It was day three of being the boss of me. This morning a rush job came up on Michael's side of things. Michael used to jokingly instruct Amara to just hide under the desk whenever he went away. This rush caught me today in an email, one that had a big red exclamation point on the side to emphasize the emergency nature of the logo request. thankfully Tracy, the designer he usually works with, knew what the client needed and was able to deliver.
I said goodnight to the Sea Monkeys, changed out of my heels into my ballet flats, shut down the computer, slung my bag over my shoulder and headed for home.
It was a warm one again today, about 29 degrees. My first bus took me past the fountain pool at Memorial Park. People had come there to cool off in the mist. On the bus I was certain someone was wearing Hawaiian Tropics sunscreen because I could smell the distinctive coconut aroma that I love. The smell of summer.
The bus stopped at Vaughn and Graham, across from the old downtown Bay. I pressed the yellow strip on the back door to leave. I stepped off the bus and my right ankle buckled. It was my bad ankle. I've sprained it a hundred times before. Sometimes it just decides to give out. I kind of lost my balance and found myself crouched close to the ground before I stabilized myself and gingerly carried forward.
"Are you okay?" Someone behind me asked.
"Oh yes, I'm fine, thanks."
When I got to the corner of Graham and Vaughn another woman stopped me.
"Are you okay? You took quite the tumble there," she asked. Again, I sheepishly nodded and assured her I was fine. My foot wasn't really hurting and I hadn't heard the sickening ripping sound of the scar tissue I often hear when I've really sprained it.
The light for the northbound traffic was red so I proceeded across the street. As I walked, limping a bit, a black cloud filled my vision. I've experienced this before too after a sprain. I always figured it's just the blood rushing from my head down to the injury. Some minor light headedness that quickly passes. But this time it didn't.
Just let me make it across the street so I don't collapse and get hit by a bus, I thought to myself. Heh. Hit by a bus. Aren't I always afraid that when the going gets good I'm going to get hit by a bus and die a happy woman? Well I guess Fate realized her timing was a little off so she did let me safely reach the sidewalk on the other side.
I grabbed hold of the cool metal light standard and waited for the dizziness to pass. The next thing I knew, I was fluttering my eyes open from the ground, surrounded by passersby.
A middle aged woman with short brown hair and a green shirt instructed me to go have a seat on a planter a few steps away. I remember thinking that I didn't want to sit there, I wanted to go inside to The Bay, get some water from the Malt Stop, and sit down. But she insisted and guided me over. I sat down. People were buzzing around me and I blacked out a second time.
This time when I came to I was on the ground, my head resting on the knee of the woman who had led me to my seat. Another woman, younger and blonde, was on her cell phone calling for an ambulance. Someone asked me my name. Then they asked me if I had a husband or a boyfriend or some family they could call. No, no husband, no boyfriend. No Prince Charming or Knight in Shining Armor was on standby to come for me. Someone said something about a seizure and convulsions. I felt tears well up in my eyes. I was scared. Had that happened to me? Was I going to be okay? This had never happened to me before. The two women were talking back and forth so much I couldn't get my words out.
I honestly just wanted someone to hand me a phone so I could call my mom. I desperately wanted a familiar face there to hold my hand, look me in the eyes and tell me that I was safe, I wasn't alone and I was going to be okay. I'm an older sibling, I'm really good at being brave for other people, reassuring them, talking them through something, grabbing the Kleenex and being the calm and optimistic one. But when I'm alone and I'm scared, with no one to be strong for me, to rationalize things for me and shoo away all the crazy thoughts that pop up in this wild imagination of mine, I tend to crumble pretty easily.
I felt pretty ashamed about my tears. I hate letting people see me cry. My ankle was hurting and I had a scratch over my eye that was bleeding and stinging a fair bit. But I'm a tough kid. I can take pain. All sorts of pain. Physical pain, emotional pain, pure embarrassment, I can take it. But I think it was just the fear and loneliness that was consuming me and breaking me down from the inside. Damn those hot tears. Someone handed me a napkin to wipe my eyes. I noticed the blood from the cut, diluted red spots from mixing with the tears. I felt like such a child.
The lady in green told me she was a first responder, a medical professional. She shoo'd away the other bystanders. Told one guy to do up his fly. The wind caught my skirt and I reached down to hold it in place and cling onto what was left of my dignity.
I heard the sirens and the ambulance pulled up. There was talk of me going to the hospital. Everything felt like it was moving ahead of me and I wasn't being given a chance to think for myself. I mostly just nodded along in a daze. I remember when I was out both times that I dreamed. I don't remember what the dreams were or who was there, which annoyed me. Awake, I still felt like I was in one of those dreams where your feet are dead weight and you're trying to run away from something but you everything is in slow motion.
The paramedics helped me onto the gurney. I had never been on one before. As they put me in the back of the truck I tried to call out thank you to the two women who had stayed with me, but my voice was pretty weak and I don't know if they heard me.
In the truck they took my blood pressure and checked my heart and found me okay. The one who does most of the talking and work has longish, silver hair. (I know, couldn't I have at least gotten a hot one?) I told the guy what happened, about my ankle. He looked at it and noticed that it wasn't even swollen.
"You probably just don't have a high tolerance for pain," he said. I knew that wasn't true.
I opted out of them taking me to the hospital. It seemed silly really, to sit in a waiting room for just sprain. I signed the release form for them to let me go.
The other paramedic offered to zip up my bag for me. He picked it up with a grunt.
"No wonder you fell there, I don't know how you carry this thing around," he said. I carry my life in that old bag of mine. I've never weighed my life before but I know it all fits in that blue bag of mine.
"Lunch, shoes, a library book," I rattled off the heavier contents.
"Good thing you weren't wearing those shoes when you fell," the sweet and grunty paramedic said, noticing the skinny two inch heel on my robin's egg blue shoes. They're one of my favourite pairs.
I smiled. "Actually, I usually sprain my ankle on flats," I said. It's true. I'm better in heels.
Sweet Grunty helped me out of the ambulance and then I was on my own. The crowd of helpers, thinking I was going for further medical care, had taken off. I hobbled to the doors of The Bay and looked at my watch. Damn. I'd missed the bus and had no idea when the next one would come. So I hobbled inside the store, limped my way through the cosmetics department as I reached for my phone to finally call my mom. I was sobbing again as I asked her to meet me, explained what had happened. She promised she'd call when she got there.
I limped and sniffed and wiped away tears as I made my way to the parkade doors where I was to meet my mother. I rounded my shoulders, kept my head and eyes down. It didn't matter anyway though, nobody seemed to really notice this limping mess of a girl passing through. Given the downtown location, I suppose there really was no need to question it.
I found a bench, sat down and turned toward the wall to hide my tear stained face. I still wasn't able to quite get control of myself for some reason. I fished out a napkin from my lunch bag and tried to clean myself up. I pulled out my phone to turn the ringer on so I would be sure not to miss my mom's call. My phone was dying, died. Of course.
I hobbled over to the doors out to the parkade. Again, feeling terribly ashamed and wondering about the blood on my face I kept my head down, really not wanting anyone to notice me, to ask questions, to wonder.
Two girls were already sitting on the bench at the parkade doors so I just stood. I noticed a payphone outside so I used my last 50 cents to call my mom to tell her my phone was dead. I got the voicemail because she was driving. I just wanted to hear a familiar voice so I pulled out my Visa, swiped it in the card reader, and called my dad to tell him what happened. I was fine, physically, at this point, but still just shaken up by the whole thing. And lonely.
My mom got there faster than I thought she would. Elmo was with her since she had been at my house with him, preparing the living room walls for painting. She took me home to her place, gave me ice for the ankle and food.
My mom has come to my rescue twice in the past two months or so. Aside from the pain in my foot, this was the dominant thought in my head that seemed to be giving me grief. I have these grand dreams of independence, of maybe leaving this old town of little boys and little opportunity for something bigger and better. But if I did that, who would be my emergency phone call? Who would come pick me up when I've fallen? Who would hold my hand when I'm scared? Who would drop everything for me? The only people who I know will do that, every time, without question, are my mom and dad.
Maybe I'm not ready. Maybe I'm not strong enough. Not independent enough, tough enough for facing this world alone. And will I ever be?
