September 6, 2012

Character

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Flat on my back, I looked up and saw four fingers. The room was still swirling and a few stars still floated in front of my eyes. It was around midnight, and a trip to the bathroom had gone very wrong when I stepped on an ill-placed guitar (I won’t tell you who put it in the middle of the floor), wobbled around like a bad tight-rope walker for a second, fell head first into the door-frame, and bounced backward onto the floor. The bang was so loud that my comatose sister actually woke up. I counted her fingers again. “Four,” I said.

“Erin … there’s only two.”