Another Day in the Office

It was a beautiful mid-March afternoon with the warm sunshine and chirping birds and the occasional stitches. The four of us which included myself,my oldest brother John, my bestfriend Andrew, and also another good friend of mine named Justin, mat at my house to go play some basketball in the new neighborhood behind my house.

"Shotgun," Andrew yelled as the four of us pile dinto my brother's old Nissan Pathefinder.

We arrived atthe freshly paved court and began ouor process of picking teams. After shooting for teams, we came to a conclusion and the teams were Andrew and I versus John and Justin. The game had only been going on for about five minutes when it came to a quick stop.

"Check the ball dude," the cocky Justin said to me. We checked the ball, and as fast as he could blink, I drove right past him for what I thought was going to be an easy lay-in but instead was a flagrant foul which consisted of Justin pretty much punching me on top of my big head.

"Foul," I angrily shouted, "What do you think this is man, the freaking NBA?"

Immediately responding Justin replied, "Shut up dude, is was an accident." Being caught up in the moment, I ran up to the much bigger Justin and threw him to the ground. We started rolling around and wrestling like two wild dogs on the hard concrete surface.

"Get off him," my older and much strongger brother yelled at me as he pulled me off of the ground by my shirt collar.

Being friends and all, we both got up and acted like nothing happened until the stunned sounding Justin said, "Dude, are you bleeding?"

"I don't think so bro," I relpied kind of skeptically. It was that exact moment that my other buddy Anndrew pointed out a large gash with blood flowing out like a river in flood season on my left wrist. "Son of a bitch," I said out loud.

"We better get you home man," my usually uncaring brother said to me. On the way home, I had to use my own shirt to apply pressure to the wound. When we got home I showed my dad and he came to the obvious conclusion that I was giong to need some stiches.

Walking into the house to get a rag before we left my gracious father said to me, "Make sure you don't drip bloode everywhere."

"I'm glad that you care about the hardwood floors and the counter tops more than your own son," i jokingly said to him. The same was said from him in the car as well. After a half an hour of sitting in the waiting room filling out a clipboard and listening to crying babies, I heard the most beautiful words I could have possibly have heard: "Mr. Collins, you can come back now." "About time," I thought to myself holding my blood-drenched rag against my wrist. All in all, I was given six stiches along with an awesome scar and a great storybehind it.