"Your Sister's Face is Covered With Blood!"

I was about six years old when my younger sister and I went across the street one Milwaukee summer evening to play in our friends’ backyard. It is a vague memory for me, as it was almost fifty years ago, but parts of it are burned into my brain as it ended in a catastrophe of blood, fear, and, ultimately, wisdom.

The bloody event began with a benign looking backyard tent. It was just a white bedsheet flung over a clothesline and weighted down with bricks. Yes, bricks. That’s what our friends’ parents thought were appropriate to secure a tent for little children to crawl around in. I didn’t think anything of it, as there was a flap that opened up to be the “door” by which we could enter and exit.

I remember crawling in and out of the little tent that wasn’t even tall enough for us children to stand up in. My friends and I giggled and played patty cake or whatever, until I finally noticed that my younger sister, only four or five years old at the time, was not in the tent, though I remembered her going in with me.

I crawled out of the door flap and looked around the yard. My sister was nowhere in sight. She didn’t go places without me back then, even if she had to go home to use the bathroom! Just as I was wondering what happened, two of my little friends ran up to me, out of breath. One of them said, “We just took your sister home. She got really hurt!”

“Her whole face is covered with blood!” said the other.

“She’s probably going to the hospital now. For stitches!

This could not be happening. I’d never seen anyone with blood all over them, or even anyone who had to go to the hospital. I only saw that kind of stuff on TV. These girls had to be lying.

“I don’t believe you!” I said to them.

They assured me that it was all true. My sister had hit her head on a brick when she crawled out of a hole in the back of the tent, rather than using the door flap in the front. Bricks. Great idea.

The story kind of made sense to me, except I did not see or hear any of it happen. How could I not have heard my sister screaming and not have seen her being led away by these girls, her head dripping blood all over her face? I still did not believe them.

They then suggested the one thing that could possibly change my mind: “Go ask your mother!” Bringing my mother into it would be very risky for them if they were lying. It would get all of the parents on the block involved. I suddenly thought they might be right, and my mother and sister had gone to the hospital without me. I knew my dad was at his workplace, so, WAS I ALONE?

I ran home and was greeted by my unbelievably calm mother.

“Um, I heard about..”

“If you’re talking about your sister, there was a lot of blood on her face, but after I wiped it off with a washcloth, there was almost nothing to see! It all came from this tiny cut over her eyebrow.” I then saw my little sister running around behind her with one of those tiny circle Band Aids on her forehead.

“So, she doesn’t need stitches?”

“It’s the size of a pencil point! She’ll be fine!” Parts of the forehead have lots of blood, I guess.” She told me that’s what the doctor said when she called him.

How strange. The girls had been right. They had told the truth, and yet their panic and fear were not based in truth. My sister’s face looked bad, but it was fine. Lots of blood doesn’t have to cause alarm. It was good for me to learn this, and good for me to remember six years later when my first period happened!

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My above bit of memoir was originally published on Medium.com.

I publish on Medium here: https://medium.com/@becklesjm