Scene: A bare stage except for a wooden straight back chair in the middle. A girl sits unmoving with her head bowed. Her hair slightly covers her face. Her forearms rest on her thighs upturned She looks up and speaks.

I hear the tires skid in the gravel and before I know it I知 on the ground. My mind has already continued on to the sidewalk, but then I noticed the blood . . . and the pain. I get up almost as quickly as I fell. Life continues on as normal around me. The cars make a slight adjustment as I push my bike gingerly from the street to the sidewalk. I lock it up to the nearest meter, trying to ignore the sting of my hands. "Are you all right? That was quite a fall." My ego half expects to be surrounded by a crowd. The woman looks half interested. I nod and continue to walk down the street, wondering how bad the scrape on my knee is. My pants are ripped, but I think my pride is more bruised than anything. I have lost control.

I make it to the little café a block away, which I go to frequently. The barista, as Starbucks likes to call them, looks shocked when she sees my hands as I ask for the bathroom key. She immediately grabs a first aid kit and takes me downstairs so I can wash my wounds, firing questions at me. The attention is as soothing as a cool balm. The cold water burns against my exposed skin, and I hear her go back upstairs to help the new girl at the bar. I think to myself how I could have prevented this whole mess had I decided to put on those warm wool gloves before I crossed the intersection. Idiot. I grow frustrated with the rushing water and my bulky clothes and go back upstairs. I pour some water into a cup and sit down at one of the tables, draping my coat over the other chair. I wonder if I知 drawing sympathy or disgust from the customers lingering about. They seem to notice, but say nothing. I bathe my wounds and wince more at the dark blood than at the pain. Someone who works nearby takes pity and helps me dress them haphazardly with the small Band-Aids, gauze, and ointment available. I feel embarrassed that I知 craving his pity.

I知 not sure if walking further into town is due to my need for acknowledgement of my predicament or simply the need to get on with my day. I go into the bank and fill out a deposit slip for a check I have just received, holding it down with my hand upturned and the gauze exposed. The clerk waits patiently as I sign each of the traveler痴 checks that I want back into cash. I知 annoyed that my mother has insisted I take cash after I had already gone through the trouble. The clerk asks where in Bonn I知 going to be. I blink, finding no connection to Germany and the bank. "Bad Godesberg", I answer, realizing I had mentioned my Thanksgiving plans. He smiles and says he used to live near there. I smile, stuff the two hundred-dollar bills in my wallet, and head out.

I walk up the stairs of the hair salon across the street. I know I should make my way to the infirmary, but I want the pampering and the change. I had left a message earlier in the day on the answering machine. Only Friday is free? I beg her to give me a trim despite the fact that she痴 in a rush. She relents. Twenty minutes later and with two less inches of hair I feel naked. She had asked me to take off my glasses as she cut. I couldn稚 see anything she did. I feel she has used my request for layers as an excuse to cut away at will. I draw my hand through my hair. Earlier it had ended just above my shoulder blades, now it swings freely barely touching my shoulders. All gone and straight. I can barely stand it. She notices my bandages and starts cooing with sympathy. I pay and leave, not convinced that my new do looks "cute".

Back on the street. The walk to health services hurts more mentally than physically. I want to be carried into the emergency room on a stretcher and have Dr. Ross dress my wounds. A stern uniformed nurse asks me to sit in the waiting room. The peroxide in the water burns as I soak my palms. As the nurse scrubs the dirt out the white foam of the peroxide fascinates me, despite the stinging pain.

I inspect my bandaged hands as I sit in my room alone. "You値l be all right. Concentrate on your work." my mother tells me. I sit in silence, craving the sweet balm of a hug.

Lights dim.

© Tanja Gohlert, 1997.