Not Your Average Nerd

Chapter Six

“Please dog?” I called, nearly begging, still shining the light on the trees. It wasn’t like I was asking for him to ride out on a unicycle while juggling cantaloupes or anything. Was it really that hard to just, waltz out of the woods? The trees shook again as he made another whimper-like sound. I bit the corner of my lip while grasping the light tight in my hand. This dog owes me in some sort of way.

I pushed through the little layer of wet brush and tall grass. My eyes were the size of dinner plates as I looked around. I’ve been in this wooded area a countless amount of times. It was funny how much difference the sun could make. “Tudor,” I called yet again while flashing the light around. There was no sound. I pushed my way past trees and bushes, hoping he would appear somewhere. The whole time I kept thinking, this is not how I wanted to spend my night. I really needed some more Ben and Jerry’s.

There was a rustle in the bushes to my right, which caught me off guard. The flashlight slipped from my hands and landed on the damp ground with a thud. It came apart. The three batteries, the spring, the top, and the body… they were laid out beside each other. My heart stopped beating. It was dark, my glasses were covered in rain, the rain was still beating down, and now my flashlight was broken. This was my luck. Or maybe it was some sort of punishment? Is this the big guy’s way of laughing at me and telling me that I needed to be nicer to Tudor? I tossed my head back and sighed. “I get your point!” I shouted. The sky was illuminated by another bolt of lightning.

 I bent down to grab the part of my flashlight. My hands were shaky as I retrieved each piece, knowing that it was probably broken. “I hate you, dog.” I hissed to myself as I ran my hands along the muddy floor. I was missing one last piece before I could fully assemble the light and it was bound to be somewhere. As I ran my hand closer toward the big thing of brush there was a sound that filled my ears. A growl. I didn’t find the spring but at least I found the dog, right?

“Tudor,” my voice was calming as I reached my hand into the brush. I expected to feel his damp fur rubbing against my hand, but instead I felt his teeth dig into my hand. My eyes widened as I pulled my hand away. Blood was dripping everywhere like my hand was some sort of fleshy geyser. I could feel the area getting warmer by the second. A scream ripped from my diaphragm, causing Tudor to quickly scuttle to his feet and run off. He was gone, once again, and was probably going to get himself lost. I looked at my hand again and suddenly didn’t give a damn about Tudor or his whereabouts. My hand was bleeding and burning. Burning so bad it felt like hundreds of fire ants were latched onto my fleshy gash. I sprinted as fast as I could out of the forest, making sure I didn’t trip or crash into anything, and back into the house.

The lights were on when I returned. I stood in front of the door on the welcome mat, soaking wet and chattering my teeth uncontrollably. My eyes stayed focused on the ceiling. There was a warm liquid that was oozing down my arm and dripping onto the floor. If I looked down, I knew I would pass out. Everything began spinning as I took a step forward. The soles of my shoes squeaked against the water and blood on the floor.

“ILEANA,” my father nearly screamed as he and my mother walked through the door, “What the hell happened to you?!” He spoke in English, not even bothering with Romanian at a time like that. My mother dropped the two Styrofoam boxes she held in her hands to the floor and immediately grabbed my right hand. For the first time since checking it in the forest, I looked down and saw my hand. It didn’t look like a mere dog bite. It looked liked a grand canyon version of a gash. Dried blood ran along the edges of it and in thick streaks down my arm. There was still some blood oozing out but it wasn’t as heavily as it was. It wasn’t burning anymore because I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t even curl my fingers.

My mother made gaspy sobs while pulling me with her into the kitchen. She attempted to scrape and clean the blood off while my father dug around in the cabinets for the first aid kit. I wanted to make a comment such as ‘really? Do you think .99 cent gauze is going to fix this?’ but I couldn’t open my mouth. Not even to scream, shriek, or cry. Was this some sort of shock response? I had no clue but I wanted to sleep.

After what felt like hours of my parents acting like surgeons by dabbing, tweezing, pulling, cleaning, taping, and wrapping my hand I was allowed to go to sleep. It was actually embarrassing having to rely on my parents to help me up the stairs. I still hadn’t told them that it was Tudor who was the cause of my gash, but as I prepared to find my voice and explain, we got to my room. There, sleeping on my bed, as peaceful as an angel, was Tudor. I stopped moving and dropped my jaw.

“That’s not possible!” I screamed, pointing with my free hand. My mother tried to pull me toward my bed while my father placed his hand on my right shoulder. I picked my foot up to take a step forward thinking, I just need to lay down. Everything suddenly went black and from there, the rest is history!

… No, but really. I, for the first time, passed out, right there in the middle of my old bedroom right in front of my parents. Damn blood loss.