Tillers From the Crypt

         I’ve always felt an interesting connection to the tragic artist Vincent Van Gogh - Partially because the poor man shot himself on my birthday, but also because he and I nearly had twin ear loss. Although, I didn’t hack mine off to send to a prostitute; my incident happened with something more of the ‘hoe’ variety. (Play on words. Oh, Brynne. You’re so silly.)

            I was homeschooled half of my life which meant I had a surplus of time on my young hands. At least once a week, I would go to a friend’s home where we would have ‘lessons’. She was also homeschooled, so this counted as our social time. Our lessons frequently consisted of us testing the laws of gravity: trampoline bouncing, dropping things from the stairs, and seeing if buttered popcorn is faster than unbuttered when tossing it into your mouth.

            One day we were feeling more creative than before. Mariah, my friend, had a two story shed in her backyard that was our ‘fortress of fun’. The top floor was a loft overlooking the bottom floor, but to me, it child’s paradise. Beanbags and Nintendo 64 made it equivalent to Disneyland in my mind. Although, the shed itself was a treasure trove of junk. I don’t say that as in “it’s not mine, so it’s junk”. I say that in the sense that there were bags of old newspapers on shelves – not nicely folded, but wadded. There were garden tools hanging on the wall making it somewhat reminiscent of a medieval torture chamber. I should have seen the sharp tools as a warning. With my luck, I should have known better.

 One day, we were in the loft when we saw a swing in a corner. We got the brilliant idea to connect the swing to the hook on the ceiling and test our handiwork. After many tests of weight and strength, (all extremely scientific, of course,) we decided it was good enough to use.

            We would jump from the loft balcony onto the swing and take turns enjoying our handiwork. It worked for the four hours until my mom came to pick me up, and we could not wait to show her. Mariah was the first one to show my mom her tricks on the swing, and all was well, but I couldn’t leave it at that. I, too, had to show my mom what I could do. I got onto the swing without incident. After getting the momentum going, I decided to show my mom my absolute favorite trick.

Inspired by Cirque De Sole, (don’t laugh…), I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, kicked one leg in the air while curling the other beneath me, and I began to twist. When all of the sudden, the swing broke. I was mid-swing, when the chains broke. I flew into the wall covered in garden tools, and then slammed onto the ground.

            My mom came rushing over to me telling me how stupid it was. Had she only been there a few hours before. I hit the tiller on my way down and it sliced the top of my ear. We drove home as I held it smooshed in a baby wipe to attempt to stop the bleeding. My ear was sliced about half through. Looking back, I doubt it would have needed stitches, but at the time, I thought I was an amputee.

I asked my mom to take me to the doctor to get stitches and her response was  “well, it was your stupid decision to make the swing, and I won’t pay for your stupid decisions.” Tough love… (Once again, perception becomes reality. I highly doubt sh

e said that, but that is what my 11 year old mind perceived.) All in all, my ear is good now with the exception of some scarring and lumpiness. But, I like the ear. It makes me unique.

And I feel as though it makes me a better artist. BRB. I’m going to go paint some dying sunflowers and swirly stars.

-B