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Sharp Knives and Sambas
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Sharp Knives and Sambas |
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UNTAMEDelegance Member
since 2009-05-30
Posts 222Oregon |
“C-crap!” I muttered angrily, looking at the time. It was Friday morning, seven fifty-five to be exact, and I was attempting to get my lunch ready before I began making the short, but cold trek to school. My roast beef sandwich and the fruity, little drinks that Mom likes to buy were safely tucked into the leathery, crinkled hide of the paper bag “Ouch! Stupid, sharp knife!” I shouted at the red-stained knife that was lying in the corner of the kitchen floor as if thrown away by someone. It makes sense, because that’s exactly what happened not five minutes ago. The crudely cut Gala apple pieces lay on the marble cutting board, forgotten and splattered in fresh crimson blotches. I ran to the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror to search for a roll of gauze to bandage my freshly injured hand; completely forgetting about the apple half that lay uncut and the knife I had left abandoned on the linoleum. *** ‘Gosh-dang-it,’ I yelled silently in my head as I sat, legs bent at the knee and splayed out to either side of me. Two things that I’ve learned from this incident: Don’t cut apples in a hurry. That and also that trying to bandage a knife-wound is incredibly difficult, especially when only one hand is available as the other was currently trying to drain me dry of my blood. It’s also very difficult when the hand that I injured is my left hand; i.e. the hand that I write with and the hand that is suited to small tasks such as bandaging a wound. A fresh wave of rouge blood ran down my arm every few minutes. Between trying to stench the flow, trying to free the floor of blood, and bandaging my hand I wasn’t getting anywhere. The towel I held in my hand was running out of room to soak up more liquid and the bandages were well on their way too. “Gosh-d-dang-it, why is it that I c-can’t do anything right? I’m always late, which with how long I’ve been in here, I’m l-late again. I fall asleep d-doing homework, I misplace things, and I t-t-trip over thin air, for goodness’ sake! I can’t even c-cut an apple without some st-stupid cat-t-catastrophe happening!” I ranted yelling to no one in particular. Looking down at the blood-soaked towel I held in my hand and the fresh blood that spilled from the angry-red gash I decided something. I needed to call for help. I set down the towel and unsteadily got to my feet. With the hand that wasn’t injured, I grabbed the counter and stumbled my way to the phone. The problem was, when I got there I couldn’t think of who to call. I think I stood there thinking for about five minutes before I realized that I was dripping onto the floor. I mentally ticked off names as I went to the kitchen sink, cordless phone in hand. ‘Mom will be at work. Jess is in school and can’t have her cell phone with her. Carmen doesn’t have a cell phone. Um…I’ll call the school?’ I typed in the number that would contact the high school I attended. ‘Jeez, I hope they don’t think I’m an idiot. Well, I couldn’t blame them. I am one. I mean what kind of stupid loser cuts themselves with a knife on an apple of all things!’ “Hello? Wesley High School, how may I help you?” the sound of the speaker’s voice scared me so much that I almost dropped the phone. “Y-yes? Um, I mean, w-well, I uh… this is C-cadry Milligan. I-I kind of cut my hand open. S-so that’s why I’m l-late. I need help. T-the cut is really, really d-deep and I uh… I’m home alone. Well, so I kind of, sort of need help.” What a lame idiot. As if they didn’t think me idiotic enough before. Some might be a little more responsive to an emergency, but of course I’m not. It just makes me worse. “You’re injured?” the receptionist asked in an alarmed tone. “Yes!” I managed to blurt out the one syllable sentence without stuttering. “Cadry Milligan? You live at two-three-seven-seven-one Southwind Avenue, right?” “Th-that’s where I live.” I said urgently. “P-please hurry, m-ma’am.” “Okay. Goodbye.” “Good-” The phone line went dead. “bye…” ‘At least she’s hurrying. I think. That girl must be so brave, always talking to people. I mean, it’s like her job to talk to people. I could never do that.’ I sighed loudly. ‘I’m such a dork. I can’t even speak right!’ *** “Th-thank you.” I said to the nurse as she finished wrapping the gauze that now covered my hand. The amazing part to me: she did it without completely soaking the bandage in blood. That was undeniably skillful in my eyes. “Just make sure you don’t cut yourself anymore,” the nurse spoke gently to me, but the patronization in her voice was unbearable. It was like I was a kindergartener without the sense to keep a sharp object away from my skin. I felt my face flush as what was surely a cherry red blush crept onto my cheeks. I wanted to protest the humiliating tone in her voice; to cry out against the insult to my intelligence, but I couldn’t. I was undeniably stupid to have cut myself. That or entirely uncoordinated. Either way the humiliation was deserved. “S-sorry.” I muttered when I was able to speak in light of this realization. “C…can I g-go?” I asked haltingly, wondering if it was stupid to ask. “Yes.” Said the nurse and she walked out of the room. *** I arrived at school in time to hear the end of morning announcements played over the speaker. 'And remember students, today we have our sign-up for the school talent show. It’s in the office and the talent show is on the twenty-third of the month.' Inwardly I groaned. As part of my third period class, Ballroom Dancing, each student and their mentor were to perform a dance in the talent show. I remembered to fateful day a week ago when we had chosen our dances. As usual I was last because it’s not like I was going to raise my hand and have everyone looking at me. I regretted it later. I was assigned with the bane of my existence: the samba. It terrified me just thinking of it. There was all that hip movement and I would have to attempt to act sassy and bold. Those are two things which I am absolutely NOT. Of course, just to spite my luck, the next period after morning announcements was third. Sighing, I made my way to the dance room. “Okay everyone!” shouted Mr. Doren, the instructor for dance. “Get with your mentor and practice your routines for the talent show. We only have a week left to prepare, so I want you to perfect your dances. Remember: Perfect posture!” And we were left alone. Ballroom dance is split up into four sections, these being the freshmen, the sophomores, the juniors, and the seniors. The juniors and the seniors mentor the freshmen and the sophomores, except in the rare cases were the junior/senior is just beginning dance. I’m was sophomore I was one of the few sophomore’s with a senior mentor, because our teacher usually tries to put the more experienced with the least, but there were more than enough seniors for incoming freshmen, so I was put with Kaden. I looked around for Kaden and nearly kicked him when he popped up behind me and tickled my sides. “Th-that t-t-tickled!” I managed to spit out, despite my face heating up like a nuclear reactor. “I’m just having fun.” Kaden said casually, taking my hand and leading me to the corner we had claimed by placing the boom-box with our music in it on a wooden stool. He held up the hand of mine, still clasped in his and slipped his arm around my waist as we began to dance. *** “That’s it!” I declared panting in ridiculously loud way. “T-time for a… water b-break.” I had just messed up for what seemed like the billionth time and was in dire need of hydration. As I made my way to the water break, I evaluated our performance so far. Kaden= twenty out of ten; me= maybe two. I was doing worse than I had the day before. Hearing Kaden come up behind me, I knew I had to say something to him. “K-kaden?” Was that my voice? Even I could barely hear the raspy whisper. “Kaden?” a little better; at least he has heard it this time. “Yes? Is something wrong?” he asked me. Dang-it, he was good. He must be psychic…or I was just that bad at hiding my emotions; probably the latter. “Uh…” my breathy ‘uh’ dragged on until I began sounding like an idiot and losing my air. I ended the prolonged interjection as I attempted to calm my whirling thoughts. “I-I don’t think th-that I’ll b-be able to p-part-ticipate in the talent show.” Shamed I hung my head low over my chest and pretended to find my ankles fascinating. “Why not?” Kaden asked suspiciously. I think he may have guessed that I wasn’t as good as other people. “Well, it’s j-just that I’m n-not as good as other p-people at… well, at anything, r-really. S…so I figured you might w-want someone who won’t emb-barass you at the show.” That was weird. I wasn’t stuttering as much. The Kaden asked something I hadn’t anticipated. “Do you have an inferiority complex?” |
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GBride Senior Member
since 2009-07-02
Posts 538 |
I know the feelings expressed in this story. You do a great job of illustrating the pain Cadry feels. Untamed, this is the best write I have seen for awhile. I hope you pursue this tale, as I feel you have much more to say. My school days were in the late 1950's and early 1960's. I often had asthma attacks and couldn't breath. I couldn't do sports. Also I worked for my folks after school and on week-ends on the farm. There was one thing I could do better than the other students: memorize. We would have recitations in which we would memorize poems or famous lines from plays. Whenever I gave my recitation the class would boo and hiss. Since I hated the class, I worked hard on getting my recitation correct. It was lovely revenge. The bullies could beat me up, but I could usually outwit them. Trick them into getting in trouble. Yes, we had to dance too, I was terrible at it. The only day that was happier than the day I graduated from high school was the day I got out of the army. Excellent write, Untamed, brings back so many memories. |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Enjoyed...James |
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