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Learning to Fall: aim high.
School wasn't in the cards for me any time soon. Momma said the doctors knew best even though I was able to get up and run around the house, keeping Momma worried all the time that I'd fall down and break my arm worse or my neck or that I'd gouge a hole in the big patchy part of the burned circle on my chest that was healing slowly.
The first two days home it was all new to me, home that is. I couldn't remember being happier seeing Jillian's underwear sopping wet on the bathroom floor in the morning or waiting a hundred hours to get into the bathroom to pee while she blew her hair dry. All of the worst home stuff beat the best hospital stuff hands down.
But the third day, after looking at my burn in all the mirrors throughout the house and after checkin' out how my cast could open and close doors without me even feeling the pressure of it, I got bored. Bored, bored, bored. Boredity-bored bored.
I decided that when Momma next fell asleep I would see what was goin' on outside, maybe down the street at the scene of the crime. No harm in that, right?
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