The Martlet

I broke my friend’s ankle on her birthday.

To be fair, the X-rays haven’t come back yet and it might just be sprained. But she’s hobbling around on crutches and I have a feeling I’m going to be her slave for the rest of the semester.

On Saturday, Maciel had her 21st birthday, “brought to you by the letter M.” Everyone had to show up as something beginning with M — perhaps a monster, Moses or Madonna. I’m not big on theme parties and I’m not especially a dresser-upper. For this party, I decided to be a “make-over.”

The result was a sort of Two-Face, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde combination. On one side of my face was eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, blush — the other side was my regular, pimply, normal face. Other people showed up as Marty McFly, Mother Mary and macaroni. They got pretty inventive with it.

The party was proceeding fairly smoothing, with the regular drinking games, present-openings and pizza orderings. Then someone decided to go hang out on the trampoline.

Trampolines are amazing. I spent my childhood playing crack the egg, bum drop wars, and ring around the rosie. I taught myself how to front-flip, back-drop, round-house kick. I would re-enact movie scenes — explosions, gun fights, Ninja Turtle wars.

But then there’s the flip side, like the time my four-year-old brother rocketed off the side of the trampoline and broke his collar bone. Or the time I broke my arm practicing my World Wrestling Federation wrestling moves with my friend Kris. Split lips, bloody noses, chipped teeth — I’ve seen it all.

I should have known that a trampoline at midnight wasn’t a good idea. But the temptation was too great, and I found myself bouncing with Maciel, who was dressed as a “morning after.” As we got higher and higher, bouncing around in circles, I decided to practise some of my childhood tricks.

I’m not sure if my double bounce was poorly timed, or if Maciel was just a bit off-balance. Either way, instead of throwing her higher into the air, it made her leg buckle and she crumpled like a deflated party balloon. She whimpered and screamed, curling up into the fetal position and hugging her leg to her chest.

Whoops.

People came together right away. Jeremy carried her inside, Nicky ran to the store to get ice and bandages, concerned drunks huddled around in her bedroom. It’s nice to have friends around when these things happen, it didn’t hurt that it was her birthday, either.

So, next time you’re at a party and you’re tempted to do some bouncing, just remember Maciel’s ankle and the way you’ll feel the morning after.