Friday, May 12, 2006
Mucky-muck
Occasionally when I’m sitting here trying to think of something to write about, I have nothing but brain farts. Times like these I look to others for inspiration. T’s story of flipping over her bike and crying all the way home with no shoes on reminded me of a childhood story of my own.
I was in first grade and the school bus had just let me out at my stop. The neighborhood we lived in still had dirt roads and it had rained recently, so there were some mud holes here and there. As I was walking I came upon this really large expanse of icky mud. On either side of it was wild grass that was taller than me. I was scared of that tall grass. Who knows what’s in there?
So I scanned the muck for a solid place to step. There had to be one somewhere. After careful consideration, I gingerly stepped onto a spot. It seemed okay, so I put my full weight on it. *SQUISH* My foot sunk right in. Oh shit. (I didn’t think really “oh shit” at the time, I was too young to know such words, but had I known then I would have uttered, “OH SHIT!!")
I tried to pull my foot out, but it was so stuck. Didn’t move an inch. I was convinced I was sinking in quicksand and started to cry. I pulled and pulled, but the mud wouldn’t let go. I started to call for my mom. “MOMMY!” but there was no one around to hear me. I was on a dirt road in the middle of a freaking field.
After a bit more tugging and crying, the voice of reason finally crept into my little brain. It told me to unbuckle my sandal. So I did. My foot came right out then. Afterwards I reached down and angrily yanked the shoe out of the muck. Fucking mud. (Again I didn’t actually think that at the time. I didn’t learn such words until… uh… sixth grade or something.) I started trudging home still sniffling, crying, dirty socks and a sandal in one hand.
My mom was so confused when I got home.
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