Sarah

Don't Blame The Stone

Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Six-year-old Sarah fell on the hard gray sidewalk, scraping red her bare knees. Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Six-year-old Sarah fell to her knees screaming on the inside less than a moment after the stone hit her left eye. It was the kind of pain takes your breath away. She was scared and alone. Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Isn't it enough that I get teased and pushed around on the schoolyard? Isn't it enough that my mom has to see my cuts and bruises? Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Sarah cupped her hand over her eye, fell further forward and cried. There was no one on the street as she walked to her Aunt's house. There was quiet and then there was sobbing. Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Don't you know that you have ruined my childhood? Caused me to be self-conscious about my blind left eye. Made me wear dark glasses to hide the pain. Wonder who you are? I walk on the left side of life so I can see the right side of life & sit on the left side at movies. Why did you hurt me? Why did you hurt me? Sarah fainted and the sidewalk shared her pain. Don't blame the stone. It had been there for 6,000 Sarah’s; deposited in some glacial till during the last Ice Age; been part of a larger rock worn down through the seasons. The stone lay still on the edge of the field. Don't blame the stone. It didn't want to hurt any one, particularly sweet little Sarah. Sarah met the stone at the park a few weeks earlier. She sat alone on the swing set, jumped off the seat, and picked up the small, smooth green round stone. She carried it to the edge of the grass then dropped it near the sidewalk at the end of the street. Don't blame the stone. Sarah's Aunt stood to part the blinds with her long, thin fingers. She peered out to see Sarah lying on the sidewalk, sobbing. The stinging in Sarah's knees made her come to and through the tears she saw her Aunt rushing down the steps, across the porch, past the flowers, along the concrete path to the sidewalk, over the black asphalt, onto the curb and knelt down beside her. She saw the stone, Sarah's cupped hands, her bloody knees ... and she knew. She lifted Sarah and held her close in her arms. As the stone left the slingshot just moments before and sailed through the air, it saw Sarah walking down the street. It thought about her laughter, her daily swinging and playing. The stone had seen thousands of children, but only one Sarah. Don't blame the stone. As the stone sailed through the air, it had no idea it would have any effect on Sarah's life, her childhood, high school, failed marriages, abusive relationships and future happiness. If the stone had known all of this, it wouldn't have felt elated sailing through the air. Sarah's Aunt lifted her off the sidewalk and kicked the small green stone with her foot. The stone rolled off the sidewalk and slid into the storm drain where it got wedged in a crack in the wall and remained there for forty-seven years. Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Why did I hurt you? Don't blame the stone.

WayneRay 12:39, 28 November 2007 (UTC)WayneRay