i hate having x-rays. not because it hurts in the way they want me to move, although it does. no, mostly because i’m afraid of what they might find. what other, old, not healed right things will they find.

first time it happened i was 19. i was playing street hockey on roller blades and fell. i put my arms out to save my face. logan was working, so my mom took me to the er.

broken wrist. wouldn’t have been a big deal…except for the pain, save for his next words. when did you do this before he asked? my mom said, oh she hasn’t. no, he said this is a big break right here. one that didn’t heal right. see, he said as he showed us on the x-ray.

i knew when it was from. i played it down that day. oh it wasn’t that bad. it was the summer when i was 12. the summer you took that six week seminar in seattle. the one where you left us with dad.

truth? i didn’t sleep for a month because of the pain. i tripped and fell on a vacation. my step-mom deemed me a whiner. said it wasn’t that bad…its barely bruised or swollen, she claimed. ignored me as i cried and protected it against my chest for a month.

second time was after my car accident. x-ray of my right ankle showed old injuries. two this time. mom was there then too. oh when i was nine i remember using crutches for a few weeks. you were on your honeymoon. remember that summer? we were with dad that time too.

i didn’t say that it was painful and i’d been injured by the evil step-brother. that his wrist was in a cast, because of a hockey injury or something else. that she had pain pills for her precious son, but was mean when i asked for advil. i didn’t say that they bitched about the cost of getting me crutches at the drug store. made me feel like i injured myself on purpose. like my injury was taking away or competing with her son’s injury and pain.

i remember a broken toe that she duct taped, when i kicked a wooden chair. i was 10 that time. i had to write 500 sentences about not running in the house.

i remember being told that if id lose weight i wouldn’t have broken my fat ass. that time i’d injured my tailbone, falling on the beach, trying to hit a stupid volleyball. we won’t even go into the next 4 weeks of jokes made at my expense after that. i believe i was 17 that year.

what i know is that i don’t like x-rays anymore. they make me panic. i waited four days longer than i should have to get one this time. i sat in pain for four days longer than i should, bcause i fear the x-rays.

because if i remember all of that, what have i forgotten?