Blood on the Bike

Before you read this there are some things you should know. On September 25, 2014, I lost my best friend, my beautiful blue pit bull Storm. On December 16, 2014, I lost my friend whom I loved like a little brother Tyrell De’Von Floyd. I had not written anything since Storm and Tyrell passed away. In fact every time I thought of writing I would cry. After months of tears and the fears of writing one Tuesday night I picked up my computer and began to write. Hence the piece below:

 Storm Tyrell

By Sharon Nyree Williams
January 13, 2015

I’m feeling nervous right now. I’m feeling like I might start crying at any moment. As my fingers touch the keys. I’m wondering what will come pouring out of me. It’s been a rough few months. I’ve avoided this keyboard in the capacity in which I’m using it at this very moment. I believed at one time that this instrument was a part of me that it was a piece of my soul. I believed the blood that flowed through me ran over every inch of these keys. It allowed me to share my most personal moments. It allowed me to say words that I might not have ever put together. It allowed me to spread joy, to touch the heart and souls of some, and it became my therapy. For a little while now, the one in which has been so connected to me became my worst nightmare. It became the thing that frightened me the most. As the words are beginning to flow from my head to my fingers what I most feared is happening. The tears press against my skin. I must close my eyes and take a deep breath. I must continue to type in the darkness. I’m shaking my head gasping for breath while not knowing if the keys I’m hitting are actually the ones that are translating the thoughts in my head. I’m trying to breath deep. But I’m not trying to stop. I can’t stop the tears. I have to fight through the fears. The words must continue to flow.

I had to take a little break. I’m going to continue to push through. Lord if this is what I’m supposed to be doing. Why does it hurt so bad? Why does it make me so sad? Dear God this is suppose to my joy but it’s bringing me pain. I can feel the temperature in my body heating up. I must kick off the covers to avoid the sweat. My head has begun pounding. My breaths are deeper. The tears have slowed down. My nose needs to be blown.

I have to step away….

I had to step away because there was no tissue by my bed. I went to the bathroom to release the fluids from my nose. I glanced in the mirror and my nose is red, my eyes are red, and there’s a wet spot on the collar of my shirt. I took another deep breath. As I walked back to my bed all I could think of was how I had to keep going. From inside my head to my fingers. I must push through. I hear myself breathing because my mouth is open and I’m taking short but quick breaths. I need this. I have to do this. The tears are drying up. I think the hard part has passed. I wipe my eyes. I’m listening to the sound of the keys with the heat coming through the vent as the background noise. I’m looking at the make shift stars of the planet on the television screen. I’ve seen it a million times but this time it’s more than just the backdrop that I see when my computer is running through the tv. I see the brighten stars. I see the details of what could be the dust of the past and the sparkle of the future. None of this is making sense to me right now, but I don’t care. I may be reaching for something to make me feel something deeper than what it is because I can’t explain what I’m going through right now. I can’t explain the success of allowing the words to flow and the pain of beginning again. I’m old enough to be where I’m supposed to be; however, it seems as if that isn’t the case. It’s not like riding a bike. Or maybe it is.

I’m now thinking of the time I was on the bike with my friend and we fell in the road. I scraped my knee and my leg. It hurt but we had to get back on the bike. I remember walking past my dad into the house and straight into the bathroom. I grabbed the peroxide, tissue, and band-aids and patched myself up. I went in my room and changed the shorts I had on into some loose pants. Because I knew if my mom knew that I got hurt. I would get in trouble. I never understood it but I will not be a victim of being chastised for this. When I went back outside and looked at my bike. The blood from either my leg or my friend had dried onto the frame of my bike. I don’t know why I left it there. It probably would have come off it if I had tried to clean it. I knew my mom wouldn’t see it because my bike stayed in the shed out back. I guess I finally know why I left the blood on the bike, it became a constant reminder that I didn’t allow the fall to keep me down.

Grabbing my keyboard, typing this message, crying, feeling the pain but pushing through. Is just like that moment on the bike. There have been a lot of crappy things that have affected me in a negative way over the past few months or even the past year. The fact that I’m lying on the bed, looking at computer-generated stars, and feeling the glow from the screen as my breath has settled to an even calm. As the sounds of the heat blowing through the vent has stopped. And the only sound I hear is the clicking of the keys, I may forever refer to this sound as my blood on my bike.

Lord I thank you, and although it sucks. I believe in this moment and I pray that the pain from the past will no longer burden me but will in a new way allow me to use it as a tool to follow the path to my purpose.

Learn more about Sharon Nyree Williams at

Blood on the Bike

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