More Cuts

Not that laceration and incision are to be my theme; just good ol' danger and anxiety to start one's life with.

It was any weekday morning, my mom doing dishes at the sink of a long kitchen, one end of which ended at the plate glass/screen door to the back yard. The other end opened into the living room, where I often watched shows like Ultra Man, Speed Racer, and Batman (Adam West version).

I must have recently seen the latter, as I was repeatedly running the length of the kitchen fast as i could, behind my mother, loudly singing the "Nananananana..Batman!" theme. I assume my mom was just tuning it all out, as young mothers of boys must learn to do.

Each pass would start in the living room, and end with slamming into the glass door with my outstretched hands, resulting in an impressive boom. At some point, when i hit the glass, there was a sudden give and a loud snap, followed by clanging glass on the floor. There was a frozen moment where I saw clouds through shards still hanging in the frame, and heard a jet somewhere in the sky.

My mom grabbed me by the wrists, took me to the sink. She ran my hands under the water, rinsing blood and picking at glass. She has always been depressive, too. I can only imagine what it must have been like for her. For my part, I remember the fear, if not the pain.
rattleschains rattleschains
41-45, M
Jan 5, 2013