The Story of Us

The Story of a Broken Hand

Curiosity is the most powerful thing you own.

~~~

"Ma'am. How did you break this hand?" a nurse with blonde hair asks me. She is very young and I am surprised that she works at a hospital. The nurse looks up at me her green eyes concerned.

"I f-fell d-down the stairs." I stumble with my words because the pain is excruciating. Vinnie, Mack and my father are sitting in the waiting room waiting for the... whatever has to be done to my hand to be finished. I always thought that the waiting rooms were the worst parts of the hospital. I mean you see so many families and wives and children rushing in here demanding answers for their loved one or loved ones. The memory that always haunts my mind was one in particular. It wasn't the day that the doctor told us my mother would not be making it. I was far too young to understand that my mother was dying. I mean I slightly knew but I don't think I let the reality really sink in. But I still remember it. It as imprinted on my brain from when Mack was rushed to the hospital. I was only four. A year after Mack was born.

Flashback:

"Harrison. Stay here with your sister while I go check on Mackie." my father commands my older brother. I dangle my feet over the side of the cool leather chair and kick out my feet. I laugh and watch as the small ruffles on the flower on my shoe flittered. I swayed one foot from side to side trying to get a different reaction and clapped my hands giddily when the petals flew in a different direction.

"Harrison. Watch." I tugged on my older brother's sleeve.

"Not now, Lenny." he snaps his hands kept pulling on his shirt hem and I watched intently for a few seconds on the movement before becoming bored and moving back to my shoe. I brought my shoes up on the seat and played with the folds of the flower petals. My winter coat hang on my sides and the stockings that covered my legs were snug against my legs.

"You sure are cute." a voice a couple seats next to me chuckled. I looked over and saw an old lady. Her voice was soft and I couldn't help but smile. I climbed out of my seat and went to sit by her. I always remembered stranger danger but this old lady was way too wrinkly and frail that I knew she couldn't really kidnap me.

"What is your name?" I ask the lady as I climb on the seat next to her.

"Genevieve." she rasps and I smile.

"That is a pretty name." I confirm.

"What is yours?" she reciprocates the question.

"Lennon." I smile at the lady.

"Like John Lennon." the lady chuckles.

Daddy loves it when people recognize the meanings of my siblings and I names.

"Why are you here?" I absentmindedly ask as I pull on the velvety fabric of my Christmas coat.

"My husband." the lady says softly and I frown. Her eyes brim with tears.

"But it's Christmas." I frown angrily.

"Nobody should be sick on Christmas." I scrunch my nose up in distaste at the thought of anybody dying on Christmas.

"Then why are you here?" the lady teases but her voice is restrained like she is trying to stop from crying.

"Mackie bumped her head. She will be fine. She has a hard head." I explain.

"Ma'am." I look up to see a doctor looking up at the old woman with a sorrowful expression.