RED WATER
BY YEYIN CHIN
A fishtank being cleaned and a seized opportunity equals eighteen stitches.
I do not know why my stepfather went back into the house, but a bunch of East LA ghetto kids were left unsupervised in a driveway with an empty two-hundred-gallon fishtank that housed small sharks and other sea life.
It was calling out to me, daring me to jump over it and I was way too confident, knowing I could easily clear it — the fish tank was only two feet tall and I was a six year old big boy who was in the trend of jumping over everything inspired by what, I could not remember now, but I do remember my foot catching the side and the salt water filling with billowing, bright red blood before escaping into the driveway.
I remember my friends screaming for help and the ride to the hospital to sew up my right knee. I remember the scar left by the fact that my stepfather was more concerned about his precious fish tank than my physical scar. I have given no thought to either scar until now. | YC