Sophomore year was an uneventful year aside from a few major occurrences in between the monotony of everyday happenings. Very few of these occurrences can be easily recalled, as very few of them had evidence to their actual existence in the timeline of my life. One in particular, however, will never be erased from the annals of my high school career. It is quite literally printed into the volumes of my memory, and it shall remain there until the ink of remembrance fades. I am, of course, referring to my yearbook picture.
It was a day like any other, and we were all heading to P.E. to continue our basketball tournament that we had been having for that week. One of my fellow classmates, Ryan, found something that should really never have any reason for being in a gym: A stethoscope. For my younger readers: That thing the doctor listens to your insides with. Some say that fate put the stethoscope in the gym that day. Others say that it was left by the drama class who had been practicing for a play the night before. The latter was more likely, as they sometimes used the small stage in the gym for plays.
Me and Ryan spent a while listening to our own heartbeats along with finding hollow spots in the wall. Soon, however, Ryan was called onto the floor to start his team's match. I went over to my other friend, Daniel, and placed the stethoscope around his neck. Why? I was a sophomore and thats how we did things. My mistake was forgetting that, like me, Daniel often became lost in his mind, and any outside influence that was able to break him out of his trance was liable to be slapped or grappled. Within a second, he had whipped it off of his neck and behind him.
I felt a little smack on my head, which was apparently more audible than I thought. He turned around while rolling his eyes. Once he saw me, however, he looked horrified and began asking over and over again if I was alright. I didn't know why and I tried to calm him saying that it only smacked me. Soon, another student, Heath, came and began asking me if I was okay with the same amount of concern. Daniel told me I was bleeding.
I touched my forehead and found out that by "bleeding" he meant that I was pouring out blood at an alarming rate. For some reason, I had a fairly calm reaction to this. I'm told I rolled my eyes, which I don't recall, but I'd buy it. I walked over to the coach, and since he wasn't looking, I said "I think I need to go to the nurse." It's important to note that I was somewhat known for trying to get out of class before, so his sigh before he looked at me was understandable.
Once he saw my face had a red racing stripe down the center, he did a double take and all but pushed me out of the gym and into the hallway saying "Go! Hurry!". I don't know why he said that since he followed me almost the whole way. As I walked I had to cup my hands beneath my head to catch all of the blood, even though some drops were making a trail behind me. Eventually my hands were too full and I just gave up, dropping the blood I had caught onto the ground. I made the halls from the gym to the nurse's station look like a scene from a horror movie. I even forgot there was blood on my hands and left hand prints on the walls and doors.
Once I got to the nurse's station, she freaked out (as my usually arrival only called for cough drops or tums). She quickly washed me off and gave me a bandage with cotton in it to last me until I got to the doctor's office. When my mom arrived she had the same reaction I did. None. I guess we both expected something like this to happen someday. She drove me to the doctor. The doctor didn't believe my story about a stethoscope being a killing tool, but I convinced her by showing her how the edge of her stethoscope matched perfectly with the length of my wound. The nurse was cracking up behind her, which actually helped me see the humour in the situation, but I couldn't laugh or really make any facial expression because it made my head bleed more. They stitched me up and sent me on my way.
I had forgotten the next day was picture day, but I honestly didn't care. I actually though it was "pretty cool" because now I have this story. Along with the proof:
Thanks for reading!