Greenpeace and the Gift of Gravel

One cold, February night when I was 14, there was a knock at the door. My Mom answered it but I walked down the hallway to check it out. There in my threshold stood the most gorgeous, earthy, scruffy bearded Greenpeace guy. He was asking for donations. My Mom obviously had a bad day at work and was tired. She didn't even hesitate saying "No, thanks!" to the godly Greenpeace gent. She closed the door in his face.

I decided I would give a $5.00 donation and I ran upstairs to fetch money from my babysitting funds. I was wearing a sweatshirt and long johns and decided I didn't have enough time to change. I didn't want to look like a teeny-bopper stalker so I decided to bring my chocolate Lab, Sam. If he worked for Greenpeace he had to love animals, right?

Let me fill you in on Sam. Sam was a good dog for a young girl. He was full of energy and love. He wasn't intelligent like Monty though. If Sam could talk, he would sound like that cartoon character that says, "Duh-uh, Whatever you say boss.." My mom would drive Sam and I to obedience classes because he was strong and difficult to control. He was the worst dog in the class. He was completely out of control, smelling other dogs' butts the entire time. We knew he was going to fail so we didn't go to graduation. We went to Taco Bell instead.

I put Sam on his leash and ran outside into the cold, dark night after Greenpeace guy. It had snowed and the street was icy. The gravel and salt truck had come through earlier that evening. It was easier to run on the street than on the sidewalk. I slipped on ice because it was so dark and Sam kept on trucking, like a sled dog. I was getting dragged on the ice by this 100 pound oaf. I was screaming "Stop Sam! Heel! Stop!" I don't know why I just didn't let go of the leash.

The Greenpeace god heard all the commotion and came running over to help. Sam finally stopped to lick him. My knee was throbbing. I wanted to cry but I wouldn't do it in front of this hottie.

"Are you okay? Your dog was really dragging you down the road!"

I could feel warmth and wetness from my knee dripping down onto my socks. All I could manage to get out because of my pain was "I'm fine. I wanted to donate $5.00. I have to go. Bye."

"Are you sure you are alright? Maybe we should walk under that street lamp so I can look at your leg, I think I see blood."

I didn't want to see. Because if it looked as bad as it felt, I knew I would cry. I gimped home fast.

When I saw my knee in the light, I was horrified. My long johns were saturated in blood, they were ripped in the knee. When I took them off, my knee looked like it was chewed up and spit out. I had pieces of gravel stuck in my flesh. My Mom asked if I wanted her to "scrub it out with a toothbrush". Yeah Mom, sounds like just what I need. Do you want me to saw off your fingers with a nail file?

I had trouble walking for the first few days. I couldn't bend my knee or I'd rip open the scab and it would bleed. I had to wrap my knee in gauze for two weeks. I soaked it every night then doused it with peroxide. It would drain pus from the embedded gravel. Finally after about a month, a thick 1/2 inch scab formed.

That scab I had worked so hard on was ripped off at a basketball game. Some dumbass tripped me. I tried to catch myself and protect my wound. Those rubber type gym floors aren't so forgiving on scabby knees. I was bleeding like a stuck pig. The dumbass felt really bad as I walked off court leaving droplets of blood behind.

I had to begin again healing my knee. It was getting warmer and I decided to wear a skirt to school. It exposed my scabby, pus filled, bubbled up knee. I had seen it for so many weeks, I was used to the monstrosity.

There was this boy in school name Corey, he was a year older than I. He was the class clown. The smart ass with all the answers and the cruel jokes. He had liked me and I had spurned his advances. He'd write me notes and threatened to tease me if I didn't write him back. I told him, "I don't fucking care! I'm not wasting my time writing you." I didn't really care until I the day I revealed my ugly knee.

Corey had a field day when he saw it. He screamed out loud in front of the entire class, "Jesus! Cover that shit up, it's the ugliest thing I ever seen. It's all bubbly and weeping green crap! What kind of disease do you have?" The entire room turned to look at my leg.

To this day, you can still see the dark gravel in my left leg. All for the love of Greenpeace.