One of many beginnings.
Feb. 12th, 2010 03:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
efeI was not very old, and I was running. Perhaps, more interesting than the event is my spotty recollection of it now. There are dreams I can remember better.
So, I was not very old, and I was running. Detail that you can't see, but that I can, they're all around me. I remember seeing my feet. I remember seeing the cracked pavement, I remember the baseball glove in my hand (can you believe I ever had a baseball glove in my hand?). I remember the kids around me, the pretty girls running past that I would never get to talk to (at least, I never believed I would). I remember the ball as it bounced off the wall, and the friends around me, some of whom were likely in the process of treating me like shit. I remember my fascination at the time with speed, with the motion of my eyes and how they blurred the world.
I was fascinated with a viewpoint, running around a person. Seeing them in three hundred and sixty degrees, all at once. It was like they were models, for me to view at any angle.
But then I don't remember specifically, how I ended up on the floor. I was in the midst of dashing, going for the ball with my baseball glove. There was another body, right there, what happened to that kid? Spotty memory, how did I fall over? I was abrpuptly on my back, and I was suddenly in so much pain.
Then what happened? You've seen the angle in a film before, everyone peering down at you, and the owner of the eyes looking upward: confusion. My baseball glove was on, and gosh, the pain in my leg was horrific. I didn't know a large selection of these words, I would have described it as agonizing. Maybe more for the surprise, than anything else. Did I cry? Probably. Did I yell? I honestly have no recollection.
And weird later, the following three weeks plays like a montage. Except the hospital. I got to ride in a wheelchair, and at the tender age of nine or ten, thats kind of super sweet, and I zoomed down the halls as much as the narrow line between exuberance and rudeness would allow. At that age, its probable that rudeness won. The doctor hit my knee, and tested my reflexes. They did an x-ray, and they gave me some amount of time to be better. All I wanted to do was go home and play Nintendo. How cute, right? Girls were just dreams to hold hands with, or kiss on the cheek or lips, and Nintendo was my life. People want children to be their own people, to be who they want to be, but I don't know if I knew at all then that I really was a person.
That wasn't the last time I hurt myself, but it was one of the worst. It took me weeks to heal, and I remember limping around at the after-school daycare I attended. I guess I couldn't play Power Rangers with the others ... or was that younger? Maybe we played something cooler by then. Grade fives can't be playing power rangers any more, and grade sixes are supposed to spin the bottle. I spun the bottle, but I don't remember winning.
So, I was not very old, and I was running. Detail that you can't see, but that I can, they're all around me. I remember seeing my feet. I remember seeing the cracked pavement, I remember the baseball glove in my hand (can you believe I ever had a baseball glove in my hand?). I remember the kids around me, the pretty girls running past that I would never get to talk to (at least, I never believed I would). I remember the ball as it bounced off the wall, and the friends around me, some of whom were likely in the process of treating me like shit. I remember my fascination at the time with speed, with the motion of my eyes and how they blurred the world.
I was fascinated with a viewpoint, running around a person. Seeing them in three hundred and sixty degrees, all at once. It was like they were models, for me to view at any angle.
But then I don't remember specifically, how I ended up on the floor. I was in the midst of dashing, going for the ball with my baseball glove. There was another body, right there, what happened to that kid? Spotty memory, how did I fall over? I was abrpuptly on my back, and I was suddenly in so much pain.
Then what happened? You've seen the angle in a film before, everyone peering down at you, and the owner of the eyes looking upward: confusion. My baseball glove was on, and gosh, the pain in my leg was horrific. I didn't know a large selection of these words, I would have described it as agonizing. Maybe more for the surprise, than anything else. Did I cry? Probably. Did I yell? I honestly have no recollection.
And weird later, the following three weeks plays like a montage. Except the hospital. I got to ride in a wheelchair, and at the tender age of nine or ten, thats kind of super sweet, and I zoomed down the halls as much as the narrow line between exuberance and rudeness would allow. At that age, its probable that rudeness won. The doctor hit my knee, and tested my reflexes. They did an x-ray, and they gave me some amount of time to be better. All I wanted to do was go home and play Nintendo. How cute, right? Girls were just dreams to hold hands with, or kiss on the cheek or lips, and Nintendo was my life. People want children to be their own people, to be who they want to be, but I don't know if I knew at all then that I really was a person.
That wasn't the last time I hurt myself, but it was one of the worst. It took me weeks to heal, and I remember limping around at the after-school daycare I attended. I guess I couldn't play Power Rangers with the others ... or was that younger? Maybe we played something cooler by then. Grade fives can't be playing power rangers any more, and grade sixes are supposed to spin the bottle. I spun the bottle, but I don't remember winning.
