It was a cold, foggy San Francisco summer day.
My best friend Colleen lived up the block from me and we spent all of our time together.
I would say, "I'm coming up." and she would say, "I'm coming down."
This particular Saturday, I went "up" to see her.
We were playing house, one of our staple Saturday games.
We were about eleven years old.
A portion of her house was under construction, and we were forbidden to play there.
It was in the back of the house on the top floor.
It smelled of lumber, saw dust, and cold eucalyptus air.
Naturally, that's where we played house.
I was the "mom" and she was the other "mom"
We were in separate rooms (under construction) talking on the phone.
We each wore Lee press on nails.
My nails were candy apple red and Colleen's were hot carnation pink.
I was wearing my brand new white Esprit outfit, that I had begged my mom for at Nordstrom.
White, cropped, cotton pants and a white button down top.
It was Esprit, that was the important part.
All so stylish, it was 1980 something.
Mid- sentence, chatting on my imaginary phone, I sat on what looked like a beautiful love seat.
I was so engrossed in my "mom" character, I missed the fact that it was a big piece of thick glass covering a hole in the floor.
Suddenly, I was mid air, floating, falling, screaming bloody murder.
Chards of glass surrounded my face and ripped through my skin like claws.
Within three seconds, I hit the floor like a boulder dropped from a cliff.
BOOM.
It felt like my tail bone had been hit with a fifty pound metal bat.
I immediately jumped to my feet.
Okay, I could walk.
My heart was racing, blood was dripping rapidly down my face, my back, my legs.
Adrenaline was rushing like a ferocious beast through my trembling body.
There were no thoughts.
Colleen ran down the stairs and saw me, she screamed.
There were no words exchanged.
I looked into her terrified green eyes and we had the same silent thought- PHONE.
Get to the fucking phone now.
We need to call my mom NOW.
Blood dripped on her beautiful hard wood floors with every step I took as I made my way to the phone that gripped the wall.
I grabbed the cream colored receiver and the cumbersome cord got stuck in the one part of my hair that wasn't stuck to my bloody face.
I tried to dial my mom- 239-8989.
I couldn't get the buttons to push and the 2 kept slipping.
"Fucking Nails!!!" I screamed as I tried to rip the plastic albatrosses from my fingers.
My mom had told me they weren't good to wear in case of emergencies.
I heard her voice in my head.
I finally ripped one off and threw it across the kitchen.
239-8989.
Done.
I ran for the front door, Colleen followed closely behind me, crying quietly.
She sounded like a whistling tea kettle, then I heard the screech of brakes.
I don't even think a minute had passed, and there she was, my mom.
She pulled up frantically in the station wagon.
She had on her cut off daisy duke jean shorts and a red t-shirt with a rainbow on it and a little bit of bird shit on her shoulder.
She had reversed backwards up the hill, which she did often, not just in emergencies.
"GET IN THE FUCKING CAR !"
I stood there covered in blood.
My "white " pants were now red pants, completely saturated with bright red, fresh blood.
My hair was glued to my face with blood and tiny beads of glass.
"Get in the car!" She yelled.
"What Happened!!!!!!!!!!!!!" She said horrified.
I was stunned.
I opened the door and laid across the back seat, all I could smell and taste was metal.
I got in the car, my mom was trying to be calm.
She didn't succeed.
It was obvious this was bad.
We flew off at about 60 MPH down our residential street.
I sobbed and sobbed, trying to get the words out, telling her what happened.
We both knew stitches were imminent.
She told me it was going to be fine.
That was one of her go to phrases, "Not to worry Stacie, it is going to be fine."
"No it's not mom!" I insisted, sobbing.
There was no way she was right this time.
The right side of my face was pulsating, my back was sliced up and it felt like a thousand bees were stinging me.
It wasn't enough to be on the way to the ER with glass chards in my body and face.
She couldn't resist.
"God damn it Stacie! I told you not to wear those god damn fake nails!"
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