The Devil’s Punch Bowl

“Okay, I’ll do it?” I agreed because I was 13 and she was pretty.

“I was just kidding, please get down from there.”

“You shouldn’t have dared me if you didn’t want me to do it.” Fool-hearted logic from a young boy feeling his first real surge of testosterone.

“You’ll trip and die,” she pleaded.

Her red hair swayed with the wind and I felt alive for the first time in my young life.

So I did it.

And she was wrong. I didn’t die and my hospital stay was rather pleasant. They spoon fed me Jello every day.

Sometimes I run my fingers over the lines of my scars as I watch my two young sons fall asleep.

I wonder what they’ll do one day for love and I pray that they’ll survive it.

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