This is the story of how and why I, from an early age, have despised the color RED.

My story begins with a beautiful mid summer day in 1997.  I lived in Memphis, TN., give or take a few suburbs; and I was an overly intelligent, extra slim, hyperactive 7ish year old.  My favorite pastime besides jumping on the trampoline and playing a good game of hide and seek was of course, riding my bike.  My bike just so happened to be the one that I had picked out over a tedious but very necessary afternoon spent at Toys-R-Us mulling over the seemingly infinite row of bikes.  The bikes ranged from Princess Pink Barbie bikes to Lightning Bolt Yellow Power Ranger bikes to Black Batman bikes to brilliantly colored bikes with no thematic influence.  Being the douche bag that I have always been, I wanted nothing to do with the themed bikes unless there was a Scooby Doo bike, which there was not... So, I decided on the RED bike, but that bike was not just simply a RED bike.  My bike was that tint of RED that made every taste bud in your mouth want McDonald's French fries with some Fancy Ketchup.  The color wasn't the only magnificent quality of my first automobile; the glitter is what set it apart.  Anyways, I bought the RED glitter bike.


I was/am an only child so a lot of my time was spent with my imaginary friend Eugene.  Eugene and I were inseparable, no one ever saw him unless he was with me.  It is still debatable if this accident was Eugene’s fault or mine but I place the majority of the blame on the RED bike and Courtney.  Who is Courtney? Courtney was my next door neighbor that was 8 months older than me; therefore a genus in my eyes, but this story will prove that I needed glasses. 


On to the story.


We lived in a neighborhood that had a block type nature.  Courtney, Eugene, and I lived on the same side of the street but if you went around the block there was an amazing hill that looked like it could have been a mountain in my 7ish year old eyes.  So nearly every day of the summer Courtney, Eugene, and I would go around the block and we would ride on our bikes down the hill and allow the breeze to flow in our hair.. I have always been as beautiful as I am now so of course I looked like a dainty fairy model gliding down the hill on a brilliant RED star, hair flowing.. the works..


** I forgot to mention that my life's goal was to become a magician for approximately the first 7ish years of my life.  I did magic tricks on the regular that astounded Eugene and he constantly encouraged me to try newer more challenging feats. **


Back to the story.


So today Eugene had finally talked me into doing a new magic trick.  My nerves were starting to slip.. The hill seemed steeper today, the brick mailboxes that lined the left side of the sidewalk seemed taller, and the trees that lined the right side of the sidewalk seemed thicker; but being the professional magician that I was... I did not let my emotions get the best of me.  So, I told Courtney that I was going to do a magic trick and that she needed to watch very closely.  Courtney being the genus that she was, squealed with excitement (considering most of my magic tricks were somewhat entertaining to watch).


I climbed back up to the top of the hill and took off my helmet (real magicians leave no room for error) and mounted that blood RED bike.  Courtney was at the bottom of the hill watching me in anticipation of what my magic trick would be today.  I began pedaling down the hill as fast as my stick-like legs would pedal me; and it felt amazing.  I felt the wind blowing my hair and I felt free from all of the cares and worries that festered in my 7ish year old mind.  I knew the time was right.  It was time for the magic to begin.


I closed my eyes, let go of the handle bars, and took my feet off of the pedals that seemed to be rotating at a solid 300 rotations per minute.  It was amazing.  I was a real magician.  That feeling of euphoria lasted for about 3ish seconds because the 4thish second was a new feeling.  The new feeling was the feeling of the 8th RED brick mailbox getting acquainted with my face.  That mailbox was a real bitch.  Blood was everywhere when I finally opened my eyes to Courtney and Ezsma (my mom). They then took me to the hospital where I received 9ish stitches in my forehead.  I never rode that RED bike again. Call me crazy.. but.. I still don't like Courtney, riding bikes, or the color RED and Eugene and I have not spoken in years.