One Word Erased Every Pain by Clark Mahoney (room on the broom read aloud txt) 📕

were high-end Shimano parts, not the cheap stuff they put on WalMart bikes. This one cost over one thousand dollars, and it was well worth the money he spent. Rides were exhilarating, as the bike rolled over rocks and sticks and small ruts with ease, the front and rear shocks smoothing out the trail. And jumps were a blast, as the bike would spring up as if on a trampoline, and landing softly, bearing his weight with ease like a four-wheel drive Jeep.
But his thoughts weren’t on his wheels or frame or suspension or components at the moment. They were on Elisa, his daughter, who had not returned from her ride yet. He pressed the garage door opener, and walked over to his bike. Sitting beside it on a shelf was his night-riding gear, a helmet light and a handle-bar light. He attached both, knowing that he would need them. He kicked off his shoes and put his trail-riding ones onto his feet, as well as his fingerless gloves. Taking a deep breath, he mounted his bike and rode down the driveway.
The trail was a familiar site to him, as he’d been riding it for years, since before his daughter was born. He knew each turn and rise, each creek and root, riding here with his buddies on Sunday afternoons so many times. What he didn’t know is where his daughter was.
When he got to the trailhead, he looked toward the sign that marked the beginning of the trail. In bold letters it warned: Mountain Lion Habitat. He tried not to think about this as he pedaled onto the trail.
While passing the spillway, he thought he heard something. Stopping and looking inside, he saw water slowly draining down the concrete. “Elisa?” No response. He kept going.
Through the sand, where he’d often seen deer, he pedaled, all the while looking around to the left and right. He passed the eucalyptus trees that bordered this part of the trail, looking for a sign of his daughter, or her bike. If she went off the trail, then there should be smashed bushes or grass. Maybe. But it was getting dark, and the bright greens had turned gray, as light left this side of the planet. “Elisa?” he called. Nothing. Just the chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs.
Over the first creek crossing he went, and the second, and the third. Still no sign of his daughter. He’d call out her name, “Elisa?” But each time he was met with silence. Often he’d hear something in the trees above his head, and look to see a squirrel skittering along a limb, dropping whatever it had in its hands. Leaves would fall, or twigs, and he’d stop and listen for further movement. Is that his daughter? “Elisa?” he’d call. Nothing.
Along the golf course, looking for golfers, or other riders, to ask for help. No one. The trail was empty. At the horse stables, he paused. Maybe she rode up there. Uncertainty bothered him, as he was used to making a decision, and going with it. But, if he left the trail and looked among the horse trailers and corrals, maybe his daughter would ride by on the trail and he’d miss her. He decided to check this later. And, to make it worse, he had two choices in front of him, as the trail formed a Y. Did she take the path to the left, or the right? Which way? He decided to go to the right, and call her name as he rode, knowing that both paths paralleled each other and led to the same spot.
He was frustrated, expecting to find her with a flat tire. Hoping to find her with a flat tire, or something easy to fix. But, no. No sign of her. He switched on his lights, as the sun had already set behind him, leaving the trail in the final moments of dusk, a gray difficult-to-see world.
He kept searching for her, riding tirelessly, until he reached the Poison Ivy sign, his typical stopping point. But, did she stop here and turn around? Or, did she keep going, trying to add another mile or two to her ride? There were too many possibilities, too many options. His head grew dizzy just thinking of them. What to do? What to do? He’d just spent forty minutes looking for her, and couldn’t find her. He needed help.
Taking out his cell phone, he dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one. Is this an emergency?”
“Yes,” he choked out, tears beginning to run down his face. “My daughter has disappeared.”
“Okay. When was the last time you saw her?” the operator asked.
He explained about the afternoon bike rides, and that she frequently took this trail, and that he just rode up the trail, and that he couldn’t find her. “Okay, you need to return home now, and we’ll get a search and rescue team organized right away, sir. Don’t worry. She’s probably just at a friend’s house, safe and sound.”
He hung up, knowing in his heart that she wasn’t at a friend’s house, and that she wasn’t “safe and sound,” and that time was very, very important. He called one more person, his best friend.
“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” he heard in the receiver.
“Terrible. Elisa went on a bike ride hours ago and hasn’t returned. I rode the trail looking for her, but…” his voice trailed off.
There was a moment of silence, and then he heard, “I will be at your house in ten minutes,” followed by a click. Taking a deep breath, he wiped away the tears and turned his Rockhopper around, tearing down the trail as fast as he could go.

 

Part X

It was dark. Elisa looked up to see the trunk of a tree, and farther away, leaves swaying with the wind. And past that, the night sky, with stars twinkling in the distance. The Big Dipper, just over there, and the North Star, over there. She saw both. No clouds in the sky to impede her view. She lay still, trying to collect her thoughts. Her mind was a bit confused, and she tried to focus on the distant stars. Where am I? Why am I looking at the stars? There was something else, at the back of her mind. What was it? Elisa tried to remember. What was it that she forgot? She closed her eyes, and tried to concentrate. Think. Think.
She couldn’t remember, so she focused on what was nearby. What she could feel. Something hard, and cold, under her shoulders, and back, and legs. I must be lying on the ground. She tried to sit up, but got dizzy so she lay back down. She reached up to wipe away the tickling sensation from her nose and discovered that it was grass. Why was there grass on her face? Her head ached, and she reached up to touch the top of her head, but found something in the way. What? She moved her fingers around, touching here and there, wondering just what was pressing against her scalp. She tried to push it off, but something dug into her chin when she tried that. It’s a bike helmet. Why is there a bike helmet on my head? Oh, I was biking. She thought about biking for a moment, the trail, the trees, the grass. Oh, no. I crashed. And, there was a deer. It all came back suddenly, and she got scared. She was lying on the ground, under a big oak tree, having crashed in spectacular fashion.
The deer? She had wanted to see a doe or buck, or maybe a fawn on this ride, but not like this. There it was, in the middle of the path, and she almost hit it. Or, did she hit it? Her mind wasn’t sure. She tried moving her legs, but found that they too hurt. Her chest hurt. Her hip hurt. What do I do now?
“Dad?” she whispered through cracked lips. She tried licking her lips, but found the dried blood hardened. She tried to swallow, but her parched mouth had nothing for her dry throat. “Dad?” she called again, this time a bit louder. “Dad, where are you?” she asked. Nothing. Silence. She was alone, and scared.
She moved her eyes to the left and right. She could see the outline of bushes and grass up to her left, and down to her right. She was on the side of a ravine. She needed to get back to the trail, and go home. It was dark, and her father would be worried. It was okay to ride the trail at night, as long as she was with her father. And, as long as they had their night-riding gear, lights. But, she didn’t have that. It was dark, and her father was nowhere nearby. He had warned her about the nocturnal animals. Orb weavers came out of hiding and built their webs to catch the evening’s flying insects. Owls, perched on clutter-free branches, hunted small mammals at night. Coyotes, eager for a meal, hunted in pairs, or in packs, looking for weak or dying critters to eat. And mountain lions, well, she didn’t even want to think about that for right now. What if one was watching her right now?
“I want to go home,” Elisa spoke, starting to cry. She pushed herself up on her elbows, and felt a bit dizzy. She waited for a minute until the world stopped spinning. Then, she sat up, pulling her feet toward her. She looked at her legs, but couldn’t make out much in the dark. There was a vine wrapped around her ankle, filled with thorns. It had dug into her calf in several places, leaving behind dried blood. She struggled to remove the vine, losing a shoe in the process, but the vine eventually found its way free of her leg, and she stood up.
She fell over almost immediately, landing with a crash among the grass and weeds. “What is wrong?” she asked. Her head was spinning, and the ground seemed to rumble and shake beneath her. What water used to be in her stomach came out, as she threw up. She cried for a moment, as her stomach wrenched free all of its contents, leaving her exhausted and miserable. “Dad,” she whimpered, as tears ran down her face.
After a few minutes, she felt her breathing return to normal and calm return to her mind. Something was choking her, and she reached under her chin to tug it away. It was stuck. Something was pressing against her chin and throat. She felt around her neck, and followed it with her fingers up to her ear. My helmet. She reached under her chin and unlatched her helmet, letting it fall where it was, landing at the