We all have those memories that stand out. The ones that stand up to the challenges of a regenerating cerebral cortex. And as time goes on they tend to melt into a rosy softness. Like watching old movies. And each time we replay them they confirm to us that we are... self. The same self that we remember. If we're lucky enough sometimes... those memories enact physical change upon us.
I was running. I was were those hand-me-down clothes that 5 year olds get from church friends. We were laughing. In the simple and pure way that only 5 year olds can laugh. It was effervescent. And the sound of it glinted of the wooden vaulted ceiling of the sanctuary. I was dashing around on my nimble little legs and darting through clusters of worshipers who were milling about the auditorium chatting about this or that. Middle aged guys who had married too early because they got somebody pregnant. Old couples who like stones... never aged past antique. Frilly fabrics covered in 90's floral patters. Lots of of blues. Kaki pants all over. A suit here and there. And in the center aisle... A missionary was setting up a slide projector. I have no memory of what the missionary looked like. But I do remember dim flashes of Africa and in the half light.
We were always there early. Dad's office was usually a bustle with people who just wanted to chat. To get advice about their lives... or gossip about other peoples life. Either way. I darted in and around the aisles... I was trying to catch up with Gary.... who was way ahead and Dustin was chasing him. Dustin was probably my best friend at the time. And we used to build make believe houses and go hunting for make believe tigers in the woods behind his house.
Then... I tripped I guess.
Something like 48 seconds passing. And I got up. Ouch, I thought. But oddly... it didn't hurt at all. I looked around for where the other boys had gotten off to... But I didn't see them. Maybe they had headed out and into the vestibule? Running had made me hot, so I hardly noticed the my face was wet... for a few moments. Though I was soon away that it was much more wet than usual... a hot stream ran down the bridge of my nose and skipped sticky and salty over my lips. I kept walking and put my hand up to my face. I pulled it away and it was shining and red.
Oh... I thought.
I was aware of people and movement around me... But one in particular caught my attention. Dustin's mom was in the hall. She was my kindergarten teacher. She had taught me how to tie shoes... and she had taught me numbers. And words like 'cat.' She screamed. It scared me... She never screams....
She yelled for my mom. "Laurie! Laurie! Josh is hurt.... Come here!" Things started happening. Everyone had sad faces now. They were shocked at how much blood I was losing. Dustin's mom found something to press against my head. But it didn't seem to help much. It was a dish towel. Dustin's mom is named Mrs. Bates. Darleen I believe.
Mom was here now. I hadn't cried yet... but when I saw her cry, I started crying too. Moms are not supposed to cry... Especially not my mom. Not Laurie.
My mom picked me up. I remember to this day that they chose an obvious option. The hospital. Darleen would drive. Momma carried me out... down the sidewalk. I remember the exact cut and color of the dress she was wearing. A silky looking thing. Mostly blue and floral. We got in Darleen's Jeep. I had always wanted to ride in that Jeep... And I was thinking how lucky I was to finally be getting to do that. I sat on mom's lap on the drive. She held me close to her like I was a baby again. I was still bleeding hard... and as we shifted positions... some blood skirted out from under the towel and rolled beaded down the shoulder of her dress.
"Oh... I'm sorry. I've got blood on you." I told her around the towel.
"It's fine sweetie. I can wash it out." Mom said.
"I hope it does." I said.
Darleen provided much needed distraction.
"Don't you worry about that dress honey! You just stay awake! The dress don't matter a bit!" She said sounding like Scarlett O'Harah. She was waving her arms.
We waited at the hospital for a long... long time. I had stopped bleeding so much. I was playing with toy cars in the waiting room.... Dad was there now. John and Beth were elsewhere. No doubt sleeping over at the Bates'. Lucky ducks.
The nurse took me back to the OR. I could see my mom through the plate glass window... watching. worried. I screamed at them to let her in. I wanted her in there with me. Finally they let her. She had to help them hold me down as they push needles into my head.
When I woke up there were 40 stitches in my forehead. I had cut it to the bone on the corner of a pew.
Ya know all that has cause me to think about pain differently. I mean sure it hurts. But you just might get to ride in that Jeep you've been wanting to...
