I Am Six Years Old And I Am Running

I am six years old and I am running as fast as I can. I’ve just left Michele’s house where we were playing Barbie dolls together. Michele has the best Barbie dolls. Plus she has a two story Barbie Dream House with a miniature canopy bed.

Michele has her own bedroom, that she doesn't share with anyone. Her bedroom also with a canopy bed and a fluffy baby blue comforter. The bed is always perfectly made and just right for a princess.

Michele has tons of Barbie dresses, shoes and accessories. And there are no sisters there to bug us when we play.

Michele and I were lost in our imaginations. Barbie was on vacation at the beach and we were helping her swim in the waves, a mass of blue blankets.

That's why I forgot that I was supposed to be home by five o’clock. So at quarter after, when Mom called on the phone, she said to come home right away because dinner was ready and everyone was waiting on me. That’s why I am running.

It’s August and the late afternoon sun is shining, though the shadows are growing longer. I’m wearing pastel blue shorts that Nana made for me. I have a dress made from the same fabric. But dresses are for Sunday, not for everyday play. So I am wearing the shorts with a purple t-shirt.

On my feet, I’m wearing Theresa’s black Converse sneakers,but no socks. Theresa got the sneakers new at the store, not second hand from cousin Mary Beth as sometimes happens. She got them to play basketball and she told me that the shoes are special and make her jump higher and run faster. I think they are magic. That’s why I snuck out of the house wearing my sister’s sneakers, which are two sizes too big for me.

The shoes seem to be working because as I run, I feel like I am flying. I can feel the wind on my face and in my hair. And I imagine myself racing in the Olympics. On your mark, get set, GO! As I speed along the sidewalk I see myself leading the pack around an oval racetrack, certain to take the gold medal.

But a medal is not in the cards today.

I've run this course before and should know that the pavement is uneven. I’m not giving it my full attention; my mind is on the race and my awesome black hightops. Then, a few steps from my house I feel my toe catch in a crack and I lose my balance. I am helpless to stop my body from falling forward where it will slam into the hard concrete.

My knees hit the ground first and I thrust my hands forward trying to catch myself. I do, but only for a moment. Then my palms skid forward and my elbows collapse and I am lying on my face.

I am gasping for breath because the wind has been knocked out of me. I realize everything hurts – my cheek, the palms of my hands, but mostly my knees. As the shock of the fall wears off and the pain takes hold, I sit up to check my hands and arms . There are scratches on my wrists and small pieces of gravel stuck to my palms. I check my knees next. The right one is dirty and bleeding from a large scrape. And it stings. I break into tears.

I pull myself to my feet and I notice that my shoe laces are untied. Was it the crack in the sidewalk or the poorly tied shoes that caused the fall? I don't stop to tie them. Instead, I hobble home with tears streaming down my cheeks.

The family is already at the table as I push open the screen door and wail. They turn to me and a chorus of voices call out "What's wrong?" and "Are you OK?" and "Why are you crying?" But I can't speak. I just stand there, weeping.

Mom rushes over to me and before I know it, I am sitting in the bathroom while she dabs my knee with a soft cloth and rummages in the cabinet for a Band-Aid. I'm still crying but the sobs are quieter.

I tell Mom that I was running and I fell down. Mom hugs me and makes soft shushing sounds. Then she tells me I will be better before I get married. But I am six years old and my knee still stings and the idea of marriage seems like it’s an eternity away.