Twelve Stitches

Twelve Stitches

The twelve stitches entrenched in Jackie’s nose made a black, hook-like line from the crease of one nostril to the arch of the upper lip. Accompanying the stitches and the soon to be raw scare, came the dark bruises that follow a horrific accident. These formations around his mouth made all the neighborhood kids immediately see Jackie’s healing wound as mustache-like badge of honor. His whole body ached from a day filled with running, crying, and bleeding. Jackie had only one brother, whom he followed without pause. Coleman, the older one, had for their entire lives been the General in every army battalion, the Leader in every Manhunt expedition, and the captain in every kickball tournament. Even when his dominant older brother became a neighborhood tyrant and was eventually mutinied from his five-star commander position, Jackie followed. The two brothers were inseparable, always with Jackie standing in total admiration of everything his older brother was.

The two boys scurried side by side to the center space between the apartment complexes. To a kid, this place was perfect, complete with rusty swing sets and mounds of heavy dirt to make forts and secret hideouts. Children would come here from all over to break glass bottles, hit things with sticks, and to be exactly what children needed to be. And, when the kids would eventually leave, their skin and hair would be filthy with the dirt and mud and their teeth would show the color of the dust. The two walking side by side stopped to look at the landscape. The little one wore a dusty teenage mutant ninja turtles tank top with crazy purple geometric shapes. He wore matching purple gloves that for some reason smelled of cat urine, (the cause for such a pungent smell was never determined). On the little boys feet were brand new Wayne Gretzky inspired “number 99” tennis shoes complete with white hockey-skate laces. The shoes looked abnormally large for such a small boy but Jackie wore them with pride. The larger boy had a sloppy t-shirt that was too short for his big round belly. He wore sweatpants and old running shoes with no socks. He had a thick blond flattop like Vanilla Ice that unfortunately made his head seem too large for his body.
The two brothers had gotten into a little trouble with their parents in the previous month digging holes. The menial act of digging was so pleasurable for them, they hadn’t known when to stop and before long, large trashcan sized holes canvassed the landscape. They’d sneak out at night with their shovels and flashlights ready to cut the land. The lawns got so severe with damage; the Major living two apartments down got his prized Ford F-150 stuck. The major had called the police, who had come to the conclusion that a pack of wild dogs and gofers had been destroying the grass mounds in their neighborhood. They never found out who the real culprits were, but now their mother had a reason as to why the boys’ sheets remained so filthy.
Coleman cleared his throat, spit, and wiped his mouth on his shirt. “Jackie, what you wanna do? Mom said we could stay out for another hour.” The little one shrugged his shoulders. “Hey you still got your remote control racecar charged? Coleman asked.
“Yeah, but its still charging.” Jackie replied. “It says it’s supposed to charge for eight hours before we can use it again.”
“Eight hours?” Coleman asked with his mouth open.
“Yeah eight hours. It’s a big battery pack. It’ll run about forty-five minutes of race time.”
Remote control racecars weren’t powerful enough to hold long charges, which unfortunately made the boys constantly fish-out the dead car. It would fly off of a jump, hit the ground, die, and slide into deep mud pits and drainage pipes. Disappointed at this, the boys sat down and started throwing around golf ball sized rocks at the pitiful old skeleton of a swing set that classified the area a “family neighborhood”. In the winter, the wind would blow the swings back and forth with high pitch cries and make the area look and sound like a desolate ghost town.
“Hey what’s that shiny thing buried over there?” Jackie said. He walked over and reached down to the shiny partially interred item and picked up what looked to be a metal golf club. On the top of the old club said “three wood”.
“Cool.” Jackie cried as he thrust the head of the club into his shoulder like a soldier firing a rifle. He ran up and down the dirt mounds with his weapon, shooting at anything that could have been taken for an enemy on the battlefield. Jackie stopped when he saw one of the small round rocks. He lined the rock up like a real golf ball, lifted the club over his head and swung. The rock flew over the courtyard and pelted the fence on the other side leaving a white dent in the dried wood.
“Awesome!” Coleman yelled with excitement. He walked over to Jackie and ripped the club from his hands.
“Hey give it back! It’s mine. I saw it first. Now give it back!”
“Come on Jacky-jack.” The older one replied. “Lemme just try it once. Please can I try it once, without you crying like a little girl?”
“Fine, but give it back after.”
“All right I’ll make this one really skids!” exclaimed Coleman.
He took the club and much like Harrison’s go, lined up a round rock for complete destruction. Harrison stood six feet behind growing impatient for his next chance to hit another one.
“Stand farther back.” Coleman said.
At this, Jackie took another step back to be safe.
“Watch this, its going to be awesome.”
Coleman gripped the club with his dusty hands touching the rubber grip with his dirty fingernails… the club felt rigid and heavy to the touch. He hesitated for a few moments… widened his stance… hesitated… tightened his whole body, and with an explosion, jerked backward into the up swing. From Jackie’s point of view, the club came for him in slow motion. The evil sphere at the end of the metal shaft turned into a heat-seeking projectile. He could tell that the steel club’s trajectory was in line with his face but there was no time. The club connected with the soft spot between Jackie’s upper lip and his little nose. The impact on his face made a sharp crack, similar to that of the first rock hitting the wooden fence. Like the scene in the Matrix, where Neo tries to dodge the bullets, Jackie fell to the ground. He cupped his nose and got up quickly.
“OUCH! That hurt Coleman…” The little one said. “Cole? What’s wrong?”
But Coleman couldn’t speak. His mouth remained open, trembling as he stared into image of Jackie’s face. The blood came, like an army of fire ants swarming out of their mound to wage war on foreign disturbances. It poured out all over Harrison’s tank top, his hands, and even his new shoes. The older brother, frightened by what he had just done, froze.
Jackie looked down at the blood smothering his hands and clothes. When he saw the vast amount of that rich color, Jackie panicked.
“Oh my god” He cried. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Tears swelled up in his eyes and sobs came as he tasted blood. The little brother fell to his knees crying.
“Help me! Jackie gasped. But Coleman couldn’t move. Like a statue, he watched as his friend bled all over the grass and dirt. Jackie’s older brother turned around and ran away, leaving him in the dirt. Jackie’s heart pounded and he could feel the blood in his body moving to his face. He could feel the throbbing of his nose, and the blood pumping in his gums. With each beat, came a warm throb. He mustered what was left of his strength and got up and started running. He ran, and ran. He wanted his mom and he knew where his she was. People starred as he ran, shocked at the image of a hysterical Zombie-boy running through the streets. A tiny kid with blood and snot everywhere flying past them. Some people tried to help, but his sobs and panic could not be calmed. Jackie lost his energy. Slowly he fell to the ground, bloody and tired.

He lay on the operating table in the hospital with the warm light engulfing his little body. In his bones, Jackie felt the pure loss of adrenaline. A blanket was put over his head with a small opening for his nose to be operated on. This instantly reminded him of those large, plastic, and floppy dog collars. Jackie smiled as he pictured himself as a wild dog, digging holes all day. He floated on as the twelve stitches reattached his face. The Novocain shots to his nose made him twitch as the nerve-endings slowly quieted. All was quiet except for the sudden and involuntary twitches of a little patient.