Toenail

-Sebastian Morris ‘22

A part of my body was missing. Every time I looked down at my feet, all I noticed was how much bigger one of my toes looked compared to the others. I thought that I had just stubbed it really hard against Abuelo Antonio’s bedroom wall, but the speed at which my leg collided with the marble caused my toenail to completely rip off. When my mom heard me screaming downstairs in Palmas, she quickly ran up to his bedroom to console me. I was totally freaking out, curled up on the floor staring at the blood beginning to emerge from the skin bordering where the nail had once been. My mom was worried at first, but it did not surprise her that I had run into the wall because I was a very energetic boy. For this reason, it seemed to me that she was not moving at the speed a parent usually should when an accident occurs, and it felt like an eternity for her to get ready to go to the hospital.

It was the last afternoon of our annual spring break stay with my mother’s family in Puerto Rico. Every March, my family would fly down to the island to spend time with four people: Ita, Ito, Abuelo Antonio, and Abuela Lola. Earlier that day, a nurse at the hospital had said it would be a few days before I could fully go in the water again but, to take extra precaution, she wrapped my toe four times in a fluffy, stretchy hospital bandage. Because we were already planning to drive from Palmas to the airport in San Juan the next day, my family thought it best to leave Antonio’s then and drive back to Ita’s home just outside of San Juan. Back in Dorado Beach, and now the late afternoon, I sat by the pool discontent with my inability to submerge myself in the water. The heat of the sun as I sat across from my mom who was deep in her spring break novel didn’t come close to the hot pain I was experiencing where my nail had once been. I put my hand on the bandage and felt the throbbing pulse of blood passing the damaged area. I looked up to see my brother splashing and spinning with his hands under the surface, creating a miniature vortex that would swallow his imaginary monsters. This aquatic battlefield was special to the two of us, and we called it the “old pool,” because of the ruins that emerged from its floor. It looked like an ancient Roman aqueduct, but with a touch of Puerto Rican graffiti and fading color to decorate its historic frame. Luke was playing pretend Pokémon because he had just been given a game by his Godmother. She didn’t buy me anything that nice at Toys R Us. She wasn’t my god parent I suppose, so I guess it was okay. Luke was so lucky to be swimming in the pool, while all I could do was sit in pain on the folded beach chair. My mom wasn’t even watching me.

My toe began to itch. I wanted to get at it and shred all the bandages off. I wanted to cut at -Kyle Murray Smith ‘24

them and tear at them until my foot looked normal again. I wanted them gone and I wanted to swim with my brother like we always did. Eager to see the ocean adorned in the light of a sunset one last time before heading home to New York, we packed in the golf cart and moved to a different swimming spot. I struggled to climb into the backseat because I couldn’t bend my toe-- it was wrapped so tightly that if I tried to move my foot, the toe would go numb. The light casted on the ruin pool faded from my vision as the car drove down the steep hill. More bushes, branches, and vines obscured the sun and soon it was almost completely dark; we were going through the Celva Terecoptus, or what we called the “dinosaur jungle.”

I looked to see if my mom or brother were looking in the rear view mirror to check if I was okay, but both of them were looking head on into the forest. After a few minutes, the golf cart turned a sharp right, the trees cleared away for an open sky, and the light hit us again. We were rounding a point where we would always slow down the golf cart because of the two lifeguards monitoring the road from their beach shack at the top of a man-made dune. The beach was expansive, and I was enthralled by the clarity of the water; the turquoise blue sea was magnificent. I felt a sudden jolt of the cart when the wheels went off the path and onto the sand, as we parked it a few yards from the lookout. When my mom finally came around the back and helped me off, my feet were greeted warmly by the sand. A few grains stuck onto the bandage, but I didn’t mind, because she held my hand and guided me to the breaking waves.

We sat just in front of the damp sand where the waves break, as the ocean came and went. Each time it would recede to the depths to collect more strength I would tense up-- I didn’t want the

waves pulling me away from my seat in the sand, as they do when they finish cooling your toes and splashing the bathing suit you’re trying to keep dry-- I was worried I was going to move even an inch. I was at peace enjoying the changes the wind made to the surface of the water; it was soothing, and I was laying dry and close to my mother. To my left spiky rocks jutted from the sand, which created pools of still water where kids like me would search for small marine life to inspect. Noticing a small crab emerge from a hole in the shore, I let its tiny legs crawl on my open fingers. It felt prickly, but I did not shake it off; the crawling was funny to me and I was curious about its movement. I turned around to see if my mom was looking. This time she was, and she smiled at me when I pointed at the crab. For the first time all day I didn’t mind my broken toenail-- I was able to be happy with her during my final hours on the island. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning as I looked out into the unknown that was the water in front of me. Laying back in the sand, I scooched closer to my mom and we watched the sun begin to set over the horizon.