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Bruise

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Bruise: (n) an injury appearing as an area of discolored skin on the body

He had an unusual name: Page.

He was a boy. So he took a lot of crap for it.

I think his parents thought they were clever–because his whole name was Page Unus McCloy.Dictionary B

In other words, “Page One McCloy.”

I liked him.

He was a simple little fella. He tried really hard to do everything that everybody else did, but he was sickly–that’s what the teacher said–had a difficult time keeping up.

He also had a problem when playing, because the slightest little bump could cause a bruise. So you can imagine, there were times that Page came from home black and blue. The cops would be called and then everyone would realize it was just due to his…you know. Sickly.

So physical games were pretty much impossible because he always ended up looking like he had been beat up in a bar fight.

One day we found some crab apples in his backyard, rotting on the ground. We decided to throw them at each other. Apparently one of them wasn’t quite rotted enough, and it hit him square in the middle of his forehead, knocked him down and left a huge bruise.

His mother was really mad at me, so I wasn’t allowed to play with Page for a couple of weeks.

But when I returned the friendship was as sweet as ever, and we continued to carefully carry on as young boys do–dodging injury.

Christmas vacation arrived, and I told Page that I would call him over the holidays and that I was looking forward to seeing him “next year.”

When January 7th arrived and we returned to school, I couldn’t find Page. A teacher took me to the side and explained that he had passed away over the holidays, from complications due to something called leukemia.

My first thought was that I must have killed him with the crab apple. That idea haunted me for months.

Matter of fact, it wasn’t until we were in biology class two years later that I understood the type of disease that caused Page to bruise.

Whenever I think of bruises, I think of Page.

Then I think about how important it is, if you love someone, to be tender to their condition … and try not to leave any kind of bruise.

 

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Alley

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Alley: (n) 1. a narrow passageway between or behind buildings. 2. a long, narrow area in which games such as bowling are played.

Alleys give me the heebie-jeebies.

Even during the daytime, when somebody tells me to go back in the alley to unload or pick something up, I find myself suddenly surrounded by trash cans and stray cats–neither of which I like, by the way.

Maybe it’s the feeling of confinement. I am certainly a little claustrophobic. (You can tell when a writer’s claustrophobic because he hates short sentences and opts for run-ons.)

Seriously, alleys are freaky.

  • Is there any television mystery that does not start with cops discovering a dead body in an alley somewhere?
  • Was anything ever invented in an alley?
  • Did we discover the cure for a disease in an alley?

Matter of fact, it’s difficult to even use the word “alley” without adding the adjective, “back.”

I guess the only interesting thing about an alley is that since you can’t go too far frontwards and backwards, you’re always looking up.

I thought when I went bowling the first time, I could overcome my disdain for alleys by enjoying this fascinating game. But the reason they call it a bowling alley is that there is a narrow passage with danger at the end.

Case in point: my first bowling score was 52, which, as you may know, is very poor. And then I discovered that if I threw the ball down with wild abandon, with a crazy hook, somehow or another it would swing around and hit the head pin. This seemed to work for a couple of tosses, until I began to get a universal split, with two pins on each side, impossible to make.

So I peaked at 165, which is still what I say is my average when people ask me. I feel confident in misleading them because I have no intention of actually proving my prowess in front of them. For it’s been years since I’ve gone bowling.

The whole experience is similar to a back alley. You have the nasty process of sticking your feet in rented shoes that others have worn many times before you, having your inadequacy lit up above your head, as your failure in scoring pins is illuminated for all to see, and knowing that at the end of the experience of being in this alley, you will be humiliated and stripped of all your pride.

So I guess it is fair to say that I don’t like alleys.

(Matter of fact, I’m going to close now . I feel a little cramped and creepy.)