Note: Please read Vicki’s post “Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones. Or Something Like That” before reading this post. It’ll make more sense that way.
Ok, first of all, she deserved it. Who winds up their pajamas like a wet towel and snaps someone in the face (yes, it was the face not the legs)? And for the record, her finger was at a 45* angle, not 90* – that would just be freakish. But the part about my dad being really, really mad? Totally accurate. And in case anyone is curious, my blood pressure still rises at the thought of being snapped with a towel or pajamas. Consider yourself warned.
I also remember how we were on the same team immediately following the deafening cracks of her finger. I can still feel it crackling under my own fingers if I concentrate hard enough. I remember screaming “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” and being amazed when she frantically responded, “It’s ok!”
Really?! It’s ok?! Well, I guess you did ask for it…
I remember standing at the top of the stairs and watching my parents run to Vicki to see what all the fuss was about. I remember being terrified of their response. Our Mom looked at me with sympathy and Dad simply didn’t say much to me at all. His eyes, however, spoke volumes. They left for the hospital and I clearly remember crawling into bed with my brother, Chad. He might deny this if asked, but I cuddled up to him and listened as he prayed for Vicki’s safety. I was terrified and apparently, he was nervous, too. If I remember correctly, my dad was upset for a few days, but no punishment was given. It’s safe to assume that the natural consequences of my choices were effective enough.
It still fascinates me that Vicki and I can have civil conversations today. If you had told me at the age of 10 that she and I would one day be best friends, I would have said you were crazy. My parents would have told you that, too. And now you know the rest of the story.