Ropes
Blurring. Spinning. Colors swirling. Greens of grass and leaves. Greys of dirt. Browns from the trunks of trees. Trying to focus, but the faces of Joe and Elise are warped and twisted as they zoom by over and over. The only things that stay steady in my view are the rough, scratchy and frayed, nylon ropes I hold onto and the tire the ropes are threaded through. The tire is, of course, black, and even though the ropes are old and dull, their yellow clashes brightly against the darkness. Jan is also in clear view as she throws her head back and laughs with the thrill of the spinning tire swing.
Round and round. Faster and faster. I grip tighter to the rope, feeling it bite into the flesh of my hands. I squeal as the direction of our spinning suddenly changes, but it also begins to slow with the change.
"Again! Again!" Jan chants, excitedly.
Thump! Thump! Thump, thump, thump! Joe and Elise's hands slap at the tire to keep it spinning. The tire turns quicker as the sounds from their hands making contact with the rubber meld together with an odd yet rhythmic beat.
Looking up, I watch as the three separate ropes twist together. As the twist gets closer to my hands, the tire raises ever-so-slightly away from the ground.
We're not going 'round and 'round nearly as fast as before, but the thrill of knowing that speed is coming closer with each turn brings a gleeful screech from my little throat. My insides feel much like the twisting ropes look. A nervous laugh bubbles through my lips, and Jan joins in; her happiness sounds equal, if not more so, to my own.
A slight tug gets my attention before turning into a pull. The feeling is uncomfortable, at first, but it quickly becomes painful. Seconds feel like hours as my head is turned sideways drawn closer towards the twisted ropes. It dawns on me what's happened, and I try to scream or say something, anything, but the sound is stuck.
I finally manage to form some kind of noise, but what should have come out as, "Stop! Please, stop!" is more garbled nonsense than actual words.
There's a searing sensation shooting throughout my body. Its origin, my scalp. I let go of the rope, reaching up to try to ease the pain, but it's no use. A scream echoes through my head. I'm not sure if it came from me or Jan. It's too late, though, as I feel the tension release from my head. I'm falling; my vision is a burst of hot, white flares blurred with bits of color.
I find myself lying on the ground. There's a thudding in my ears and a burning sensation on the side of my head, which sends a shocking sting to my extremities when the wind hits it. My hand shoots up to block the wind, but it's much too small to cover the entire area.
Making contact, the skin of my palm and fingers is greeted with tiny wet areas upon the now smooth area in the absence of hair. My eyes look past Jan, who stands in front of me, and to the yellow rope, stopping only when they locate the clump of dark-brown strands that are stuck within the frays of roughness.
I feel the prick of tears come into the corner of my eyes, then the wetness as they slip down my face.
"Sunny," Jan's yelling. "Are you okay?"
I hear other voices, but they're a distant mumble as I pull my hand from my scalp, bringing it inches from my face. Bright red splotches of blood cover the skin. I wipe them away on my shorts.
I register gasps and even a laugh here and there. Joe is one who opted to laugh, and I frown at him. Elise is crying, and Jan has stopped asking if I'm okay; she's has a look of fear on her face. Glancing around further, I notice that adults have arrived. Some try to hide their chuckles and looks of enjoyment at a child's pain, while others have looks of sadness and confusion on their face.
I get up and spot my mom. I go to her. "Mommy, I want to go home."
She's angry. "Maybe instead of just standing there, someone can get something to clean this up so we can see how bad it is?"
Once inside, away from the onlookers, I'm left standing in front of the mirror. Half of my head is free of hair. The skin is red and looks similar to raw hamburger meat. It looks slightly better once my mom wipes away the blood, cleaning it with water first and then with something that makes it sting further. She coats my scalp with an ointment, and we leave to go home.
My sister complains about having to leave so soon, and my dad doesn't seem to care either way. There's a gallon size baggy on the floor of the van in between the two front seats that's filled with the hair that had been ripped free from my scalp.
***
It takes nearly a year for my hair to grow back. Every day, I have to have my head slathered in an ointment and a cream several times a day.
The first couple of weeks are the worst. My mother's solution to coverup that half of my head is bald from my kindergarten class is to pull my hair over in a side-ponytail. It works the first week, but then the next week is lice check. She's forgotten about the monthly checks.
The teacher gasps as she pulls the elastic rubber-band from my hair. I hiss at the pain that shoots through my still sensitive scalp. The classroom bursts out in laughter, and I'm brought to tears. After a meeting with my mother and teacher, there's a class discussion that doesn't keep the kids in the class from making fun of me. If anything, it only brings more attention to my missing hair.
This story is based on an actual event that happened to me; it's how I remember it happening, but it's my truth, which I've learned isn't always the same as the truth of someone else involved. I'm lucky the hair grew back. I'm lucky that my scalp didn't completely rip off. But if there's one thing I learned, there will always be people in your life to laugh at your pain. There are far fewer that are willing to help. Then there are those who will always judge.
Find the few, and appreciate them the best you can.
