For a split second I thought someone had beat her up. Anne came in the house with a bleeding gash on the side of her face and a scraped up goose egg above her right eye.
I had already called the police once last night--a freaky guy followed me all over the neighborhood in his truck, I took a couple allies trying to lose him, but he was always right on my tail. Finally I stopped and he rolled down his window and I rolled down my window and he said, "I'm just wondering if you know how to use the roundabout." Rule #1: Never roll down your window (broke that one). Rule #2: Don't engage, even for a second, with a guy that rides your tail in a big a-- truck. Not one word.
I rolled my window back up, went into reverse and drove off. He went the other way. We got his license plate number and I called the police and filed a report. Because nobody should be chasing two women in a minivan like that.
I maintain that I used the roundabout correctly, but whatever.
So Anne comes in late last night and her face is bleeding. I'm already on edge. The story goes, she was in the back seat of a car, they had just stopped to drop off the person riding shot gun, Anne climbed over to take shot gun--but the driver didn't realize she was climbing to the front of the car, he started to drive and her head banged into the dashboard. In three places.
Off to the hospital. But Anne didn't want me to come, even though I had gotten dressed, had my purse, book, and keys in my hand, ready to go. But no. I am too hysterical. She wanted her Dad. I am just way too hysterical. So I stayed in bed and read "A Rose for Emily" while getting text messages from the hospital.
It used to be that everyone who comes to the hospital with a head injury gets a CT scan. But then, there was a study that said 1 in every 300 children who get a CT scan get cancer sometime in their life. So we were instructed to check on Anne every hour. We had to be sure she was not too hard to wake up, that she wasn't disoriented, and not throwing up. So all last night the alarm went off at one hour increments. Charles and I took turns stumbling down the hall. "Anne are you okay?"
She always was.
5 comments:
I think these portraits are hilarious. Like you look more composed in the photo that accompanies the story of Anne's accident and your own hysteria. In the photo below that, you look more hysterical but in the story about Mira, you act very composed. There must be a word for that, but of course I can't think of what it is.
Wow, what a night. I have to admit that I am okay with my plate being full of crazy tantrums and hidden pee spots, for now, versus the child coming home all banged up. I will be ready for teenager days one day, or maybe not. I would have been hysterical as well.
By the way, we have not yet moved so I hope to bump in to you at least one more time.
Sunday night after the accident, I went over to take a look at Anne's head. She looked good. I little stitch still on her cheek, and just a little tiny remnant of a bump over her eye. I was greatly relieved.
Utah drivers are such nut jobs. Seriously, people follow you home if they think you didn't know how to use a round about or if you honked at them. New Yorkers are nuts but no-one has followed me before.
P.S. I hope Ann is doing fine now.
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