His Last Ride

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Shakeeb is troubled by his younger brothers disease. This story is a coming of age story which sees Shakeeb take his brother on a journey through Bangladesh.

Submitted: January 26, 2016

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Submitted: January 26, 2016

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His Last Ride

By Ross Scott

 

“Unfortunately, there is nothing more we can do to help your brother Shakeeb, the disease is spreading faster than we imagined and it has grown far more powerful than we thought it would, It kills me to say this but he will never walk again”.

My brother and I had always been very close, even though our age gap was 3 years, but to us, that didn’t matter. We grew up in a small fishing village just outside Chittagong. Our father, a dirt poor fisherman with nothing but a small wooden dingy to his name worked tirelessly and consistently in order to keep us educated and fed, even if it meant that  sometimes he went hungry. Our mother, a captivating and intelligent woman, ran off with one of my father’s best friends after he won a small fortune in the Bangladeshi Lottery, but to him, nothing mattered more than ensuring that Suresh and I were in school and had food in front of us when we were hungry.

 My brother, Suresh, is one of few children in the world to have developed Parkinson’s Disease at the young age of 5 and the disease had grown so rapidly that he had no control over the lower part of his body, doctors never gave him much hope, often sending him home and telling my father to pray and hope that his prayers were heard. “Dr Rahim, please, I have nothing to offer you, take my boat, take my house, please just help my boy, he has not seen the world yet, every child deserves to see the world.”, “Mr. Hossain, I am sorry, I cannot help your son, even If I could, it would be a waste as the disease has spread so rapidly, I am afraid the worst is yet to come.” Said Dr Rahim, I was sitting on a chair in the waiting room when I heard this argument taking place, my heart sank, tears began to fill my eyes, but I knew I had to be strong for Suresh, I was all he had. “Get out of my office Mr. Hossain, don’t ever come back.” Said Dr Rahim, holding his left cheek and stretching his jaw at the same time, my father walked furiously out the office at a pace that Suresh and I simply could not keep up with and our walk soon turned into a jog.” Don’t you ever say that my child is a waste” shouted my father from the office door, his left hand trembling in pain after it had connected with Dr Rahim’s cheek bone.

We began the journey back to our small hut on the banks of the Karnaphuli River, all I could think about were Dr Rahim’s words…He had to see the world…The world had to see him. Just then a brilliant idea came across my mind, I could use my father’s bicycle, which was equipped with a rear seat for children, and show Suresh our part of the world, Bangladesh. I gently placed his small and fragile frame into the rear seat of the Bicycle and off we went. We raced down Station Road, past the wealthy travelers and through the traffic. I could hear Suresh mimicking the sounds of the cars in the city and for once in my life, I felt as though I was doing good, he was happy, not in pain and most importantly, he was free. I could feel the burning sensation in my calves, but nothing could stop me. We rode past the high walls of Chittagong Stadium, a place where dreams are either made or broken. Swerving and turning, I stopped atop a small peak where our view was breathtaking. I took Suresh out of his seat and lay him down on the lush green grass; it was beautiful, not the view, but Suresh, seeing him so happy even though his days were numbered, made me less afraid.

Life is like riding a bicycle — in order to keep your balance; you must keep moving. Don’t stop, move forward, pedal on. Suresh was able to free himself from the fear and the pain and enjoy his ride, his last ride, and for me to share that with him was a moment I shall never forget.

 

 

 


© Copyright 2019 Ross Scott . All rights reserved.

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