I think I have a target on my head. Literally… If something is thrown in to the air, it is like a missile, in that it somehow gets re-directed in mid air to find the bulls eye on my forehead. Basketballs, baseballs, apples… you name it, I’ve been hit in the head with it multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false multi-layer mink false.
Take for instance lunch time during my Grad 7 year at Elementary School. Seemingly normal lunch, I come in with my paper bag containing my milk, granola bar and peanut butter sandwich on whole bread and sat down with my best friend in the far corner. Far away from the epicentre of the cafeteria which was owned by the popular people.
You would think that being in the corner would protect me from disaster, on the contrary. It was here that by some means a shiny green Granny Smith apple that had been thrown somehow collided with my forehead. This head on collision with the 50 km an hour apple resulted in my falling off the back of my chair while the cafeteria broke out in laughter.
The worst run in with my forehead was in fact not the apple but something much worse.
It was a few days before Christmas vacation at school with the thermometer reading -15 outside, and that was without the wind chill. Even though it was cold enough to have little icicles form on your eye lashes we didn’t care enough to wear more than a thin coat with maybe some mittens. Bundling up in layers to stay warm didn’t really make someone attractive in our minds, so we froze our butts off instead. Smart right?
As per usual, the popular group was on one side of the school yard, while the rest of us common folk were on the other. We were all standing in a circle, chatting about the upcoming geography test and how we all thought we’d fair on it when my best friend cried,
When someone yells ‘watch out’ the first thing one does is not to duck or cover their face, but to see what it is one is watching out for. What we were to watch out for was a tiny little snowball that was being drilled by someone in the direction of our circle.
My reflexes weren’t as good as the others, so I screamed in horror as the snowball hit me square in the face.
Now, a normal soft snowball would have just hit my face innocently and exploded with tiny little chunks of snow flying off. This particular snowball was not the soft, fluffy kind but one made of ice chunks and snow which meant it was like getting hit in the face with a rock.
As I lay there with my face throbbing I fought back tears as I slowly felt my whole backside getting wetter and wetter from the snow seeping through my clothes. I was pretty sure I hadn’t pissed my pants anyway. A crowd gathered around me and I heard people whispering,
“Is she dead?”
Stiffled laughter. “Did she get that in the eye?”
“What a shot!”
No sympathy what-so-ever.
Finally my best friend burst through the crowd that had gathered and picked me up to my feet. I was still in a state of shock and so I willingly let her lead me to the bathroom for inspection.
“I can’t believe those jerks,” she muttered as she inspected my eye. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with this.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. She motioned for me to stand in front of the mirror.
I shuffled in front of the mirror and hesitantly looked up at my face.
Oh. My. God. I looked like Quasimodo.
It had not even been ten minutes and already my eye was going a dark shade of purple with hints of blue, while my head was scratched in a few places from the pieces of ice. That is when I let the tears flow… if my face wasn’t already ugly before this; it had definitely gotten a lot worse. My best friend did what she could to clean it up of it in hopes that it would bring down the swelling all the while telling me it really wasn’t that bad.
It didn’t take long before the bell rang to go back to class, and with a reassuring pat on the back from my best friend we went back to face the teacher. I strategically placed my hair in front of my eye in hopes that it would disguise the massive bruising and scratches.
No such luck.
“What in God’s name happened to your face?” Our teacher cried out rushing over to me.
This is when I gave the worst lie I have ever given in my life. Not wanting to blame it on anyone in class in hopes that maybe someday this would earn me respect in the eyes of the popular group I replied to my teacher.
“I ran in to the side of the portable…” As I was saying it I knew it sounded ludicrous. Ran in to the side of the portable? Who would believe that? I don’t even believe that.
“Right,” she replied. “Come with me.” She placed one hand on my shoulder and led me outside our classroom to the hall to get the real story. She gave me her best “authority figure” face and I reluctantly spilled the beans to her of what really happened.
Upon returning to the classroom, I was met with death glares from numerous people when they realized that I had been a “tattle tale.” Thank god my parents were on their way to come and pick me up to take me home. I didn’t want to face the students after school was over in case they made my other eye match my black one.
That night lying in bed with a frozen pack of peas over my eye, my Mom came upstairs with her makeup bag and two bowls of ice cream. She worked for 30 minutes doing my hair and makeup and when she was finished she stood me in front of the mirror.
“See?” She said. “You can’t even tell.”
You could still see that my eye was swollen, but it looked significantly better than before. I could face the world again, and for the first time that day I actually smiled a little bit. I would have smiled a lot, but smiling made my whole head throb.
Since getting hit in the head with an iceball, apples, etc.. I’ve since learned that when someone says to duck, you duck, that having one best friend who will take you to the bathroom and sit with you while you cry is better than having a lot of fake friends and finally that ice cream, make up and Moms make everything better in the end.
Mae is a 24 year old who is still trying to repair her relationship with her inner child. She still loves licking the bowl after making cookies, taking long naps and day dreaming. Her dying wish is for John Williams to do a score of music for a week of her life so she can walk around with her own personalized soundtrack playing in the background.
Article Source: ovhair