
It was a beautiful day at the beach. My cousin Joanna and I'd just won a game of bacci ball with the help of one can of Miller Lite. In celebration I jumped into the ocean to cool off then hopped on my bicycle to go across the way to grab some garlic powder from my aunt's beach rental. I'd been slaving away in the kitchen most of the afternoon. Embracing my decision to take the summer off of work and be a "non-adult". Screw bills, waking up in the am, the pressures and stressors, I was going to be a kid. It was 4 days into my summer vacation and I was celebrating by making Mexican dinner for my twelve of my aunts, uncles and cousins, thus the garlic powder - gotta love guacamole! I was actually happy, in the moment bliss. I was gliding along the empty street on my bike with my beach bag on my shoulder and a smile on my face. My mind was wandering to the variety of adventures I had planed for the summer. I saw it up ahead and took a deep, happy breath as I continued over its yellow hump. Just then the bike, the speed bump and I rumbled (Totally "Calvin and Hobbes" style). I woke up under my bike and attempted to pull myself up off the sun-baked pavement, when the searing pain in my left arm matched the deformity I was staring at. Seriously! I'm supposed to be on vacation! I turned over and started screaming help. Over and over again, help. The empty street soon filled with no one. Then I heard foot steps, a random fellow found me then got my aunt and uncle as I writhed in pain. I was so hopped up on endorphins all I wanted was a picture. I wouldn’t shut up about it. My aunt was so upset she couldn’t figure out my camera, so the fellow (an off-duty fireman) snapped a shot then started taking my blood pressure. Soon my whole family was above me as the ambulance sirens whirled around. A bumpy ride, a horrible ER doctor, 6 hours, copious amounts of morphine and a great surgical team later, I am the proud owner of 2 four inch plates, 12 screws, 2 very heinous scars and a new nickname “guacamole girl” – compliments of my surgeon. Convalescing sucked. Alas, it hasn’t stopped me and hopefully the everlasting evidence of my summer of “non-adulthood” will help me stay young at heart and away from speed bumps. (ps: I could only get a picture of one side of my arm to upload, I couldn't fit both scars in one shot.)



