My dad is balding, and went to do this crazy hair thing to get more hair. It’s hard to explain, but they like harvest hair from the back of his head and plant it in the front and sides and stuff. He was drugged and told not to put his head down.
Today, (after a lot of stress from trying to sell our house while the plumber is cutting holes in it) he was leaned over the counter while I took out his stitches. My sister ran inside to hand him the phone (my mom is out of town) and he leaned his head.
“I shouldn’t do that,” he said, and he mumbled something else before collapsing on the floor, hitting his head. Hard. He lied there, snoring, his eyes rolled back into his head. His breathing slowed down, until it stopped completely. My little sister scream, handed me the phone and got my big sister. My big sister came and screamed at me to call 911, but I couldn’t. I stood there, frozen, as my father lied there lifeless. My sister grabbed the phone and dialed the numbers. She was crying and telling the police what happened when my dad suddenly woke up. He stood up and stumbled onto his bed.
“Who’s on the phone?” He said.
He couldn’t remember what happened. He told us to hang up the phone so I could take out his stitches. My sisters told him what happened. I unfroze and sat on the bed next to him. I didn’t make eye contact with anyone. I didn’t speak. I looked out the window. My mind was fried with everything I could see in it.
So why am I telling you guys this? Well, when I finally got out of that room, I grabbed my Capless and I threw. I threw for what seemed like days, as my mind raced through what just happened. My fingers burned, my arms were tired. I thought he was dead. I have never been through something like that. I hadn’t even spoken yet.
All I could do is throw.
I have a new respect for yoyoing now. It doesn’t just kill boredom or impress friends. It comforts. It protects.
I don’t know what I would do without it.