So Basically I Almost Died Because of my Love for Shrek

I Should've kept the knife

The date was October 31, 2003. I remember it being a Halloween party. It was somewhat of a pot-luck, but most of the food was prepared directly in my parents' kitchen with the help of their friends. My memory starts in late afternoon. I was sitting on my knees on a wooden stool that was approximately the same height as me. It had a wonky leg which threw off the balance. I was helping Caroline, my mother's high school friend with the apple pies. Caroline had wavy platin blond hair and brown eyes lined with mascara. She smelled sweet of perfume. My older brother was playing in my parents' room on the upper floor with the other kids. We were rolling the crust Caroline and I when my brother came down the stairs and stood in the entrance blocking the light coming from the window on the door making him stand in darkness. He called out my name and asked me if I wanted to watch Shrek with him and the other kids. I screamed, "Yay! Shrek!", and threw my hands in the air (like I don't care woot woot) which made me loose balance. I fail from my stool right into the dish-washer open beside me. I remember the pain of hitting the ground dishwasher which was enough to make three years-old me cry. I don't remember realising I had a steak knife with a wooden handle and gold accents stuck in my forearm, but I do remember screaming and fighting my mother who was trying to get it out. When she was able to get it out, the blood started pouring out, adding with my rapid arms movement, there was blood a little bit everywhere. My mother asked my brother to clean the blood up. He argued saying that it wasn't fair and that there was too much blood. I don't remember getting into the car. It was a beige 1999 Honda Odyssey. There were stains on the itchy seats. In the car, were my mother, Caroline and me. My mother asked me if I wanted to put my coat and I refused because I didn't want to bleed on it. While we were driving through the backyard, someone told me that getting blood on my coat wasn't a problem, but I still refused. Driving up to the hospital is not part of the memory, but I remember entering a dark and small room with people sitting in lined chairs. I didn't stay a minute in this room. I was soon stripped off of my clothes and put on the scale. The rest of the memory associated to the hospital is quite blurry. I remember a lot of white, me complaining to my mother about being hungry, my mother giving me Smarties to get me through, and the stitching. I don't know how long we were at the hospital. We went to McDonald after to get me supper and to reward me for not crying while the doctor was stitching up my arm. Once we were home, I was once again rewarded with sister's farts that the people there baked while I was away. They tasted bland.