"You're okay, pumpkin, it's okay," my mom cooed.
I was frantically yelling & heaving as I watched the blood seep through the gash on my leg.
She picked me up & carried into the kitchen trying to reassure me along the way: "it's okay, it's okay." She placed me the kitchen table & quickly scurried away.
The pain was unbearable, I kept shaking my leg, & jumping up & down. The blood was flooding out & I couldn't do anything except watch it drip on onto the floor.
"Mom! Hurry up," my voice was shrill & airy.
"I'm going pumpkin," my mom rounded the corner entering the kitchen carrying a first aid kit. She kneeled in front of me trying to calm her self because she too was afraid of blood. "Okay, you're going to be okay." She opened the first aid kit & grabbed the hydrogen peroxide. Pouring on my wound: "it's not going to burn, okay, sweetie."
I was hissing, banging on the table, & attempting to steady my breathing. "Mom!" I yelped, the burning sensation worsened along with the inability to think rationally. I sprang up from the table nearly knocking Mom on her back. I limped around the kitchen table attemping to walk it off, but like most things I'd done at age eight, it was a bad idea.
Mom grippedd my shoulders from behind & sat me down on chair. Hastily & angrily she kneeled again, wiped the wound with a damp rag, applied ointment, & a band aid. "You're going to be fine," she reassured me. Mom had always been firm, polite, & some what intimidating. After my sperm donor (as I'd called him) left Mom & I, she drove herself towards the brink of insanity: drinking, drug use, unwavering sense of hopelessness & a new man to love--Andy. Andy, I thought could have been the best thing to happen to us except he was a good a person as the Devil with colored eyes & charm.
