I hated recess in 5^th grade. Everyone played kickball, which I loathed. I read inside as often as my teacher would let me (Redwall series), but I think she bargained with my time because she found my antisocial-ness incredibly pathetic. I had to go outside two days a week, but could huddle up and read somewhere for three. On one of my “go outside” day’s, though, she needed a volunteer to update the activity board during recess. Yes, I volunteered to stay inside and staple things.

I don’t remember what I was stapling…the only thing that comes to mind is that science poster warning you to not be like Carol, and wear those safety goggles…but I know that one came later in my high school wetlands class. Anyway, I was stapling some dumb smiley encouraging stuff to the board and somehow I managed to staple my finger, also. I felt like that was a stupid accident to report, so I didn’t tell anyone, but I had to remove it myself. The staple hurt way more coming out than going in, and as I removed it I remember thinking well that’s too bad… staples are for paper.

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“Wassat?” I mumbled. I heard a click, felt a sting, and then another click. “Are thosesstaples?” Someone injected my IV drip with more morphine and my questions turned to whimpers. Thirteen staples popped into the slit in my head that resembled a giant gaping pair of dripping, bloody lips, according to my dad.

Luciana 23.75 remembering 19