Difference

From a project started here. The object is to relate a true event. Although I rarely if ever give back details or set up stories, I’ll do so here, in order to keep in the spirit of the assignment. Particularly because lately I’ve been a little hard to understand [in no small part due to TequilaCon05, and to some extent my wanting to eventually grow up to write like she does ;) ] I do apologize for this, in that it’s an easier style for me to use when writing, but admittedly fairly confusing.

In 1987, on the first day of class at Carthage High School in upstate New York (I had recently transferred from Watertown, which produced Richard Grieco and Viggo Mortensen – there’s a joke here, but I’m tired, and a little depressed these days), I suffered a concussion during soccer practice. I have no recollection of the entire day up til about five minutes after I regained consciousness. I know it was the first day of class only because everyone kept reminding me of this detail.

That’s because I asked every five minutes for the entire 40-minute bus ride home.

You might be aware that I have a penchant for connecting different points in my life.

Difference

Knocked so hard the ground falls from my feet. Then, like takeoff, a rocket bound to the launch pad, the Earth rushes back to meet me, filling my mouth with grass and blood and chalk from the midfield line.

“What is it?”

“You got hit pretty hard.”

“Why am I crawling?”

Laughter. Coach’s voice, “You lost your legs, son!”

“I’m crawling.”

He’s not laughing suddenly. “I’m sorry.” More like bargaining, “Not that hard. You wouldn’t shut up.”

“You okay?”

“I don’t remember anything.”

Laughing, again. “If you get hit hard enough, that’s what happens.”

“What will happen?”

“You’ll forget. Everything. They’ll ask, and you’ll say you don’t remember.”

“Who’ll ask?” My voice feels thin, tinny, like talking through syrup or chewing on paper clips when they touch your fillings.

“No one. The school nurse. Whoever. I don’t know.”

“But I don’t remember what happened.”

“Good.”

“I don’t.”

“Look, take it easy. You’re all right, son.”

“Really. I don’t.”

“Just rest here. You were hit pretty hard. You probably don’t even know what day this is.”

“No.”

Coach’s laugher, “Then that’s probably a good thing. Who wants to remember the first day of school?”

“Okay.”

“Now go ahead and wipe this up before your mom gets home.”

“Okay.”