MEMORY ETCHED IN PAIN

by Laura Cordova

“Hey let’s play a game!” said my sister. We were both young. I was five, she was nine.  It was summer. We got tired of watching the loud obnoxious T.V. My sister named Eliana got off of the soft couch. She walked over to the sofa near the frighteningly high windows. She still had her black short hair and was wearing that purple shirt that reminded me of a plum. She got on top of the couch. As the brave one she was, she walked across the window sill from one side to the other. She did it carefully making sure she didn’t make a single mistake. She was smiling the whole time. As she jumped off the windowsill on to the rough carpeted floor, she said, “Your turn!”

There was no parent supervision. My mom was in the shower. All that could be heard was the dripping water. “I can do that too!” I said. Eliana sat on the couch again and continued watching the colorful funny cartoons. I began my long dreadful journey. I stood on the couch looking out the living room window. The window was 2 stories high. Firm rocks and prickly roses lay at the bottom and the rest was green grass. I walked as carefully as I could across the rough humid ledge, not thinking twice about the mistake that I made changing my whole life completely. I accidentally leaned back on the soft patterned screen of the window. Before I knew it, I was sitting on the stairs with a split opened wound. My bitter, watery tears ran down my cheek. My salty, sour blood drenched my hair and shirt. All I felt was a scratching searing pain.

Thunderous footsteps came behind me. I turned around to look who it was, but I was blinded by the vivid intense light that came from the sun. It was my sister. She asked if I was fine and it was pretty obvious I was not. My mom came outside too and both of them had helped me go inside the house. The feeling of confusion overtook my head. Everything was happening too quickly. Lying in bed, I felt my head throbbing and pulsing. A puddle of blood was increasing on the colorless, clean bed sheets. My mom was standing right near me talking on the phone. Her voice was shaky.

Minutes later shrill deafening ambulance sirens were heard. The paramedics entered my house with a stretcher and helped place me on it. They rushed and were very quick like a cheetah running to catch its prey. In an instant my mom was next to me in the ambulance truck hurrying to the hospital. About 6 stitches were sown into my head. My recovery didn’t last that long and what was left was a tiny miniature scar. The only thing that was left of the accident was the fear of ever being in high places ever again.