angeben

German word for showing off. I can still sometimes recognize my showing off in particular hormonal moments, analogical to guy's testosterone. I guess having breasts instead of cojones has something to do with it. But it was really an uncontrolled feeling in the childhood years. Showing off, being cruel, pretend, steal... You name it. The one thing I was very bad at was lying. It is not quite in my nature.
And so I remember, if I still have a little thread of memory of the previous moments of the fall. Show off.
We were at the top of the marble staircase. That common marble that had suffered the scratches of high heels, shopping trolleys and skates in one of the buildings of my barrio.
As we were on the top of the stairs these guys from two numbers above were staring at us. Don't you ask me what they looked like apart from the one who was very well known among older girls: PimplyFaced and VERYbigmouth.
There I was at the top of the staircase with my friend QuiteDeveloped and she was surely the center of attention for those dude-kids: Way over the average height and with built in husky blue eyes. I don't remember what our conversation was at that point or what the guys were saying but at that very moment I had one of the stupidest ideas, one of those you would answer when someone would ask you: what do you regret having said? I asked QuiteDeveloped: "Shall we show off?"
Now try to figure out what the hell was of any showing off interest to see 2 girls going downstairs but as the little performance genius I was, well more an "acting over thoughts" specialist I lifted my leg theatrically while suggesting my great occurrence to perform the descent. I am not sure why didn't wait for my friend to answer my such rhetorical question, I should assume there are bashful people in the world, and QuiteDeveloped was one of them. She threw a laugh followed by a: "you are crazy" and tapped me on the back with the strength of a push. After all she was QuiteDevoeloped and I was No-Developed at all...
I still think to this day that her intention was to push me down, but if it wouldn't have happened that my right leg was suspended in the air, the result of her pushing would have been a clumsy dropping from one of the steps. But remember: I was suspended on one leg and not holding to the veranda.
As a result, heaven knows. I remember I started rolling down the downhill steps and each one hurt more than the other.
I fell down head over feet, so I was sliding down, chin first. I think I tried not to roll over my head and used the chin to balance, otherwise I would have probably broken my neck. I don't wanna think about it.
Each step I went down I could hear my ears drumming, the air buzzing, I could smell adrenaline, bleach, that very unsuccesful lemony smell of floor wax and dust. I still remember the colours around me: black, blue and that brown shineless scratched marble with white patterns like smoke rings; like smoke clouds announcing my descent. - And my landing.- And I landed -
My friend QuiteDeveloped was nowhere to be seen anymore. There was no pain. I landed head over feet against the main door alla Edina from "Absolutely Fabulous". The boys were laughing and tralling: "show off, show off!". Then my neighbour "Nancygirl" came by. I held on to her to get up and asked her if I was alright. She looked at my chin and said: I can see your bone. I touched it and my hand got covered in blood.
I then rushed to my parents and my mom opened the door. It started hurting then. And when she saw the skin hanging and the bone she called my dad to rush me in to the hospital. At that point I started crying like the pussy I am.
My mom was only worried about the scar. They had to dress me like a cupcake (a sub-wedding merengue) in 1 month for my first communion, as south European parents influenced by very catholic parents tend to do to their children. It was my choice the previous year not to receive the sacred body of Jesus Christ, but the wine and the presents my friends received convinced me one year after of the opposite.
In order not to leave a scar the doctors had to operate me in "warm". Ergo: no anesthetics. I could feel the thread going through my skin and the needle every time they slid it through my chin. The four times. In spite of my sentimental softiness I am quite strong to physical locally concentrated pain. But I really wasn't expecting that. I shouted and called the doctor "you idiot". The poor guy. Yeah right. He must be still laughing about it I reckon.
It healed well and one month later I received the holy body of Jesus Christ. and the wine. And the presents. And money. almost 10.000 pesetas from back then. On my day I looked like an underage catalogue bride almost without any trace of a scar, if I ever find I picture I will post it. Some years later I would fall exactly on the same spot from the bike and open another breach in my chin in order to save my nose of a fatal crushing. My chin and nose have gone through hard hits. There is enough material to write a dissertation about my nose alone.
But I think my nose deserves almost a tribute. It has its own story from the rest of the body. Some of you know. Some of you have followed.