By Mannan Mehta '18
As my right pinky toe caught the bedpost, I knew I had screwed up. The moment of shock came first. There was no sensation, just awareness. Actually, it was fear—fear of the pain that was about to come. It was similar to watching a drink spill, knowing there was nothing that could be done to stop it. Then the stinging came, slowly, like the volume of a speaker being increased from mute to maximum. My toe went numb as my tear ducts welled, and multiple profanities travelled from the top of my brain to the tip of my tongue, but I bit down hard and simply let out a grunt.
Clenching every muscle in my body, I hopped on one foot, muttering words that would normally result in me having my mouth washed with a bar of soap. The agony continued. Annoyed with the bed for ruining my otherwise perfect day, I delivered a firm punch to the mattress. My tender toe had borne the brunt of my carelessness, and I had paid the price. The dull throbbing continued, similar to the ringing of one’s ears long after a gunshot is fired.
All I could think about was how such a small impact, how jamming my toe so insignificantly against a piece of wood, could cause the Earth to stop turning. Football players sustain huge blows and get up as if nothing happened, yet here I was acting as if I had been shot. Despite these thoughts, my instincts told me I had the right to be selfish. The world owed me everything for the torture it had just inflicted on me, and I’d be damned if I was going to think about the needs of anyone else. I decided I’d had enough, and with that I got into bed, and vowed never to leave. It was too risky.
Leave a Reply.