Broken Bone

When I was in second grade we used to form two lines whenever we were going anywhere as a class like P.E. or music or even just to walk to the lunch room. I was always at the front of one line because my name starts with an A and there was another blonde girl at the front of the other line because her name also started with an A. The person in the front of the line was responsible for holding the door open for the line and then bringing up the rear.

One day we were returning to class after an assembly and it was my turn to hold the door for the class. The guy at the end of the line I was in, Derek, was at the end because he joined the class part way through the year. He decided to be a gentleman and hold the door open for me. Unfortunately for both of us he pushed the huge, heavy, metal door against the bricks and I hadn't gotten my little finger out of the way in time. It was pinned behind the door and I yanked it out as hard as I could. It broke my finger. I vaguely remember my mom picking me up and going to the doctor and finding out it was broken. Probably the clearest part of this whole event was returning to school to find out they thought Derek had purposely broken my finger. The poor guy was just trying to be nice and they wrote him up and made him write me a letter of apology. I felt so bad.