My Traumatic Childhood II: Shattered Bones

It was a really good polar bear.

I had found the biggest piece of cardboard anyone had ever seen and I drew the best polar bear you can imagine--and it was big. I brought it to school the next day and showed it to Ms. Winniger my first grade teacher. She loved it.

After lunch Ms. Winniger took me out to the playground so we could set the polar bear up in the woods with the other animals the other kids had made. We found a good spot and leaned my masterpiece up against a big, sturdy tree not far from the wooden train. It looked amazing, she said. You wouldn't expect an arctic creature to look so at home in a temperate region such as Mount Vernon, Virginia but it did. It really did.

Smiling, we began the walk back to class and I could barely contain my excitement for when everyone would go outside after school and see the woods filled with creatures large and small. I was so excited that I barely noticed Ms. Winniger stumble and fall--a sickening crunch, a thud, and then screaming. Just screaming.

And there I stood. I was out in the woods at six years old with my teacher who had just completely shattered her leg and there was nobody around. There was nobody to come and help. There was nobody to rescue her. I couldn't think. I stood there in shock, the only thing getting through to me was the screaming. My elderly teacher, normally calm and composed was now transformed into someone I didn't recognize. I didn't know her. I waited for her to tell me what to do but the words never came. Finally I was able to move and I ran towards the school with tears streaming down my face.

I watched as the ambulance careened around the corner and out onto the playground. I stood helpless as I watched her being loaded into the back. All I could think about was the second everything had changed. We were laughing, and then all there was was terror.

It was my fault. It was all my fault and I knew it.

I didn't go back to class. There was no point. I went back onto the playground and kicked over my stupid polar bear. He didn't even flinch. He just lay there on the ground with the same look on his face I had painted the previous night. He didn't care. He didn't care and I hated him for it.

I sat in the train for the rest of the day.