It was a warm Spring afternoon. My brother and I had been out playing behind our building. He was the sheriff and I was the outlaw. We had cap guns and handcuffs. I captured the sheriff and handcuffed him to a laundry line pole. He was stuck in the mud. I took his handcuffs. He was crying that he was getting dirty and could not undo the handcuffs. I climbed up the cinder block retaining wall and said
“It’s easy, watch me do it from up here.” I snapped one handcuff on and leaned out over the clothesline and snapped the other. Then I slipped. I was hanging from the clothesline and he was trapped in mud.
This was not a good place to be.
He was crying and I was ciphering how to extradate my little 3 year old butt from the situation. Stumped. Apparently, my brother’s wailing reached someone that went and got my sister. She came around the corner, took in the sight and ran over to get me down. I had to finagle sitting on her shoulders while she reached up and released one of the handcuffs. She then went over and released my brother, who immediately hightailed it for home. I followed my sister.
My mother already had my brother in the bathtub when we got inside. She paused and handed me some newsprint and my coffee can full of crayons. I was marched into the bathroom and placed on the toilet seat. I had a couple crayons and the newsprint in my hand. She set the coffee can on the floor next to the the toilet.
She began scrubbing mud off my brother. I began to doodle and color. I needed a blue crayon that was not in my hand. I spied it in the coffee can. I leaned to get it. Almost, and then I was falling. My leg hit the can at the joint where my kneecap would have been. Sliced through my leg, ligaments and whatever else was in there. Blood was everywhere.
My sister raced next door and got our neighbor. He was a yellow cab driver and was home. He rushed over and used his belt to create a tourniquet for my leg. He then scooped me up in his arms and ran out to his cab. He rushed me and my mother to Children’s Hospital on 13th Street.
I don’t remember much beyond the blood and him carrying me out. The staff at Children’s Hospital re-attached my leg which was hanging by some connective tissue. My leg was then put in a cast, bent at the knee and after a day in the hospital, I was sent home.
I could not walk (probably a blessing in disguise for the family). I was taken around in a blue stroller that felt way to small and confining. My sister would push me up to the swing set, lift me to a swing and I would sit and watch the world go by on Porter Street. I have never purchased a Maxwell House can of coffee, ever. I still have a fear of open cans. Oh, and I still find a place for blue in my work.