Thursday, October 21, 2010
Wikiphotomicro: Day 7 - The Little Things
My uncle walked the railroad tracks on his hands. On his feet he could jump from one track to the other without falling.
Then one day he fell.
He didn't really fall, I guess. His foot just slipped off the side and he dropped into the gravel and chunks of coal and held his ankle like it was a wild animal trying to chew his leg off.
"Just took three-fourths the bark of my ankle, bub," he grunted.
He pulled his shoe off and peeled his sock down and there was the blood, blinding red, the color of a Christmas ornament or a drunk's eyes in the morning.
I'd never seen him fall before. Not on his hands or his feet. We walked on through the tunnel, my uncle limping, and didn't stop halfway through like we usually did to stand with our backs against the sooty boards while the afternoon C&O rushed past.
"I think it's broke," My uncle said when we got back to our street. "Luck. All of it bad and all of it mine!"
He forgot about all the times he didn't fall. I didn't remind him. And I should have. But we missed the tunnel rush, and in my own little way I was broken too.
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