Bikes + No Brains = No Good.

In my life, I have heard more dumb blond jokes aimed at me specifically than I have heard that I'm intelligent. When I was eight, I completely proved everyone correct.
Some days after school and homework were done, I'd go outside to play with my friend Sara from across the street. We'd ride bikes, play in the dirt hole behind my house, and search for rollie pollie bugs behind my garage. One day, we decided with our genius third grade minds to ride sidesaddle down the sidewalk, which was also a steep hill onto the next street, Chestnut St. Sometimes, we'd switch off bikes. Mine had both handlebar brakes and peddle brakes, making it easy to stop no matter how I was riding. But Sara's bike, on the other hand, had only peddle brakes. I blame my stupidity for even getting on that bike to begin with.
It was my second try going down the hill, and we traded bikes. She took mine and waited at the top of the hill, while I began my trek down. I started picking up speed quickly after I rode down the slope, and when I went to tug the handle bar brakes slightly, I realized that the bike had none. As I got to the next street, I tried to turn fast so I wouldn't hit the log fence in front of me. It was coming though, and it was coming fast. In the last moments before I hit the fence, I knew exactly what was coming. The feeling of not being able to stop whats coming is a crippling feeling. At that moment, I would be forever changed.
Then, everything went black.

I awoke maybe a minute or less later, and I could feel nothing. I didn't feel pain, or my legs, or even my brain for a little while. Once I realized what had happened, I let out a large scream, regained my strength, and ran home. At the top of the hill, I greeted Sara with a look of horror on my face, and soon her facial expression matched mine as well. She ran home while I ran to my house. When my mother saw me, she nearly fainted. She packed up everything she could, gave me a wet facecloth, and told me to go to the car because we were going to the hospital.
The damage was a lot of facial cuts, my lips completely chopped up, and my front left tooth sticking out at a ninety degree angle from my mouth. The tooth felt as though it was holding on for dear life. It wouldn't move at all when I touched it, it wasn't loose, it just stuck straight out of my mouth, with a lot of mingled gums and roots behind it.
When we arrived at the hospital, I waited anxiously while still experiencing the affects of shock. My mother talked to the woman that was in charge of the emergency room while I received all kinds of looks from other patients. Mom came back with an icepack and told me they would be with us soon. Soon turned into two hours later, and by then I was used to my current state. Some young kids would walk by with their parents and quietly ask 'whats the matter with her, mommy?' and I'd just cover with the icepack a bit more. I looked like a disaster.
My Mom held my hand for a while, but didn't talk much. I'm not sure if thats because she was upset, or because she didn't want me to talk, but either way it felt really made me feel worse. Finally, they took me into a room where they took my vitals and asked me a series of questions that really don't matter. They took a look at my mouth, but told me they couldn't fix it. I'd have to wait until the next day, and then have an oral surgeon make a house visit. For me, this wasn't good news. I didn't want my front tooth to keep sticking out of my mouth for another day, it was uncomfortable as it was, but another 24 hours seems much worse.
When we arrived back at home, my Mom called my Dad to tell him what I had done. At first, he was mad, but soon became as panicky as everyone else about the matter. He gave his dentist a call, and told us he'd meet us at the office in Beverly. We drove the half hour drive, all while I prayed on the moon to please make things better.
We arrived, and that was when I met both my saint and my devil. He sat me down in a big chair, and began to perform work after turning on the Nickelodeon channel for me to watch. Soon, my father was getting involved too, but I could feel nothing from the nine needles they stuck at the top of my mouth. I couldn't feel that, either, but I think that was due to shock.
I don't know for how long I was awake, but they eventually woke me up and told me they were finished. Both my Dad and Dr. Ellie were grinning wide as I tried to make my numb lips feel what they had done. All I know is that I couldn't feel a tooth sticking out anymore, but it wasn't missing either. They handed me a mirror and I smiled. I had four brackets on the top row of teeth. Almost like braces, only without the elastic coloring you can choose to get, or having them cover every tooth in my mouth. These things stayed in my mouth for about 9 months, until the stitches I had dissolved, and my dentist was pretty sure my tooth was held firmly in place.
Since the incident, I have encountered many problems, from abscesses to root canals to $150 bleach to permanent discoloration. There are still many problems to arise, as well, like my first fist fight and getting punched in the mouth, to losing my tooth another way, and inevitably getting a fake put in, which I believe they should had done in the first place.

Yet another stupid mistake that is still echoing in my life to today, and on into the future.
The indent in the fence from my tooth is still there, as well. Go to Chestnut St in Groveland and take a look at the brown fence, you'll see it. I've made my mark.