Troy's Stitches

Here's a fun little story I wrote in college about an event from my childhood...

As our end of the trailer thumped to the ground, we turned and looked back to see how Troy was enjoying the game. He was gone and we knew immediately what had happened.

It had started out as such a hot, boring day. I think it was a Sunday. That's when we normally found ourselves in our own back yard since playing with the neighbor kids was normally frowned upon that day. I'm sure that we made several attempts to amuse ourselves before the accident. Maybe one of our famous rock fights had broken out; but likely not as those usually ended up in a problem similar to the one we found ourselves in now.

I remember how, peering through the old rusted swing set which sat in the middle of the yard, I spotted my dad's new, freshly painted single axle trailer. I called Troy and my two older sisters over and we all climbed into our newly found toy. Soon we discovered that we could cause the whole trailer to teeter-tauter by running back and forth in the bed of the trailer across the line of the axle. That was very entertaining for a while but eventually my mind began looking for something even more exciting. That's when I hit on my ill-fated idea. The plan was whispered and the 'go' command given. My sisters and I quickly ran to the top end of the trailer leaving our unsuspecting brother behind.

The possibility of Troy being injured in any way never crossed any of our minds, but now we found ourselves facing our thoughtless act. Dread flooded our little world.

We stood there for a long moment in the warm sun letting the rustle of the recently yellowed leaves of our old cotton wood tree hypnotize us. Then came the expected sound of Troy's cry. He appeared from behind the trailer clutching his head with his left hand and headed for the house. We then sprang to action. We knew that we could not let him reach the house, for if he did mom would surely find out and we would really be in trouble. My older sister did most of the talking. I and my younger sister stood behind and agreed with everything she said.

"You're okay! Don't cry! Mom will find out and we'll all be in trouble!"

"We're sorry. Look, we'll let you hit us as hard as you can!"

Only a few short moments of this passed before Troy, still crying loudly, lifted his hand from his head. As he did we noticed the trail of blood emerging from his hairline and his red-stained hair. We knew it was over. I knew that mom would find out and that I would be blamed for the whole thing.

Sure enough, mom came running out of the house and Troy was enveloped in the ensuing rustle and bustle. Mom quickly applied first aid. Then, before hauling him off to the doctor for stitches she asked what had happened. My sisters quickly answered making sure that the fact that it was all my idea came out clearly. I, of course, denied it all.

Maybe I convinced my mother, maybe not, but I don't remember ever being punished for the deed. I do, however, remember the terrible feelings of guilt and sorrow that I felt every time I saw his stitched up head in the weeks to come.