River Tooth: Cigarette and Blood

I enter in the hallway. I’ve seen it many times before, this dark hallway, where cheap, dull paintings are hanging. The same wallpaper as usual, it was white before, that’s for sure, but it now turned slightly yellow, due to its intensive exposition to cigarette smoke throughout the years. Cigarette smoke: the main smell that was in the hallway of that architecturally typical Belgian house. I’m holding my mom’s soft and thin hand, I’m still young. I’m six, seven maybe. My older brother is in front of us; his light blue jean’s being slowly eaten by its shoes at the bottom, creating little snakes-like pieces of jeans hanging behind his shoes. He is wearing a green button shirt with prints of dark green leaves running from the top to the bottom of the shirt on his right shoulder. I never understood why he was wearing that shirt, I always found it ugly, but the fact that he was much taller and stronger than me always persuaded me to not leave a hurtful comment about his clothing. He opens the door to the living room, and walks in. I release my hand from the protecting grasp that offers my mom and run in the living room.
            Several people are around an old, plastic made, white table, laughing and smoking cigarettes. It was the habitual scene I could partake when we were going to my cousin’s house. In the tiny living room, where the wallpaper suffered the same punition as the one in the hallway, the smell of cigarette was mixed with the one of coffee. I secretly liked that smell; it was always the sign that we will have fun my brother and me.

            My cousin, cigarette in the mouth, asks me if I want anything to drink. He is much older than I am, has almost no hair left, and I can see a part of his dark tribal tattoo showing up on his left arm; his t-shirt does not completely cover it. I just ask for a soda. He immediately serves me in a long, thin glass decorated by two thick blue strips on the top. I take a sip of the drink and feel the cold, carbonated liquid run on my tongue. An exploding sequence of tastes is making my papillae go crazy. It is the well-known, but also always pleasant flavor of Coke.

            I turn around and see my brother playing next to the TV. I have absolutely no idea of what he is doing, but who cares, little brothers are meant to follow the big brothers. I join him, my small shoes are squeaking when I walk on the old, white floor. I don’t like this little noise that my shoes are producing so I decide to take them off. I sit on the ground. It is cold, and I notice that the white floor has spot of light grey and blue, creating like a map of the stars, only that the map has its colors changed, like the negative of a picture. I take off my grey and green shoes while still admiring the stars. I stand up and walk to check what my brother does. He is just reading a comic book that he picked up. Once again, I disagree with my brother’s choice but what can I say about it?

            That is when I see it, the staircase leading upstairs. I pick up a massive army tank toy. I have to use my two hands if I don’t want it to fall on the ground. I climb the first white steps and stop at the open landing that is approximately five feet high. I sit to play. After a moment, I decide to rise and notice that my socks are making the platform extremely slippery. Dancing around on the small platform, wanting to make my brother laugh, I can hear the sweet voice of my mom saying to be careful and not to fall. I mumble a quick answer, and keep on spinning on the 12 feet square landing. I take all my strength and concentration to do one last spin. I feel my feet taking off the ground and I’m losing my balance, my whole body is in the air as it falls down the platform. It is when I’m falling that I see a plant right in the trajectory of my fall. This young, green little plant, roots buried in dark brown earth is contained by a much bigger white ceramic container. My eyes are closing; this fall seems to be lasting forever. I finally hit the ground. I open my eyes and a sound is still echoing in the room, the sound of the ceramic shattering on the floor, and on my arms. During my fall, my left arm automatically went in front of my face to protect it. An excruciating pain in my forearm is making me scream like I never did before. A warm, red liquid is pouring intensively out of my open wound as I’m still screaming with all I have. My mom runs towards me so fast she seems to teleport. Heavy, salty tears are rolling down my cheeks as my brother cleans the floor from every little piece of red spotted ceramic. An extraordinary galaxy of red stars has now joined the one already on the floor. I look at my wound. It is deep and full of blood, but in that sea of crimson that is now my arm, I can see, for a second, a white line. The thought strikes me. It is my bone. I can see a piece of my bone, my own! The thought is bringing even more pain and my screams are getting louder and louder. I feel the strong arms of my cousin lifting me up as everyone is shouting in the house. The smell of cigarette and coffee has been joined by the smell of warm blood.