The Day I Can’t Take Back

All that month I worked, went to school, returned home, then slept to the wee hours of the morning where upon daybreak, I would repeat my monotonous cycle without incident. One class in particular, I choose to ignore completely until that day that keeps plaguing my sanity—I was sick of everything… My job, my house with my mother who lives to torment me… I just wanted out of this place. All I needed was a better job, one that’ll allow me the financial freedom to live on my own. I went to all my classes except one computer class. But if this one class can allow me to achieve my dream, then so be it. Maybe I’ve been absent one time too many… I don’t know, and I don’t care. I had to see if it was too late to keep the class and make up the missed work or not.

So I crawled out of bed after deciding my fate in less than thirty minutes. I looked at the clock, 6:45 am. Fuck! I only have an hour and fifteen minutes until the class starts. I rush out of bed, flip the light switch on and ran to my dresser for some clothes. Quietly, I open my bedroom door. My mother hates me and takes joy in bitching at me whenever she can, for this reason, though she’s a light sleeper and knowing that I get up early every morning, she leaves her door wide open. I began tip-toeing to the bathroom when I realize that she slept at her boyfriend’s house last night. I turn to look at her door. It’s wide open, the bed is made and empty. I run to the bathroom.

Maybe I don’t need a shower; I can just get dressed and leave. I sniff my armpits. A sour sweaty musk attacks my nostrils. No… I need a shower. I turn on the faucet, adjust the temperature, and climb into the tub. I stand under the warm refreshing spray of h2o and wash my hands so I can wash my face and begin my cleaning ritual when I reach for the shower rail to position my towel next to me and realize that I don’t have one. I get out the shower slowly so I don't slip, water drips off me quickly onto the mat, I leave the shower on and start walking toward the hallway to where we keep the towels. I begin walking faster when all of a sudden, my left leg slips a little, I brace too hard and fall backwards. 

As soon as I hit the ground, a pain like I've never felt envelops me. It’s coming from my leg. I bolt up clutching my left knee without thinking, without knowing what’s wrong. I look at my knee and for a split second my mind won’t make sense of what I’m seeing. Then it all comes into focus. My knee is as wide as two fist placed side-by-side. Dis-loc-ca-ted. My heart drops, fear shoots threw my body like the bogeyman of legend made solid. Like I was one step from his grasp, running, running to get away, one lost footing and I was his. And I was… Before I even realized it, before I could think past the pain, the fear… I was screaming at the top of my lungs. 

The second I ran out of breath, I am able to think. Oh my god what do I do? I try to extend my leg, but immediately regret it, a sharp pain shoots everywhere. My vision begins to blur and I start breathing hard as anxiety rolls over me. My breathing comes so fast I have to start panting to keep up. What do I do? I can’t wait, I need help. I need a lot of fucking help! The police. Call the police! The house phone is downstairs. Marian is not home. I’m on the second floor. I can’t possible crawl downstairs. My cell phone! Where’s my backpack?

I turn to look over my shoulder into my bedroom. YES! It’s leaning against the banister. If I scoot backwards a few times, I can reach it. I hold my leg up with one hand and painstakingly try to scoot backwards. I’m only able to move twelve inches. My arms begin to hurt from holding my leg in place. I place my bent leg on the floor and lay on my back. I can almost reach it. I reach and reach... I got it! I open the little compartment in the front and pull out my red Metropcs CDMA cell phone. Without thinking, I dial 911. I’ve never call this number before. Why did this have to happen? I hear it ringing. I look around for something to cover myself with and end up pulling a towel off the stair railing. The thought of talking to someone while nude makes me feel uneasy and exposed.

“911, please hold” I can’t believe they put me on hold. Shit, I can’t do this. Twenty seconds pass. “This is 911, how can I help you.”

“I’m home alone and I dislocated my knee, I need an ambulance.” I start panting harder. I lower my leg to the floor too quickly; pain shoots threw my body forcing my back rigid. I almost drop the phone down the stairs. I let out a small yelp as I clutch the phone and try to calm myself down.

“Ma’am, are you bleeding?”

“No.”

“What is your address,” I tell her.

“Okay, I’m sending the fire department and an ambulance over there right now. Sit tight.”

“Okay bye,” I hang up.

I look down at my cell phone. The once tiny buttons are now huge. This one moment seems like it’s taking a lifetime. Think Andrea… Images of my job and my boyfriend flashes before my eyes. I can’t call all of them now. I can barely think to form words… My grandma. Call grandma. I scroll down to her name in my contact list and press send. She picks up on the second ring. I hurriedly tell her what happened, and give her my boyfriend and my office number so she can tell them what happened. I sit the phone down beside me and consciously work to rest my leg on the floor. I grit my teeth as I move around to find a more comfortable position. Finally, some of the pain recedes. I wait. 

Minutes begin to feel like hours. What’s taking so long, the fire department is only three blocks away. I begin rocking back and forth listening for the siren. Five minutes pass. I nervously rock back and forth. Ten minutes. Back and forth. My phones rings. I pick it up, and press okay.

“Hello ma’am,” it’s a different lady. “I need for you to give me your address again.” OH MY GOD! I tell them again. “I’m so sorry ma’am we mixed up the cities; we sent an ambulance to the same address in Oakland.” An image of a firefighter crawling outside on the ledge of a stranger’s window with a big red ax in his hand flashes threw my mind. “We just dispatched someone to your address in San Francisco. You said you’re home alone?”

“Yes.” my voice almost breaks with each word I speak.

“How are they going to get in?” This is too much, I don’t know. 

“I don’t know…-“

“Could you open the door?”

“No, I’m on the second floor, I can barely move.” I almost scream it into the phone. 

“How are they going to get in?” She repeats calmly.

“They can break a window, I don’t care.”

“Okay ma’am. They should be there soon.”

“Okay, bye.” I hang up the phone, and my eyes begin to burn, but nothing comes out. Two minutes pass before I hear a fire truck. I put my finger into my mouth and bite down. My mouth dries out completely. I feel my stomach jumping around. I’m ready to throw up when I hear a knock, someone opened the mail-slot on the door and called out for me.

“Yea, I’m here.” I yell back. 

They take a few minutes to get a ladder, and a man breaks the window on the second floor in my bedroom so no one can climb threw it when we leave. Ten minutes later I’m on a stretcher in the ambulance under a yellow plastic blanket with just my underwear on and my hair half tied up with a purple bandana; the paramedic is injecting morphine into an IV now taped to my wrist.

Almost instantly, my pain vanishes. A high I’ve never felt closes my eyes and tells me to go to sleep. The pain, the embarrassment, the anger, the love, the hate… everything floats away. Contentment washes threw me as I lose myself. I forget where I am for a second. I open my eyes and force myself to remember. My satisfaction is slightly squashed as a little voice tells me that something this good can only be bad… As hard as it is, I acknowledge the fact and promise myself not to do it again, as if I did it on purpose. I close my eyes and float all the way to the hospital… Damn, this shit is almost better than sex… Almost.