Grandma Says

"Don't pick. If you pick, it won't get better." Her voice cracked, age showing, "Grandma says."

I sat in bed, bandages wrapped tight. The constant inch beneath the soft, clean fabric drew my fingers to the source of the irritation.

It had been years. As long as I could remember, even. In my earliest memory, the bandages were there. So was Grandma.

"When will I get better?" I asked meekly between the spoonfuls of hot soup being shoved into my mouth. I almost choked on the words.

"I don't know," Grandma answered casually, "Maybe never if you don't quit picking!"

She slapped my hand away from the bandages. I didn't even realize I was reaching for them that time.

I knew I needed to leave them alone.

One night, when everyone was asleep and all I could hear was the coyotes in the woods… I took the bandages clear off. It was all I could do to muster up that courage. Grandma told me what'd happen if I did that. She told me about infections, about bugs getting into the wounds.

It didn't feel that bad when I got the wrappings off, but then I had to go and scratch. One of my fingers poked right in and the pain lit me up something fierce! I would've let out a holler, but the thought of Grandma finding out what I'd done was more awful than the hurt.

The wound I'd prodded was still slick and wet like it was fresh. I couldn't heal, and I didn't know why.

All I knew was that I'd never gone out to play with the neighborhood kids, and it was because of my injuries. Grandma said. When I listened to them hoot and cheer and sing and laugh… I wanted to go out there, too. It made my wounds bleed really bad and Grandma had to change the bandages right away.

"Ain't no good out there," Grandma said, "Don't get yourself so worked up like that, or you're never gonna heal!"

One time when I was sitting in bed like usual, I heard a quiet knock on the front door. Through the air vent I heard one of those kids asking if the boy in the window could come out and play.

"No," Grandma said, "He can't play. Not ever. He's too sick."

The more I thought about that kid, the crazier I got. At first I figured it was a boy who wanted to play baseball. That drove me up the wall! After a while I convinced myself it was a little girl that wanted to play dolls, and even though I would've pretended it was corny, I'd be real happy to have a friend either way!

Grandma was on the phone the day I disobeyed her. She was talking with someone about me. Sometimes I think I was all she ever talked about with anybody! She kept insisting I was too sick to leave the house, that my wounds wouldn't heal.

That's when I made my move.

I didn't care anymore! Not about my injuries, not about Grandma, not even about dying! I tumbled right out the back door, and once I got right side up I took off running.

The kids all around me got real quiet… then they shouted out! They asked who I was, and I rightly told them! They all got around me, laughing and hollering and asking questions. They asked if they'd catch what I got, and I told them I didn't know.

"Hey, can we see?" One kid asked. "Or is it gross?"

"I don't know," I laughed, "You tell me!"

I moved carefully despite the urging of the others. Slowly, methodically, I unwrapped the bandages. I thrilled at the idea of getting rid of them, all the way down to the squares of gauze below.

As I worked myself free, things got brighter and brighter until I almost couldn't stand it! I dropped the bandages on the ground, and without them I could tell there were all these objects and shadows and shapes and colors all over the place!

"Liar," one of the shapes clucked his tongue as I gradually started to make out his face, "You ain't hurt at all."

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