Bad landing

Sometimes you fall hard. As if you were cruelly pushed from behind. Getting back up takes time. Like the time we were playing tennis a few years back. H hit a crosscourt return. Quick-footed on court, I thought I could run it down. I almost did. But, on the dead run, I fell. Fell fist first onto my racket hand. Racket in hand. Fist first onto hardcourt. Bones broke. I remember letting out a quick scream as the rest of my body landed. And then one more. I remember H at my side. The look on his face. I told him not to touch me. I wasn't sure what was wrong. And then I began to laugh. I couldn't stop. Shock turned me into a twisted, giggling heap. Eventually I got up, still giggling. Said I'd be ok. Refused to go to emergency. I spent a sleepless night wondering why I fell. What I did wrong. Some time the next morning I gave in to reality. Saw a doc, then walked home, my bright white cast still drying. I'd refused the prescription the doc offered. No need, I said. Damn thing's broken. It's supposed to hurt.