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Colleen Morrisey snapped her femur in two today. She was racing on the blacktop like we've told them a million times not to do. Mr. Byrne sent the others in for ice. I thought it was a joke, some weird plot to score ice, because Wade Weldon couldn't stop grinning, but his voice kept getting higher and I realized he can't stop grinning.
They said there was no blood, but her leg was bent a way it should not bend. She was out of her head with pain and didn't understand. She grabbed Wade's shirt and kept begging him to do something. He was pretty shaken.
I said something like, oh, poor Colleen, why did this have to happen to such a great kid and then felt dumb for saying it - as if I would wish this on a meaner kid.
Today in the mail I got another tshirt I do not understand why I got it, a letter asking me to save the cows or something, an AOL cd, mentos, and a book from my ex. It looks good. The note with it was better. I'd like to reply but I am afraid to let him witness me being nice; he would love me for it. This is not ego; it is fear.