i ran into a tree when i was seven. it’s alright, you can laugh. i do too when i think about it.

i was running about the yard with my german shepherd on my heels, turned to see how much she’d gained on me and the second i righted myself my forehead slammed into a young pine so hard that flakes of bark had to be removed from my face with tweezers. knocked me out cold, but only for a few moments. gave me a knot so big i looked like i was sprouting some new sort of appendage above my eyebrow and a black eye to boot. hurt like a son of bitch.

no doctors though, we were made of heftier stock than that in my house; my grandmother cleaned me up, iced me until i wailed so loudly she couldn’t take it anymore and let me go.

years later she would remind me of it and say softly “you never was right after that.” i’d rap my knuckles over and over on the steel table between us, bored by her tears, and sigh. scratch at the rough material of my government issued pants. she’d search my face for some sign of remorse over what i’d done and she would find none.

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