February 12th, 1988

It's the Friday before Valentines Day in 1988. I am 8 years old. It's a cold day but not as cold as a typical February day in Wisconsin, aka The Frozen Tundra. That day at school we exchanged cards and candy. I didn't get that many cards. I never did. But, I did get a lot of candy and for an 8 year old that's like the best thing ever. My mind was only thinking about about all this loot I had in candy and I wanted to get home to show off my booty and then stuff my face. So naturally I start running home, which is only 3 blocks away.

I notice a group of boys behind me as I'm in my big rush. They're maybe 50 feet behind me. They're not nice boys. None of the boys at my school are nice boys. Are they chasing me? I want to get away from them. I'm at the last street I have to cross before being on my block.

I can't recall the car that hit me. Or should I say the car that I hit because as it turns out I pretty much just ran into the side of it. My tiny body sailed through the air and landed on the street. When I open my eyes I see a crowd of people all around me. No surprise but I start crying and I'm calling for my stepfather. I'm too afraid to call for my mother because she'll just be mad at me. Later I'll feel guilty for not even calling out for my mother. Such a bad daughter! Am I bleeding? Can I move my body? I think I'm fine. The ambulance comes and they load me into the back. My mother is there with me and the EMT keeps asking me questions because he's trying to figure out if I'm ok. The only thing I have in my head is that 8x4 is 32. Mom and I were going over the multiplication table last night and that's all I can recall. I had a hard time with that one so we went over it so many times that I had mastered it. My mother asks me what happened. "Those mean boys were chasing me and I was afraid they were going to hurt me. I ran into the street without looking."

We get to the hospital and the doctor checks me out. I only have a mild concussion. He tells my mother that I have to take it easy. Not 2 hours later I was begging my mother to go to my best friend's house for dinner. She agreed. I was fine. That night I sat at my friends table and we dined on a mid-western favorite; meatloaf. I told them about the days events and felt proud of myself for being able to continue with my original plans. The pride I was having was because I needed to mask the shame. The truth is those boys weren't chasing me. I was afraid of them yes but I ran into the street because I wanted to get home for that candy.