Since I was three years old I was a ginny pig. Being poked and
examined pried and over researched, all because I was a baby genius,
and not to mention a miracle. When I was two years old I fell off a
10-foot jungle gym head first into the rocky coaly round, immediately
knocked unconscious. I was in a coma for 3 weeks. And two years prior
to the accident I was a normal two-year old. I ran back and forth, in
circles until I got dizzy enough to fall and knock my head against any
object close by and then cry endlessly until my cheeks were even a
rosier red and until my eyes went from frosted grass green, to flaming
orange. Then I would get back up and do it all over again. I ate
chipped paint off the wall after I drew a princess in a castle with a
unicorn army, or what most people saw, scribbled chicken scratch. It
was the perfect childhood. When I woke up from the
coma I saw a familiar face, my nanny, then a face that wasn’t so
familiar, nor pleasant, my mother’s. She had the same rosey red
cheeks, and curly, frizzy hair. She had the same frosty grass green
eyes, but with busted red veins surrounding them, and a glossy film
coating them, which wasn’t from tears of the very near death of her own
daughter. My mother had on black pants, a black plain tee shirt, and an
oversized black corteroid material jacket with a music pin tilted
diagonally on the right-hand collar of the jacket, it was my fathers.
She also wore silver chain with a pistol hanging downwards with hearts
spilling from the nose of the gun.
“Hey hun, how’s
my baby doing?” my nanny said caressing my hair with deep uncomfortable
eye contact. I ignored her and stared at my mother, whom I haven’t seen
for days. She walked to the side of my bed and put took off her chained
gun and placed it around my neck, kissed my forehead and turned around
and walked out.
“She’ll be back, tell me how you’re feeling” the nanny pried.
“I’m hungry, is Mommy getting me food?”
“I
don’t know honey, I don’t know. You hit you’re her head really hard but
the doctor said you’ll be ok when you wake up, do you understand?”
“Can we get a piano?”
“HA
you really did hit your head hard missy, no one knows how to play the
piano, well besides your fath--- no one knows how to play the piano.”
“I do”
“Don’t be silly”
The
doctor entered, he had a huge mustache seems malnourished and seemed so
old he could drop dead any minute. “Hello there, little lady.” He
walked over and checked my pulse, flashed a flash light in my eyes, and
checked the 10 stitches on the left side of my temple.
“You’re
looking good I think we can get you home today,” he turns to the nanny
“just keep her on her meds and make sure she gets plenty of rest and
she’ll be fine.” He took on last glance at me, smiled, and walked out.
“Alrighty lets get you home”
