Saturday, 7 May 2011

Chapter 4 : 17 Years Old [ "I can't even sing anymore . . ." III ]

Falling Over

In the past, when I wanted to hurry, I could. Now, even if I want to hurry, I can't. I'm afraid that in the future I may even lost all sense of hurry. Oh God, why did you give me this burden? No, I suppose everyone has some kind of burden. But why is it only me that has to be miserable?

The way I fell over today was really pathetic. When I take a bath, either Mom or Ako helps me take off my clothes in the changing room outside the bathroom. They run some hot water on the floor of the bathroom to warm it for me. Then I crawl across the tiles to get to the bathtub. Today, when I was trying to grab the edge of the bathtub so that I could get into a half-sitting posture, I fell on my bottom. I was unlucky because there was a plastic soap dish right under me. It broke into pieces and fragments got stuck in my buttocks. I cried out in a loud voice.
"What happened?" Cried Mom as she flew into the bathroom.

She was very surprised to see a red river of blood mixed with the hot water. She placed a towel firmly on my bottom and then poured a lot of hot water over the parts of me that were still dry. Then Mom and Ako held me. They quickly dried off my body and got me into my pajamas. Then Mom covered all the cuts on my buttocks with gauze patches.
"With cuts like that," she said, "I think we'd better go to the hospital."
It turned out to be a serious matter. I had to have two stitches at the hospital and didn't get back home till around 9 o'clock. I was so tired.

It was a sudden accident, but I realize what was happening at the time. There was no real reason for me to stumble and fall over, or for my hands to slip. I wonder why a nerve can stop functioning momentarily? I felt sorry toward Mom for what I'd done.

While Mom was busy sorting out my many types of medicine to divide them into doses, I just lay in bed. I had a slight stomachache.
But whatever your excuse was, Aya, your attitude was wrong.

Partly because I was tortured by many conscience, I felt like reading Okasan 2 (Mother 2), a collection of poems by Hachiro Sato. My hand reached out toward the bookshelf.

No comments:

Post a Comment