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I smashed my forehead into the glass again; more forcibly this time, like a crazed ram. Again, the stretch, the look, and then the wave. The pain was quickly setting in and I realized peeing that I was going to have to take drastic measures to communicate my dire situation to my mother, the waver. I stood on the icy cement step and screamed peeing at the top of my lungs, "Help me, I'm dying." My mother peered around the corner again, pulled the phone from her peeing ear, and studied me, convinced that I had finally lost my mind like one of my father's cousins. She set the phone down, marched to the door with her hands on her hips, and gave me a questioning look. "I think I broke my arm, Mom," I whimpered. She glanced at the thermometer that read 2 degrees Fahrenheit, she examined my face for signs of exaggeration, and she unlocked the storm door.
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