Open Writing

I ran into the house, screaming, blood streaming from my leg. Barbed wire along the fence at the back of the garden, hidden under weeds, had dug quite a deep cut, as I'd jumped down onto it from the fence.
My grandmother picked me up and sat me on the sink bench, put my leg into the sink, and turned the cold water tap on to the cut.

'Will I die, will I die?' I sobbed.

'Don't be so silly, Shirley, of course you won't die. I'll just bathe the cut, and bandage it. Just keep it under the running water while I get everything ready.' I sat there and cried. I was always convinced whenever I was hurt that I was about to die.

My grandmother assembled a cloth, basin, Dettol, and bandages.

She put hot water and Dettol into the basin, and proceeded to dab at the cut, which had stopped bleeding so much.

'Ouch, that stings, where's Mummy?'

'She's across at Mrs Dunn's house,' she said. 'Stop wriggling, and hold your leg still while I dry it.'

I did as she said. She put ointment onto a pad, then bandaged the cut. It looked quite impressive when she'd finished.

'I won't be able to walk around now, can I have Grampa's walking stick?'

'Well, see if you can first, then we'll think about that.'

She helped me to get down. I limped across the room.

'I s'pose I can walk', I said regretfully. The thought of walking around with a walking stick was still in my mind.

My grandmother smiled. 'That's good news.'

The screen door opened and shut. My grandfather came into the kitchen from the back. 'What's to do?' he asked. 'I heard all the noise from the shed. Has she broken her leg?'

'No, of course she hasn't, Ezra. You might have a look at whatever she scraped it against when you go down the back again. Shirley will show you, won't you Shirley?'

'Yes, Granma,' I said. 'Do I have to do it now?'

'No, tomorrow will do. Just have a bit of a rest now, go and play quietly with Joy. You don't want to make it bleed again.'

'All right,' I said.

'See my bandage, Grampa?'

'H'mm,' he said, 'you'll die after that, for sure.'

I started crying again.

'Ezra, don't tease the child, she's had quite a shock,' said my Granma, sounding cross.

'Granma, you said I wouldn't die,' I sobbed louder.

'You're not going to die, Grampa's teasing you.'

'Why does he say it then?'

'Go and play, you'll be all right.'

I went off to find my sister, as she said. I wondered if this time he might be right, and I would really “die after it”.

© Shirley Henwood