncle Mike's van. Uncle Mike's staying a few kilometres away within the same village. So I thought perhaps I could ask Dennis to ride my bike to uncle Mike's house; and after I dropped off the van, we could both go home on my bike.
Dennis had just taken his bath and was busy applying cream over his face (you know the acne problem in teenagers). I was in a rush, so I left the bike's key with Dennis and I went off with the van. A few minutes later I reached uncle Mike's house. Then I waited for Dennis...
Five minutes... no Dennis. The bike must have been dying off all the time. Again, some people are slow learners, you see. Ten minutes... still no Dennis. Then fifteen minutes later, dad arrived driving his own car.
NOW what? Where is Dennis? And where the hell is my bike?...
Dad didn't quite know how to tell me. "Just get in the car, first," he said. So I got into the car. A few minutes later, we arrived at the foothill near to our house. It was pitch dark, but I could still see Dennis sitting on the ground covered in mud. Oh my Lord!... this must be a dream!
Then dad and I got down from the car. And there it was—my brandnew bike, upside-down with both tires upward and its body embedded in the mud. Later on, Dennis told me how he had applied his new-found knowledge by increasing his turn on the accelerator while releasing the clutch. Only trouble was that he overdid it, so much so that the bike lunged forward, and Dennis not letting go of the bike, ended up together with it in the swamp by the roadside.
And there I was, still trying to decide whether to be angry with Dennis or pity him. Looking at him covered with mud from head to toe like that was quite something, you know. Well, the three of us went into the swamp in the dark and managed to extract my bike and then pushed it home. I spent over an hour to wash the bike that night, while Dennis watched me in silent guilt.
Very late that night, when everyone's asleep, I finally took a long bath—still thinking about my poor bike. And then I burst out laughing so loud in the bathroom. It was so funny thinking about Dennis covered in mud like that. I laughed so hard till I had tears in my eyes. What a curse to live a life being an accident-prone!
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