Preschool Catastrophe

March 4, 2010
By , Denver, CO
My tiny feet silently padded on the solid cement, I squinted at the bright, spring sun that lay like a blanket on my preschool playground. Hooking arms with my best friends, Amanda and Jenelle and I skipped to recess, discussing whether to play on the swings or the jungle gym.

Farther up ahead, one of the boys in my class was holding the steal gate that lead to the playground for my other classmates. It was a couple inches taller than me and was rusted but very solid. As we were coming near the gate, I silently decided to smile at the friendly boy holding the gate. Since the opening couldn’t fit all three of us, Amanda and Jenelle went ahead of me. As they passed through it, I looked at the boy and smiled. He smiled too, but it wasn’t near as pleasant as I had expected; actually, it was more of a mischievous smirk.

What happened next seemed to go in slow motion. The boy let go of the gate and pushed it towards me. I had no time to react, and I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my petite face and chest. Everything around me started spinning, and soon I hit the firm cement with a thud. My vision became foggy, and the first thing I saw before I blacked out was the dreadful boy backing away, his face stricken with how much trouble he was going to be in. Then everything went black.

Waking up, I saw adults scurrying around me like a busy beehive, talking quietly to each other. They were wearing doctor’s masks, but that was probably a hallucination. I sat up and squinted at the sharp, bright light of the room.

“She’s awake,” one of the adults said. I looked at him, and he said, “Come with me honey – your parents are right out here.

He opened a door that I hadn’t noticed before. We stepped out into a place I immediately recognized. It was the gym of my preschool! On the cafeteria that was now acting as a stage, Irish dancers were performing. Although they were clad in vibrant dresses of green and purple, all I noticed was my mom and dad sitting in the audience, only a few yards away from me. I never looked back at the man wearing the doctor’s mask as I ran with all the energy I could muster towards my parents. I collided into their arms and their faces lit up at the sight of me.

“Are you okay, honey?” my dad asked me. My mom felt my head and kissed my wound, and I knew that with them here with me now, I was okay.

That night, as I got ready for bed, I studied the bandage on my head. Covering my entire forehead, it looked like I had been in some deadly plane crash. Even though I can’t remember how it healed or what happened to that dreadful boy, I still know that this incident was very real because I now carry a large dent on my forehead.





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