– You should see the doctor, dearie. You have these headaches every now and then –I recommended-
– Naaaah, we never go to the doctor at home –she said, laughing-
– Never? –I asked, rather surprised-
– Yeah, we’re a bunch of hillbillies. We get well with home-made remedies. But … I remember just once, we had to take my bro to hospital …
It happened in one of the suburbs of a remote city in a mysterious country. And the story goes like this:
Once upon a time there was a nice house where a nice family lived: Mom, Dad, Bro, Sis1 and Sis2.
Bro had just received a pellet gun from Mom and Dad. It was their birthday present. As Bro grabbed the gun to clean it, the gun fired accidentally, shooting himself in the finger.
Mom was in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Dad was in the garage, DIYng, doing that himself, but not doing it at all. Sis1 was on the phone, talking to her boyfriend. Sis2 –my friend- was playing with Barbie.
Everybody was alarmed at the sound of Bro’s shrieks. The guy was in pain, running around like a headless chicken, screaming, aching from the hanging, bleeding, clapped out finger. All the family rushed to see what was happening. Dad shouted. Mom fainted. Sis1 ran away –that finger was setting her teeth on edge-. Sis2 –the cleverest member of the family- took Dad’s key to the car and shouted: “Off we go!!!”
And off they went. The car stopped at the hospital Emergency Ward’s door. Bro yelled, showing his disgusting finger to anyone he came across. Mom and Dad were in a panic. Sis1 looked the other way. Sis2 told the nurse what had happened.
Bro was taken to a room where a doctor examined his damaged finger. Fortunately, he didn’t lose it: After he got an x-ray and it was confirmed that nothing was broken, a nurse disinfected and wrapped a bandage around it. They gave him a painkiller to make him stop screaming. He was sent home. Phew! Thank gawd, everything was ok.
So the five of them went back to the car. Mom took her place. Sis1, Sis2 and Bro sat on the back seats. Eager to have his family safe and sound back home, Dad checked the car doors, but he didn’t notice that Bro was leaning on his hand -the one with the hurting finger- precisely on the edge of the car back door.
Bro was taken back to hospital; the nurse at the reception desk was quite amazed to see him back.
– Second time you hurt your finger this morning??? –she asked-
– Oooooooouuuuuuch!!!!! –was all Bro could say-
Mom and Dad had a fit of hysterichs and needed to be assisted right there. Sis1 looked the other way with a scornful look. Sis2 was so nervous that her legs started shaking.
Back home, Bro decided he had to destroy the pellet gun and smashed it, “just like young Pete Townsend would have done with his guitar after a concert” -said Dad, always stuck in the sixties-. The pieces of the broken gun were tossed in the trash.
“A wise decision. He never asked for firearms again” –said to me Sis2-.
This is how I was told the story. It’s up to you to either laugh or cry, but in any case it’s excellent news to know that an innocent soul was saved from the National Rifle Association. It happened in the US, a looong time ago.
No need to go hippy, guys, but MAKE LOVE, not war.
Goodnight to you, wherever you are.