I Used to Be....Now I'm....

I used to be....now I'm...

I used to be afraid of having fun. Now I'm not (as much.)

There were four of us riding down the smooth, newly honned dirt road, one behind the other in a dark blue baby buggy with white stitching and white wall tires. All chrome. Very sweet. Riding down the road. Squealing with delight. "Faster! Faster!" we hollered to our 9 year old sister, our pilot. Ticona held fast onto to the shiny chrome handles. We perched inside, arms spilling out as we flew. Mariah was three and in front, I was four and a half, Jerri was almost six. Acey was eight.

Sunny afternoon, mid July. Blue sky. Puffy white clouds. Perfect.

Until we hit the rock, the soft sand on the side, veered off into the double barbed wire fence. Electric. And it was on. Mariah flew out and into the field, Acey over our heads after her. Jerri and I were trapped under the pram.

I must have grabbed the fence because I have always had scars  on my hands. I definitely struggled. I remember shouting NO! shaking my head back and forth, ripping open my face.

Ticona tried to make it right. The worst part was that because the buggy was mostly chrome, it was electrified. Every time Ticona touched it, she got another jolt.  OW OW!

GET IT OFF HER! GET IF OFF THE FENCE! someone cried.

Finally I must have crawled out of it or Acey may have snagged it off....I don't know because all I could see was red. Blood in my eyes, coming from the top of my head, my forehead, cheek. My face had essentially been ripped off.

Screaming and screaming and crying and terrified, Jerri grabbed my hand and ran me down the road to the house. Our feet barely hitting the ground. In blood and shock.

For some reason I remember that I was wearing a little girl white T shirt and blue shorts. By the time we got to the house, only 30 yards away, my T shirt was drenched in little girl blood. I remember blinking and seeing the blood running down my left arm and off my fingers.

We got to the farmhouse and to Mother and Dad. Later Daddy said he knew something was really wrong when he heard "you girls screaming like that." Mother washed me up and wrapped me in a white bed sheet fresh from the line, taped my face back on, rocked me back and forth. Stayed up all night to make sure my wounds didn't re-open. Let me sleep in my parents bed for nights thereafter. She never looked at me the same after that. Nobody did. When you're a little girl, about to start first grade and you have a scar across your face as big and red as that one was? Nobody looks at you the same as they look at other pretty little girls in your family.

I am fortunate, really, because a few inches lower and that fence would have gotten me in the neck---the corotid. Jugular. Blood would have squirted out with every beat of my little girl heart. A heart that earlier pounded with glee, replaced by adrenalin, kicked into survival mode....a heart that knew where home was. Even when she couldn't see.

It took years to get over the feeling that if I let myself go, really let go the way most people do on ferris wheels, even tree swings, on bicycles...something tragic would happen. Something horrible and bloody would come and spoil everything. Scar me for life. I used to be afriad to have fun. Now? Not as much...