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I'm finally getting around to posting some of the stuff I wrote for class. We had to write about a childhood incident and this is what I ended up with. This is the third edit, so if anyone has any comments I'd love to hear them.
I had just turned five, so it must have been around late September, early October of 1992. Grandpa and Grandma wanted to visit their family back in England and introduce me to them. It was my first time out of the country. We stayed in a fancy hotel right between Grandpa’s family and Grandma’s.
Our fourth day there was scheduled for meeting Grandma’s brother and sister. Mom and I left early so that we could stop and do some shopping before we left London. We had to take the train since Grandma and Grandpa had the rental car. Mom dressed me up in the only dress I owned. It was a blue dress with bright yellow buttons down the front. I had on white stockings and shiny black shoes with buckles. It was the most girly I had ever looked in my life.
The train was crowded. People pushed in around me. I clutched my mom’s hand and pressed against her, my one solid comfort in the terrifying sea of people. I played with her ring. It was shaped like a tiger’s head and flipped open to reveal a secret slot. We used it to hide messages to each other.
Our stop was the same one that most people on the train wanted and everyone rushed to get off. The doors of the train were on springs. They automatically closed unless someone held them open. Mom was that someone. She parked me to the side near the doors and told me to wait.
“Stay here until everybody else is off. Then I’ll help you over.”
I looked at the gap between the train and the platform. It didn’t look that big. Besides, I was a big girl, I had already started kindergarten after all, and big girls didn’t need help getting off trains. Besides, I didn’t like having strangers pushing past me without the comfort of Mom’s hand to keep me safe.
The gap must have been larger than I thought because when I took that first step I missed the platform completely. I fell between the train and the platform. My chin hit the cement and I slammed my head back on the way down. I didn’t stop sliding until my shiny black shoes with buckles hit the train tracks. I tasted blood in my mouth. I could feel it running down my arms and legs. All I could hear was the ringing in my ears and the vague sound of yelling above me. I opened watery eyes, tears already washing away the dirt. A hand was thrust down at me and I stared at it in wonder. What was I supposed to do with someone else’s hand?
It was then that the pain came. Throbbing at the back of my skull and the bottom of my chin. Sharp on my legs and arms. A dull ache from where I had bit my tongue. I took in a breath to call for Mom, but it only hurt more. All I could do was cry.
There was more yelling and more hands reached down for me. I saw Mom’s among them, the tiger head glinting. I reached for her hand. The hand that would bring comfort in the scary, painful world. I weakly grabbed her hand. She tried to pull me up but wasn’t strong enough. Another hand joined hers and Mom and the stranger pulled me up. Mom wrapped me in her warm arms and hugged me. I sobbed into her chest. Blood and tears stained her shirt.
Mom finally pulled back a bit and looked at me to see where I was hurt. I had cuts all along my arms and face. There was a gash on my chin that kept bleeding and a lump formed on the back of my head. A few teeth had disappeared. Two yellow buttons on my dress were gone. Blood covered the blue cotton. My white stockings were torn, showing scraped skin. My shiny black shoes with buckles were covered in dust and were no longer shiny.
Mom hugged me again, whispering over and over in my ear.
“You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.”
I had just turned five, so it must have been around late September, early October of 1992. Grandpa and Grandma wanted to visit their family back in England and introduce me to them. It was my first time out of the country. We stayed in a fancy hotel right between Grandpa’s family and Grandma’s.
Our fourth day there was scheduled for meeting Grandma’s brother and sister. Mom and I left early so that we could stop and do some shopping before we left London. We had to take the train since Grandma and Grandpa had the rental car. Mom dressed me up in the only dress I owned. It was a blue dress with bright yellow buttons down the front. I had on white stockings and shiny black shoes with buckles. It was the most girly I had ever looked in my life.
The train was crowded. People pushed in around me. I clutched my mom’s hand and pressed against her, my one solid comfort in the terrifying sea of people. I played with her ring. It was shaped like a tiger’s head and flipped open to reveal a secret slot. We used it to hide messages to each other.
Our stop was the same one that most people on the train wanted and everyone rushed to get off. The doors of the train were on springs. They automatically closed unless someone held them open. Mom was that someone. She parked me to the side near the doors and told me to wait.
“Stay here until everybody else is off. Then I’ll help you over.”
I looked at the gap between the train and the platform. It didn’t look that big. Besides, I was a big girl, I had already started kindergarten after all, and big girls didn’t need help getting off trains. Besides, I didn’t like having strangers pushing past me without the comfort of Mom’s hand to keep me safe.
The gap must have been larger than I thought because when I took that first step I missed the platform completely. I fell between the train and the platform. My chin hit the cement and I slammed my head back on the way down. I didn’t stop sliding until my shiny black shoes with buckles hit the train tracks. I tasted blood in my mouth. I could feel it running down my arms and legs. All I could hear was the ringing in my ears and the vague sound of yelling above me. I opened watery eyes, tears already washing away the dirt. A hand was thrust down at me and I stared at it in wonder. What was I supposed to do with someone else’s hand?
It was then that the pain came. Throbbing at the back of my skull and the bottom of my chin. Sharp on my legs and arms. A dull ache from where I had bit my tongue. I took in a breath to call for Mom, but it only hurt more. All I could do was cry.
There was more yelling and more hands reached down for me. I saw Mom’s among them, the tiger head glinting. I reached for her hand. The hand that would bring comfort in the scary, painful world. I weakly grabbed her hand. She tried to pull me up but wasn’t strong enough. Another hand joined hers and Mom and the stranger pulled me up. Mom wrapped me in her warm arms and hugged me. I sobbed into her chest. Blood and tears stained her shirt.
Mom finally pulled back a bit and looked at me to see where I was hurt. I had cuts all along my arms and face. There was a gash on my chin that kept bleeding and a lump formed on the back of my head. A few teeth had disappeared. Two yellow buttons on my dress were gone. Blood covered the blue cotton. My white stockings were torn, showing scraped skin. My shiny black shoes with buckles were covered in dust and were no longer shiny.
Mom hugged me again, whispering over and over in my ear.
“You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.”
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you mean "shiny" black shoes, right? shinny shoes wouldn't really glisten at all; they'd be dirty from climbing and playing street hockey. :P
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