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Big Bertha Swings
Part 4
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We made friends with the guy in the bed next to me. He was a student from Asia attending Arizona State. Turns out that he knew my neighbors as they were international students there also. Discovering he had no way home, we offered to drive him.

Yvette had already left. The three of us lived in opposite directions. It was going to mean 1 1/2 hours in the car driving all over the Valley, then rushing to the airport to retrieve my family.

And so it was. Off to Sky Harbor International Airport with no round of golf, no steak, no shower and no one to drive for me. In a state of frenzy, I parked and hobbled to the gate. The passengers were just disembarking. The airport was quiet, as no other flights were arriving or departing in the terminal.

I am not sure how I must have appeared, but everyone that passed by looked at me with fright. “My sister will not be alarmed. She knows me,” I told myself. But when her youngest son spotted me, he tugged on the sleeve of the older one, who had the attention of his mother.

When all were looking at me, conversation stopped abruptly. My sister gave me a slow, inquisitive stare, raised one brow and said, “Where have you been?”

It was obvious something was not right. Both my nephews dropped their jaws and their eyes opened wide. All were waiting to know what had happened.

“I just got out of the ER. I have been there all afternoon.”

They looked down at my ankle all wrapped in bandages. I hobbled about. “Why don’t you have crutches?”

I went blank. It was a good question. Why didn’t I? I had no answer. It was then I noticed my ER band still around my wrist. My hair that was once in a pony tail had dropped to one side, loosened severely with short ends sticking out in every direction.

“Oh my G--!” was all she could say, followed by a little chuckle.

I survived the night. In the morning my father arrived having known nothing of the previous day.

When I answered the door, there he stood his usual self, looking chipper beneath his baseball cap, with folded newspaper under his arm.

Immediately he made notice of my injury. He nodded, smiled and said, “Oh, good. I was beginning to think something was wrong with you having not injured yourself in a while.” After I explained the events, he pointed his finger at me and said, “Do you know how many people that happens to?” I hadn’t heard, but was so relieved to know I wasn’t the only one. My posture eased as I awaited his response, “One.”


 By Jori Sams


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