The pain in his knees was making him want to cry. He had been told by his Mom that he was too old to cry and he was trying very- very hard not to do so. He was a big boy now, so they told him, and he had to stop acting like a baby. He stood there with his lower lip trembling and his eyes filled to the brim, but he was determined..he-would-not-cry. He had created this situation and he would have to figure out how it was to be solved.
That warm summer morning, while everyone else had slept in, opportunity had come a knocking on his bedroom door. Riding on his older brothers Brand New skate board was strictly forbidden, so naturally at the first chance that arose, he had pilfered it out of the front closet and down the drive-way he had sailed. Riding the board was great, stopping it- was just another of the many things he hadn’t quite figured out in life. That little crack on the sidewalk had sent the skateboard and it’s rider airborne and the landing had proved to be less than graceful and smooth, to say the least. Tuck and roll had not been accomplished in time and the scrapes on both knees were now blazing hot and trickling blood.
He had managed to sneak in the back door quietly, so that Mom wouldn’t discover his predicament. Standing by the kitchen sink he knew he had to figure out how to stop the pain so he could begin his hunt for band-aids to hide the damage. Now that he was a big boy he had to figure these things out for himself, but at four years old and not quite four feet tall, finding things in cabinets was always a production. Climbing up on the counter, well that wasn’t an option because his knees hurt so very bad, and if he was gonna drag the kitchen chair over, he would have to be really, and I mean, really quiet. Mom had ears like his cat, Sherlock, and she could pounce just as quickly should a situation arise that needed pouncing.
He hobbled over to the Fridge and stared at the double door behemoth. He remember that when Daddy’s’ head hurt sometimes, he would get some ice-cubes from the slot on the freezer door. He’d fill up a plastic bag and hold it on his head moaning and complaining, till the ice took away the pain or he fell back to sleep on the sofa.
The boy had no plastic bag of which to fill, so two cubes were all his little hands could hold. Trying to be as quiet as possible he pressed the handle and quickly grabbed the cubes as they came flying down the chute. Sitting on the floor, cube in each hand, numbing both his fingers as well as the painful little knees, was just where his Mother found him. He gazed up at her, dry-eyed, with the tremble of his lips only slightly noticeable, she sighed and let her tears fall for the both of them.
ThinkingTenWords, Inc., Wednesday: (1) pain, and (2) ice