When there is danger, I am not the person to call. I panic, freeze up, and cannot seem to move at all in any direction. It’s as if I am a possum, I cannot control what nature has forced me to do. Although in other situations I just run; wherever my body wants to go it goes and it won’t stop until I am sure I am safe. Survival, you know.
One lovely summer day while my Mom and Dad built a trellis around our roof, I tried to collect ants for my ant farm, but they were tiny and stupid. I realized burning them with the magnifying glass was far more entertaining.
As I burnt the fourth ant in a row I looked up to see my Mom holding one end of a long board diagonally against the roof, while my Dad precariously attempted to grab a hammer resting on his ladder, hardly holding the other end of the board. He let go and the board slammed into his face. I jumped up at the sight of blood, ran in the house and hid in a corner between two couches and under a table. I was sure my Dad’s eye had popped out of his head. My Mom found me, and screamed at me to get Dad a towel to stop the bleeding, adding something about how unbelievable it was that I was hiding when my Dad was basically dying in the front yard (that might be an exaggeration on my memories part).
I ran and grabbed a towel. My Dad was in the house by the time I got back. I walked over to him with my eyes closed tight, positive he was holding his gouged out eye in his hand. “It’s ok I covered it up.” He said so I would open my eyes. His cut was very near his eye, but it was in no way out of the socket.
James and I always ride in the back of the camper without a seatbelt, safe… no. Logical… no. Fun… I guess; it’s just what we have been doing forever. For years we had shitty walky-talkies that were intended to help us communicate with our parents, but they never worked. One day while driving around on a desolate dirt road the entire back panel popped up in the air as my Dad drove over a large pot hole that popped our tire, sending both James and I skyward. James slammed his back into the cabinet above head that doubled as a bed. His face turned a shade of red I have never seen since. He wasn’t breathing. I stared at him panicked beyond panicked. My Dad was coming to a slow roll at this point in time, but logic had all but left me. I grabbed the walkie-talkie and yelled into it, as if yelling would make it work. My parents didn’t respond, and James still wasn’t breathing. I ran over to the window and tapped on it violently, convinced they wouldn’t hear me because another window was between us, and they didn’t.
I turned back to James and started screaming at him, “BREATH, DAMN IT BREATH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” But I wasn’t actually helping him in any way shape or form. Finally he made a heavy strained gasp, and I bear hugged him. Later I was told James had knocked the wind out of him, and it couldn’t possibly help his panic level that I go from 0-800 in a second.
Great camping spot
One Easter my family and I went shooting; we shoot plates, targets, and balloons (once). Kira the family dog is a Queensland Healer, which basically means she herds stuff; she is the second dog we have owned that herds shit without us knowing, until some pissed off farmer runs over to us begging us to make them stop and we have no idea how. Anyway Kira heard the shots and began chasing bugs, then bugs turned to birds, and birds turned to cars. I told my parents to tell her “No.” As she would not listen to me or James because she saw us as equals. My Mom said “You tell her.” I tried to no avail.
A black car jettisoned down the pathway atop the mountain we were parked on. Kira zipped off in a flash of black fur and fluffy salt and pepper tail. The next sound we all heard was the squeal of tires and Kira scream at the top of her lungs. The black car roared away. I crumbled to the floor, like my entire body had concaved on itself. I covered my eyes and began balling (to my credit my Nana had died literally the weekend before). The rest of my family ran after Kira, like any normal human being would do.
She was dirty, shaken and bloody. We packed up all of our stuff within minutes and drove home to tend to her wounds. Kira suffered bruised ribs and her chin was badly cut, but all in all she was fine, is fine, and from it became a lot closer to our family (as she was a rescue dog that was abused when she came to us, and she pretty much hated people).
Yesterday while walking to Q-T with my coworker – best friend from high school, I heard the squeal of tires headed straight for us. Without even thinking I ushered her out of the way. We were not in danger by any means; the car was on the other side of the street and headed in the correct direction. She laughed because my reaction was very much an overreaction, but for the first time I was actually there to help someone… not just take off to keep myself from seeing blood, or panicked past the point of panic necessity. I think maybe I am finally growing up.
-ducksoup- 