The Fall

She ran with great speed down the slight incline to the blacktop playground, her hair whipping behind her. By the third week at the new school, she felt invisible, like a specter moving among the other children who had friends already and did not seem to need another. “Oh, they’ll notice me now!” was her last conscious thought as the toe of her well-worn saddle shoe caught the edge of the blacktop. She seemed to fall in slow-motion, experiencing a momentary sensation of flight which ended with her prone figure, ten feet from the edge of the playground, lying in a bloody tangle of arms, legs, shoes, hair, and shame.

Crumpled on the unforgiving pavement, she slowly came to realize what had happened in the split second in which she'd dared to dream. She'd merely hoped to be noticed, perhaps even admired for her speed, yet the eyes of her classmates appraised her from a distance like a minor traffic accident on the side of the road. The physical pain had not yet registered, but the embarrassment crushed her, stealing her breath and holding her pinned to the ground like a specimen butterfly.

Three boys stood pointing at her, laughing behind their hands. Several girls in the crowd whispered to each other, but none came to her aid. With no offers of assistance, she took stock of her injuries. Chin, palms, knees and elbows were scraped, from apparently skidding several feet after landing. The toe of one shoe was shredded; the other shoe lay several feet away. She carefully rose and retrieved the shoe from its position near the edge of the blacktop where her hope of acceptance had been forever dashed.

Three blasts of the whistle signaled the end of recess. She smoothed her short skirt, pulled the damp hair from her face, and began the solitary walk back to the classroom. Her teacher, Mrs. Adkins, sent her immediately to the nurse.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in the infirmary, enduring the painful extraction of tiny bits of asphalt. The school nurse, admittedly tired of the usual stomach aches and sore throats, attacked the job of cleaning her wounds with enthusiasm and a marked lack of compassion. By the end of the day, her scrapes were professionally bandaged with soft, clean gauze which immediately began to turn red.

She lay awake that night, replaying the scene in her mind. Her face burned with embarrassment, her stomach churned as she recalled the looks from her classmates. The pain of her wounds could not compare with the thought of going back to school. She squeezed her eyes shut, held her hands together, and prayed earnestly that her family would move again to another town.

When sleep came, she dreamed of flying, gliding high above the playground, above those indifferent witnesses to her accident, viewing those on the ground as inferior beings. They watched her jealously, shielding their eyes from the sun as she soared overhead.

Reviews

[Dustin Chang]

Cute. I have plenty of embarrassing stories that makes my face go red from my childhood. I wonder if anyone but me remembers them? Great write.

[Pimpinella]

It felt like I was there. Really nice.