Feeling in Your Ankle When a Storm Is Going to Roll by

My mom’s gift of gab convinced me to wear girly roller skates (3/3)

All adults in the city break away for a few hours at noon to head home for lunch.

My mom would make it home for lunch, but we lived on the fourth floor of a four-floor building—the exact floor limit to avoid building an elevator. My mom's cast prevented her from walking and going upstairs, as things that cover your entire leg often do.

She had to sit on her up and scoot up the four flights of stairs.

By the time she finally made it, she didn't have enough time to properly finish her meal before she had to start scooting her way back down.

She would eventually get in to get her cast off, and she promised the doctor she would be back to get the plate and screws out.

She never did.

Health care is private and expensive in Colombia; you don't get what you need if you don't have money.

It has been close to thirty years, and not once have I heard my mom throw it back at my sister. She never said, "If you would've not cried, I would've never put on those roller skates, and I wouldn't have a plate and four screes in my leg. I would not beep walking through metal detectors or feel a sharp pain in my ankle when a storm rolls by."

I often think about the craziness of growing up in my household and the courage with which my mom raised us. I hope that kind of courage, unlike my roller skates, is unisex and that I can have it when raising my children.

This is the last essay in this series. Thank you for reading "Rolling Into Trauma With My Fuchsia and Magenta Unisex Rollerblades." You can read the entire essay at thestoryframe.com.

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