Car accident. Screeching brakes. Then blankness. I don’t remember. Have tried many times, but just a big block of nothing.
We were on our way to the hairdresser. His name was Joe. I liked going there.
Getting out of the car. Dazed. At a building, with glass windows and plants growing around it. My mom holding my hand. Both of us still here.
Walking. Down a hallway with green carpet. Fluorescent lights make everything look sick. Into an office.
Blank. No memory.
Screaming, on an examining table, as a faceless doctor in a huge white lab coat dabs something on my forehead. “No, no, no!” I scream. I do not know what is going on, only know that this is a nightmare and I want to wake up. That is what I’m screaming. “I want to wake up! I want to wake up! I want to wake up!” Over and over. My mom stands in a corner, watching, small, distant.
Then we are done. I feel nothing. Fine. No pain. I look in the mirror. Six stitches zigzag across my forehead. Strange, like a little caterpillar.
Walking out on the green carpet, holding my mom’s hand. I don’t remember what she said, or what I answered in response. I don’t remember going home, or much of anything around that day. I don’t know if I ever got that haircut.