The Jabberwock

My mom was wrong; it’s fine if I  sit on the floor. I’m not hurting myself and honestly, I quite preferred it for the space it had. I was watching a show and drinking some orange juice (as one does) when I was unfairly scolded by my mother, who told me to “Get up because I might get hurt”. I told her that it was impossible because I was on the floor– and how was I going to hurt myself on the floor? I took the last sip of my orange juice as if to quench a certain type of thirst I didn’t know I was capable of having. I put the glass down on the floor, gently on the side so that it wouldn’t break. I got up to get my phone with the glittery case on it while my tablet played my favorite show. Meanwhile, I had forgotten about the glass that was still sitting on the left side of my floor. I walked over to get my tablet off of the floor and placed it on my bed. I then took a step back, and all I heard was ‘Crack!’. Afraid to look down, I lowered my eyes to the floor where the glass was broken and my foot was gushing this almost maroon liquid that resided on my floor now. I didn’t even scream– I just stared down. The glass already covered with this mixture (that I didn’t recognise, for some reason). For me, this all felt like some sort of dream or trick. “This couldn’t be happening,” I thought to myself. “I’m just being delusional”. But a second later, the red filth was still there, the glass even more coated than it had been before.

Before I could keep staring at the liquid covering my toes, my mom walked by. Calm, she got me to sit down so that she could clean the wound.  “It’s going to be fine, you don’t have to cry,” she told me. I hadn’t realized that I had been crying– my only thought for this feeling was “That was piercing my foot!”, it was like it had been scraping a part of my heart out. All I could do was stay still and take it,  I was scared that any sudden movement would somehow disrupt the process that was occurring at my toes.

When my foot was finally clean, I had a sock over it with ointment that was easing the pain. That night, I went to sleep looking at the same spot on the floor where the glass had been a few hours before. It was as if I could still feel the sensation. It was as if I was still standing there. It was as if I was imagining this– being in bed– as a way that my mind was compensating for all the blood that I was losing through the hole in my foot. The next day I woke up and all I could feel was pain, all through the wounded foot with the sock on it. All that I felt was something being twisted inside it, like someone was stabbing me repeatedly while I couldn’t move or fight back; I could only take it until it passed. Eventually I had to live with the constant reminder while I was walking– learning how to balance the pain that the scar had left. No running through the playground, playing with friends, or taking long walks. I was left sitting in the benches of the playground while my friends played around. Later on it healed, and when it did I finally felt the peace that was walking around with a normal foot.