November 11, 2009 § 2 Comments
This is what happens when I fulfill one of my worst fears: falling down the stairs.
It was pretty much the size and shape of Africa, and it actually grew the day after I took the picture. The bruise was ugly and slightly swollen, making it painful to put on pants or lie on that side during sleep.
Over the weekend when it was warm enough to wear shorts outside, I took a page from LC and covered the bruise with concealer. It wasn’t for aesthetic purposes; I just didn’t want to have to field any questions about whether I got beat up. Because I live in the attic of the house, I figured that I would probably fall down the steep staircase at some point. It’s made of creaky wood, which isn’t exactly merciful to the flesh. On the bright side, at least I didn’t roll down and bust my head on the door.
On Halloween night, I returned home at around 4AM. After carefully removing my stilettos at the top of the stairs, I crossed the room to take off my wig. In my tired state I had forgotten to turn on the light, so I went back to where the light switch was located on the other side of the staircase. My hand brushed my Macbook remote, which I had placed on top of the railing, and it tumbled down the stairs and fell to pieces in what felt like slow motion.
I tried to reach out to grab it, but my foot slipped and I slid down the stairs on the side of my leg. It all happened very quickly. Stunned, I sat for a minute before crawling pitifully back up the stairs. Thankfully, both roomies were drunkenly passed out, so my commotion didn’t disturb them.
Like a puppy that’s been whipped, I now view the staircase with a bit more fear and reverence than I did before. The wound has healed, but the mind remembers.