Of Wrists and Horses
It was just a normal afternoon. The Intermediate class teacher was sick, and I was to teach the class.
The plan said, “PE, basketball,” so I took the class down to the gym and we took out the basketballs.
For the first activity, I asked the students to each take a basketball and practice dribbling. Each of them bounced a ball around the big gym, right hand, left hand, right hand, left hand, the tinny sound of the nine balls hitting the gym floor and bouncing off the walls.
Then I asked them to put the balls back and form two lines facing each other, and using just one ball, practise their passes. Chest pass, bouncing pass, chest pass, bouncing pass, the ball moved back and forth between the two lines of students.
After that I divided the students into three groups of three. Each group had a ball. They were to try and steal the ball from the player who was dribbling the ball, without body checking them.
Now it was time for a quick game. With only nine students, one team would be short a player. I said I’d play defense for that team.
The game ended almost as soon as it began. I stepped to intercept a ball coming toward me and as it connected hard with my chest, I flew backwards, smashing my left arm against the cement brick wall. I bounced off the wall and fell to the gym floor with a thud, where I lay.
From the floor I asked the class to line up and told one student to run up and tell the office what happened and to call an ambulance. I knew the shock would wear off and my self-control would end. So I asked one student, Gabi, to stay with me. She sat down on the floor beside me.
“I need you to talk to me to help me stay calm,” I told her. “Tell me all about yourself. What do you like to do?”
She told me all about her love of horses and how she dreamed about riding. I listened to her stories while my wrist began to swell and throb with pain. I let myself escape into her stories and her dreams until the ambulance arrived.
They put a board under my shattered wrist and lifted me carefully onto a stretcher.
The next hours and days were full of pain. Ambulance, water taxi, hospital, x-rays, surgery. If only a child with dreams of horses had been with me, distracting me with her lovely stories. I only have this poem to give her in thanks.
The floor was cold
Your voice carried me away
Riding horses in the wind
Amber Harvey
Thanksgiving, 2020