I went to my brother’s final musical performance of his high school career last night. He was phenomenal, as he is in pretty much everything he does. I couldn’t have been more proud.
Then it was over. I started down the auditorium stairs to make my way through the crowd to Zach. Then I was on the floor and my shoe was missing. Yeah – I had fallen down the stairs, and my foot was swelling up in three places and turning colors in two. Luckily, the entire crowd didn’t notice, just my brother’s girlfriend’s family. Her grandpa sat on the floor with me (in his suit!) because I was in so much pain and crying. Former teachers (including my kindergarten teacher) of mine appeared out of nowhere to help me, offering ice and trying to help me stand, but I couldn’t. The school’s crutches were way too tall for me, so one of my favorite high school teachers had to use the school’s wheelchair to get me out to the car. That’s right: I was with my four grandparents, but I was the one in the wheelchair.
I sprained my ankle. Badly. Pain was shooting up from my foot to my knee. It’s now misshapen, different colors, and I can hardly walk, all because I lack the grace to walk down four steps.