This is the third and final chapter to the word 'jumping'.

Jumping again
OK, where was I:
A wool beanie tried to ruin my day
A prison 12 x 10 was too much to bear.
An scape plan decided

Now for the “Execution”

In San Francisco, the front of a house could be 2 stories high, the back can be more or less.

I committed to the jump, I flew like a faerie I dived like a B-52…. I reached the porch!! On the edge of my rib cage, my last breath escaped with no new one forthcoming, my hands grappling the roof of the porch. My finger nails scraped and broke. I could hear my new favorite shirt snagging, my shoes tapping the water pipe. I jumped but not with enough arc. My struggles only detained the inevitable.

I crashed like the B-52, sprawled within the flower bed and the pathway, the rose cane (tree trunk) holding me down, spikes in my hair, chest and arms. Thank goodness I passed out. I would have been terrified otherwise.

Now comes the scary part. I had to get up, somehow. I was dizzy and shaky. That damn rose was lying on the ground laughing and pointing at me. I grabbed it and leaned it against the house. The water pipe was still against the house. My new shirt was a mess, snagged, torn and ripped. Who knew when I would get another one? Being a tom boy, I thought there was a chance I would get away with it, but I really was sad about it.
Now I was outside and had to break into my own house with my mom and dad in the living room.
My city didn’t come over and help me with this yet.

Either someone left the door unlocked or I really was good at picking the lock or shaking the door knob until it unlocked itself. I don’t remember, but I did get my beat up 5th grade body back into the house. My City did take care of me after all. My dad had a penchant for locks and booby traps. The garage was one of the spookiest places on the street, but I made it through and crept up the stairs when I found them. The cobwebs leaned against my face and arms. The door was opened a crack, the coast looked clear.

I made a break for it.

Just as I was opening my door, looking to get into bed, my mother reached out and caught me. At this point I needed to change my clothes. I had to stand straight and act like nothing was wrong. I had to think fast.

Why was I out of my room? Of course it was to use the bath room.

I was so relieved to be confined to my room again. I had a chance to hide the cuts, I licked them like the cat did and pushed the skin back over the worst ones. I tried to hand sew my shirt back together and gave up. My mom wouldn’t be surprised if it was torn up while I climbed a tree, a fence, or an abandoned car. I laid there trying to just breath and keep the world from spinning and spinning.

A couple of things happened. My sister came over that weekend with her boys. That is when the rose bush was found on the ground. My city kept that killer up until that day. Sorry boys, you took the heat for what I did. Several years later, a doctor asked me if I was hit by a car years and years earlier, when I was a child say. The last five vertebrae were broken. Nope, I wasn’t. Let him figure it out or maybe he can read this blog.