By: Matthew Kram

One winter day, when I was about eight years old, my friend Justin and I were out sledding on some snow hills by our apartments. The snow plow had shoved all the snow out of the parking lot and put it all into one gigantic pile. We were out there most of the evening. It had just gotten dark and we were getting ready to go inside for the evening. But, we were having so much fun that we decided to stay out for just a bit longer.

We climbed to the top of the hill and I jumped on my neon green saucer sled and zoomed down the hill and spun to a stop just in time to see Justin climb aboard his bright yellow saucer sled. Instead of sliding down the hill towards me, however, he slid backwards, towards the big line of bushes that separate our apartment complex from the Cedarwood Apartments.

I saw his eyes grow wide as his bright red stocking cap disappeared over the snow hill and he realized he was about to head the wrong way aboard the bright yellow Super-Saucer-of-Death. I’ll bet if he knew what was in store for him he would have screamed as well. Or maybe he would have been too scared to choke out a scream.

I waited for him to climb back up the hill and come rocketing back down towards me, but he never did. So I decided to get up and climb over the hill to make sure he was all right. But, when I got to the top of the hill and looked down, I could see that he was far from all right.

The saucer sled was sitting five feet from where he lay in the bushes. The snow around his head was red, and he looked like he was in a lot of pain. As I came closer I saw the stick, covered in blood, protruding from his mouth. The stick had gone through the bottom of his jaw and was sticking out of his mouth. It was not by any means a pretty sight. I yelled for help and two other kids came running from the nearby snow hill that they were sledding on. I told them to go tell their parents to call 911 and they ran off to their apartment building. I stayed with Justin. One of the kids’ fathers came running out with a hacksaw. He looked at Justin laying there in the red snow, the stick, covered in blood, protruding from his face, and I saw his face turn pale. He kneeled next to Justin and sawed the branch off the shrub so that we could support Justin’s head. That’s how we sat there, waiting. Justin’s head on my lap, The blood seeping out around the stick, soaking into my green snow pants, turning them an ugly shade of purplish-brown.

Finally the ambulance came. It really didn’t take as long as it seemed. The apartments I lived in were on Knight Drive, which is only about a block away from the hospital.

The next day I went to go visit him. He had a big bandage on his neck. The doctor said that the stick had just missed puncturing his windpipe by less that a millimeter. He was VERY lucky. Looking back on it, so was I. I am thankful that I didn’t lose my best friend that day.