I was 10 or 11 and had been raised a Jehovah’s Witness. I was at home alone and cut myself with a kitchen knife. I knew that it was bad enough to be looked at but my mom was over at her friend’s house, dad was at work and my older brother was – who knows, not around.
I wrapped up my bleeding finger and ran to each of the adjacent houses, no one home. I ran across the street, no one home. I was getting scared and the bleeding wouldn’t stop – of course I just sprinted 75 yards so that might have had something to do with it. So anyway.
There was “That House” … You know the one. You don’t really know who lives there. It was painted bright pink about 15 years ago. There are about 75 million steps to go up from the side walk to the side door. The yard has never been mowed since the place was built in 1952. There might be wild lions sitting in an old Studebaker in all that brush for all I know. Well the finger was throbbing and I needed help.
So I started making my way up the steps. It seemed to take forever and the closer I got to the now faded pink rancher the more uneasy I felt. I had arrived to the side door. A huge metal security door; in this neighborhood? What were they keeping in there? The light fixture was hanging by one screw and I could see the aged wiring. I just stood there with my heart racing in my ears. I gripped my finger all the tighter through the blood soaked kitchen towel. I was so scared that I decided to leave.
Just as I turned to go the door opened quickly. The scent of beef bullion cubes rushed out like it came from a space ship air lock. I turned back around and saw a most pleasant and pretty young woman. Then a voice came from with the shaded darkness of the house, “Who’s there?” It was an old woman’s voice but not grandmotherly. The young woman said, “It’s one of the neighbor boys, he’s hurt.” “Brining him on in."
The security door creaked loudly as she swung it outward and I sheepishly walked in. The scent of beef bullion was cubes stronger now and the dilapidation of the outside was not hiding any treasures on the inside. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room I saw the elderly woman laying on her couch. She covered the couch and then some. Her voice softer now, “Come on over let me see.” Then to the young woman, “Get some water and a Band-Aid.” I walked over and knelt by the couch and she tended to my finger. She was gentle and my fears were easing, though the stench of the place was still a bit overwhelming. Then it happened.
Just as the young pretty woman returned to the living room and I turned my head to see her, the elderly woman grabbed me and pulled me into her warm, soft, gushy, over ample breasts, and belly fat. I just about pooped myself and yelped. I pulled away and was trying to bolt to the door and she pulled me back in and held me even tighter. Then she rolled her eyes back in her head and looked up to the ceiling and said in a very loud voice, “JESUS HEAL THIS BOYYYYYYY!!!” I was so freaken scared my eyes were about to bug out of my head then I just froze. The old woman continued in her loud healing type prayers for several minutes. After just a few seconds I realized I wasn’t going to be eaten or killed so I relaxed a little. After she finished she asked me if I believed in Jesus. I told her I was a JW and then I got the cold shoulder from her. The pretty one was still nice. She found out where my mom was and called her to come get me.
I got 9 stitches, a cool girl impressing scar, and a great story out of the deal.