By Hannah Glasoe

We were at my grandma’s house. We were visiting her for the Fourth of July holiday. At that time, she lived in a house on hill by Mount Soladad, in San Diego. My brothers and I were swimming in the pool, and our parents were cooking in the kitchen. Soon it was time to rinse off for dinner.

I was in the shower. My brothers, Noah-who was eight, and Isaiah-who was three, were in the hall waiting for me to finish. The shower door was plexi-glass, with a metal rim on the door and all around the front too.

I was thinking of all the things we would eat for the Fourth of July dinner: mashed potatoes with sour cream, white corn, and chocolate chip cookies-with milk. I couldn't wait to get out.

My brother, Isaiah, was getting really cold and wanted to come in with me. My mom opened the shower door. I knew that my mom was frustrated by the scowl she wore on her face. She said it was ok for my brother to come in to the shower.

So my little brother stepped into the shower. He was holding the metal hinge to the door, and he was also crying because the water was too hot for him.

We were getting cold, so my mom shut the door. My little brother started screaming louder than before. It hurt my ears. But why was he crying? I didn’t know.

I saw something unusual. He was still holding on to the door. My eyes followed his arm up to his hand. His hand and his thumb were all blue, and a pool of blood was at the floor of the shower. My first thought was to open the door, quick. But as I pushed the door open, my mom tried to shut it again. She was saying, "What are you doing?"

I cried, "Isaiah’s finger is cut off!"

To me, it looked like his finger had been cut off. But when my mom opened the door, we saw that he still was in one piece and his thumb was just really flat. Imagine your thumb being that flat. I looked down at a puddle of blood, and then I realized how much it must have hurt.

My aunt and grandma came running in to the bathroom. They knew what they were doing, because they had both been nurses before. They told us to get a towel to stop the blood.

After a minute or two, my brother started to cry again so we went to the hospital. My brother Noah and I didn’t go, because we would just complicate the problem. That night my mom didn’t come back to my grandmas to get me and my brother, because Isaiah had to stay at the hospital for an x-ray to check for any broken fingers. That night I was really worried. I was still pretty young, so I didn’t understand what would happen to him, and I was afraid that he was going to die.

The next day my mom and dad came to get Noah and me. On the way home they told us what had happened at the hospital. My brother had gotten four stitches. He had a big finger cast (if you want to call it that). It looked like a cartoon’s finger when an anvil falls on their finger.

My brother was miserable. When he took baths he couldn’t get his cast wet, because it would get really smelly. Then at dinner he couldn’t eat with his right hand, he had to eat with his left. He couldn’t do much of anything for a month.

Now I am teaching him to write letters with his right hand. He still uses his left for little things, because of that accident. But he is getting better with his right hand. My mom has learned to be more careful. I love my little brother, and I am sure glad that he’s still in one piece.