RemembeRed: sisterly love
The crisp fall wind tousled my hair and felt cool in my lungs.
I was running away.
I felt like I could run forever. I would never let her catch up. I would run until I ran around the world before I would ever let her catch up. I was gonna be first!
"Stop!" she hollered.
"Wait for me!"
Her six year old legs couldn't compete with my 10 year old legs.
My arms were swinging. The wind was making my eyes water. That crackling gravel got louder. The laces in my sneakers worked their way undone. In seconds I was falling, sliding towards the sewer grate.
It was broken. Unsafe. A part of it was missing. My leg went down through the grate and I couldn't pull it back out.
Blood was seeping from both my legs, my elbows and my chin.
She could of kept running. She could have caught the ice cream truck, but she didn't.
She stopped. She was crying too. The ice cream was long forgotten.
She tried to pull me free but she could not. Her little six year old legs ran all the way home to get dad. He yanked me free, pulling most of the skin off of my right shin.
Bandaged in many spots but feeling the love of family.
Pardon me but there is a chipmunk attached to your hand
The answer. Picking blackberries.
Yum.
We spent the next half hour gathering up the supplies we would need. We borrowed some Tupperware without asking, we packed some water in case we got thirsty and we threw in a compass just in case we got lost.
The four of us, my sister and two cousins, headed into the woods just behind our houses. The shade from the mature trees was cooling. We knew our short cool walk would be rewarded with delicious, juicy blackberries.
Sure enough the bushes were overflowing. We started picking and eating and picking some more. Much to our delight a chipmunk ran across the path. It stole a berry we had dropped and scurried up a tree.
Out of nowhere a crow swooped down and peck at the chipmunk, knocking it off the tree and causing it to land in an awkward lump on the path in front of us.
We all just stared. Did that really just happen? What should we do?
Like any quick thinking 10 year old, I decided to pick up the chipmunk.
Not a good idea.
It latched on to the skin between my thumb and pointer finger and would not let go. i screamed. My sister screamed. My cousins screamed. i shook my hand. I pulled at that stupid rodent.
Nothing. It was stuck.
We had no choice but to seek help.
Mom.
She'll know what to do.
We ran the entire way home, leaving our prize berries and our backpack of supplies behind. When we reached the yard, mom was outside hanging laundry on the line.
My sister said, "Don't be mad" which usually just made my mom mad. I was still crying when I lifted my hand to reveal the now near death chipmunk attached to it. It is the first memory I have of my mother swearing.
My dad had to come home from work. My mom wouldn't touch it. My dad discussed options with my mom in a hushed voice that involved words like drowning, pliers, hammers and rabies.
I was terrified but I was also starting to like the little guy whose teeth were buried into my flesh.
My dad put on gardening gloves and pried his mouth open enough to released my bruised and a little bloody hand. I wouldn't let him kill the chipmunk, which in hindsight only prolonged his suffering.
He lived, paralysed, for a week in a tiny shoebox.
The only thing he would eat were blackberries.
Inspired by Mama Kat's genius
RemembeRed: a magic piece of paper
Imagine, if you will, that you are given a magic slip of paper and told that you can write down your worst memory and it will be erased...forgotten...deleted.
Would you do it?
Would you write about the day your mother left and you saw your father fall to pieces?
Would you write about the time you had to coax your cousin away from her dead baby's casket?
Would you try to erase the pain of your grandfather's death from your grandmother's face?
Would you make sure the boy you loved like brother didn't get in that car?
No lie, I would be tempted. But I would throw the paper away because no good can come from forgetting.
All of our memories, the good ones and the bad ones, make us who we are.
Wishing away the day my mother left wouldn't make anyone happier. It would have stopped the end of the beginning of better things.
Erasing the pain I saw my cousin endure, well that would, in turn erase Baby Izack and I would never want anyone to forget him.
Shielding my grandmother from the pain of losing someone she spent most of her life with would deny her the gift of mourning, for we can only mourn those that we truly love. When the process is complete your pain fades (a little) and your smile returns when you remember them.
Would I make sure my "brother" didn't get in that car? Oh...how I would want to, but doing so would change everything.
Our experiences are what shape us and we must continue to believe that, the good ones and the bad ones, all happen for a reason.
Even if that reason is often very unclear.
Inspired by a writing prompt at Write on the Edge
About Me
- kisatrtle
- I'm a 41 year old (gasp) freelance writer, school cafeteria manager, wife and mother. I have three children and one anxious and overweight beagle. I use my blog to make others laugh, to share some cool crafts, to document my lunchlady adventures and to lament about the challenges faced by us all on the journey called life. Thanks for visiting. Please leave some crack...um...I meant some comments.
