Four Stitches to Ruin My Childhood

February 22, 2017
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I always thought I was great for my age. I could go long distances and even do a biking wellie. I was only ten years old when the world came crashing down around me.

I was spending the day at my grandparents house. It was summer, so that meant that my cousins, who lived in California would be coming over to Michigan and staying for about a month. Because my cousins in California came over, that meant all of the relatives on my mom’s side of the family had to come over and visit them.
While I was playing with my cousins in my grandma’s backyard sandbox, a sudden realization struck me. I had a music lesson with Demarsh, my music teacher at 3:30. And since it took us about ten minutes to get to his house, I had to go right now! Sure enough, my mom came out the screen door and calls to me. My mom tells me that I can’t come back after my lesson because she’s having a friend over for dinner. However, that meant I needed to ride my bike home, because I had rode it here in the first place. I told my mom I could ride my bike home and would wait for her at the driveway. My mom said okay and that she would be right behind me so I wouldn’t wait long.

I sadly mounted my bike since I wasn’t coming back. I put on my biking helmet with decorational flames on the side that made me look like the punkiest ten year old ever and took off from my grandma’s driveway onto the sidewalk. I was disappointed that I wouldn’t see my cousins until tomorrow, so I tried to make the most of the day. I pretended to be happy and started leaning a little to the left and then to the right, swaying my bike. I did this going faster and faster down the hill, with such innocence that I thought nothing bad would ever happen to me.

My biggest mistake I ever made. I immediately couldn’t stop turning side to side, my bike skidding to the ground. I screamed so horribly when my elbow scraped against the sidewalk that I believe to this day that part of my soul is still somewhere on that piece of concrete. I lay there, dazed and bleeding, until the unexpected thing happened.

A neighbor in the area had come outside to investigate the noise and found me laying half-dead on the sidewalk. It was an old retired man who asked me if I was all right and shouted at what I think was his daughter to get some bandages for my arm. He stayed by my side until his daughter came back. They tried to help me, but their wasn’t much they could do. They asked me where I was from and I told them just over the hill. Seconds later,  my mom in her car rolled down the hill. She saw me and immediately stopped the car and rushed outside. She smiled and told me it was going to be all right. I was helped into the car while my mom thanked those kind neighbors. We drove to the hospital, not stopping for anything.

In the hospital, a doctor was brought in and fixed me up. I got a few shots that numbed my arm and got four stitches. At one time, my mom said that a young nurse came in to observe how the doctor was stitching my wound and she fainted dead away as soon as she saw it. I was watching cartoons in the hospital so fortunately I didn’t freak out when I saw the wound. I got to stay a little longer at my grandparents house after my time at the hospital and I got to skip out of my music lessons for the next three weeks. But unfortunately, I didn’t ride my bike for a whole three months. And too this day, whenever I go down that hill, I am about as tight as a skeleton, avoiding all the cracks and just trying to stay alive.

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