I'm coming off one of those truly lamentable weekends. It was bad enough that I suffered an injury behind the bar (which I will elaborate on shortly) but to have my former fiancee managing triage was decidedly more painful.
In retrospect, becoming engaged to her at 19 was not the smartest decision I ever made. We were high school sweethearts who "put things on hold" when we left for college. She went west and I went north. Opposite ends of the country. 2000-odd miles between. You can imagine what the Christmas reunion was like ... Sure, I'd met some great girls at college, but irrespective of how hard they tried, they couldn't compare (or so I thought). There's something exceedingly special about waking in a hospital bed a hundred miles from home and seeing the face of the person you care for most in the world.
As you might be able to tell, things didn't work out. Come March and time to return to college, the engagement was off and we went our separate ways (again). I didn't see her again for another eighteen months. Until then I clung to the faint hope of - not a rekindling, but remaining civil. I was left with no choice but to turn away. Five years later I still struggle to be in her vicinity.
All I need to say is "I forgive you". I don't expect anything in return, nor do I wish for anything. But it's left me with a scar.
They called my name twice before I woke. Damned 'mild' sedative. What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Sitting in triage, waiting for treatment in the early hours of Saturday, bored out of my skull (among other things) and oh-so-tired.
I should explain: I had to visit A&E after a small accident behind the bar. I'm fine. It's one of those injuries that look and sound worse than they are. I was rushing on a quad-pour (pints) and the third glass, for whatever reason, slipped in my hand and shattered against the bar. Stupidly I thought, in that terrifying instant after dropping the glass, "I can catch this". Ha! Four shards penetrated the back of my right hand between my wrist and the 'bottom' knuckle of my index finger. Nine stitches.
It looks nasty, but I'm not in any discomfort and the Dr said that any damage was only superficial. Just another few scars to add to my 'collection'. Downside is I'm benched until next week, or until the stitches come out, whichever is first.
In retrospect, becoming engaged to her at 19 was not the smartest decision I ever made. We were high school sweethearts who "put things on hold" when we left for college. She went west and I went north. Opposite ends of the country. 2000-odd miles between. You can imagine what the Christmas reunion was like ... Sure, I'd met some great girls at college, but irrespective of how hard they tried, they couldn't compare (or so I thought). There's something exceedingly special about waking in a hospital bed a hundred miles from home and seeing the face of the person you care for most in the world.
As you might be able to tell, things didn't work out. Come March and time to return to college, the engagement was off and we went our separate ways (again). I didn't see her again for another eighteen months. Until then I clung to the faint hope of - not a rekindling, but remaining civil. I was left with no choice but to turn away. Five years later I still struggle to be in her vicinity.
All I need to say is "I forgive you". I don't expect anything in return, nor do I wish for anything. But it's left me with a scar.
They called my name twice before I woke. Damned 'mild' sedative. What the fuck else was I supposed to do? Sitting in triage, waiting for treatment in the early hours of Saturday, bored out of my skull (among other things) and oh-so-tired.
I should explain: I had to visit A&E after a small accident behind the bar. I'm fine. It's one of those injuries that look and sound worse than they are. I was rushing on a quad-pour (pints) and the third glass, for whatever reason, slipped in my hand and shattered against the bar. Stupidly I thought, in that terrifying instant after dropping the glass, "I can catch this". Ha! Four shards penetrated the back of my right hand between my wrist and the 'bottom' knuckle of my index finger. Nine stitches.
It looks nasty, but I'm not in any discomfort and the Dr said that any damage was only superficial. Just another few scars to add to my 'collection'. Downside is I'm benched until next week, or until the stitches come out, whichever is first.