Friends in Strange Places
There came a thunderous crack above me and my eyes widened as the sky lit up, shattered into a million brilliant pieces before fading back to pitch before I could even blink. I stood frozen in place, waiting for my bones to stop vibrating. I had never experienced a thunderstorm like this. My teacher had told me about them, but I never thought they were so big! I wanted to feel it again – I wanted the sky to shatter over and over again just so I could feel that deafening boom send waves of energy through my entire body so that the sky’s heartbeat would become my own.
“Katie!”
I turned back to my dad, who for some reason was suddenly much further away. Why hadn’t he stopped? Hadn’t he felt the boom too?
“Katie, you little button, don’t go too far!”
Smearing the hair from my forehead one more time I started after him. Only faintly could I see my sister Dana by his side, winding her way through the rope maze just like him. I trotted forward, my Hello Kitty socks squelching loudly in my equally soaked sneakers, the noise just barely audible over the storm. I didn’t mind, though. We came to Sea World to get wet! At least I did. I kept my head down as I made my way forward, turning left, right, then left, and then right again. I pumped my little legs as fast as they would go without breaking into an all-out sprint, but no matter how fast I moved my dad and sister kept moving further and further away. “Don’t run!” I heard my dad shout just as another thunderclap shook the earth, but when I looked up, he was already disappearing into the rain. I came to a straightaway. There he was with Dana, just up ahead. If I ran, I could make it.
Steeling myself against the wind I launched myself forward, swinging my arms with all the momentum my five year old body could muster. Water rushed past me as I rushed past it, flying over the stone path like a falcon, getting buffeted left and right by the wind. But I didn’t care. I was flying. Lightning snapped across the night sky, fracturing stars and lashing clouds in two. ‘The storm must be giving me power!’ I thought with glee as I skipped across the pavement river. Then, my foot caught a loose cobblestone. I heard my dad shout as I stumbled, the rain clouding my vision. I threw my arms out, pinwheeling frantically, trying to catch my balance. Almost in slow motion, I pitched forward, hands outstretched before me. ‘Maybe the water will catch me,’ I thought hopefully just as I skidded, hands and knees first, five feet across the pavement.
I gasped and spluttered, water filling my mouth. I floundered, coughing, and managed to heave myself back onto my elbows and knees. The sky flashed. I blinked, staring blearily at the pavement below. Even as the deluge swept past, it could not remove the blood pooling below me quick enough.
I screamed.
~
What happened next is somewhat of a blur. When your body encounters severe physical trauma, your brain will often – simply put in laymen’s terms – “shut down.” Because your brain stem, thalamus, and cerebral cortex become so inundated with outside stimuli (courtesy of your pain receptors), your brain makes the executive decision to virtually cease all other forms of stimuli until it can decide what to do with the current amount of information flooding it (Neurosci). The thalamocortical networks become overstimulated and respond negatively, putting the rest of the body in danger. That’s exactly what happened to me, before my dad could go for help.
~
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’ll be okay…”
I sobbed into my dad’s shirt, the tears indistinguishable from the rain having already completely soaked it through. My dad had scraped me up off the pavement and taken me to the nearest awning where we might get some asylum from the rain above and below. He gently set me down and tore his glasses from his face, the lenses having completely fogged over, and bent down to take a better look at my knee. “Shit,” he murmured under his breath, too soft for me to hear. Giving me one final hug, he pulled back, brushing the hair from my face. “I’m going to go find help, okay? Stay here, I’m going to go find help!” I just cried in response, clinging to my sister’s hand where she sat next to me, trembling. With one last hug and what he clearly hoped was a reassuring nod, my dad hurried to his feet and took off through the empty park. He had only gone a couple of feet before the wind and the rain swallowed him whole. I was alone. Or at least, without an adult, which was somehow infinitely worse. Just my sister, my cousin Bailey, and I.
Bailey took up my dad’s spot where he had been crouched moments before and smiled gently, rubbing the arm that wasn’t in my sister’s grasp. “You’ll be okay,” she hummed, her soft voice somehow carrying over the now howling wind. “You’re strong. You’ve gotten hurt way worse than this!” Although she was only a few years older than me, Bailey’s words filled me with warmth, melting through my chest and spreading out across my limbs like honey.
All I could do was nod meekly. Bailey’s kind, round face glowed with that same warmth that caused my fingers and toes to tingle. Her oaken hair clung to the side of her face, although not nearly as damp as mine, and her chocolate-hazel eyes regarded me with a wisdom beyond her years. I tried to focus on her, but a flash of red caught my eye and I found myself turning back towards the ground, unable to tear myself away from the cavernous red fountain in my leg. Thick founts of red spilled onto the pavement to join the river of water rushing just past our little hideout, creating a narrow channel connecting the two bodies of water. I frantically gulped down air, lurching towards Bailey just so I wouldn’t have to look at it. At that part of me there, on the pavement. She sat there rubbing my arm, still murmuring words of comfort, her voice a cool alto as thunder crashed behind the three of us.
~
When a brain becomes overwhelmed by pain, a number of things can happen. According to the Virginia Commonwealth University, a person can simply “check out” of the situation until they are better able to process their surroundings (i.e. undergo a phenomena called syncope – more commonly known as fainting – whereupon the brain loses the requisite amount of blood flow to the brain); they could also go through the same process but remain conscious (more commonly known as either hypovolemic, distributive, cardiogenic, or obstructive shock). The effects on children and infants’ brain, however, are far more unique. According to one study conducted in 2012 by the University of Cambridge, up to 17% of all children before the age of twelve will experience some form of hallucination or another, the likelihood of which is exacerbated by injury and trauma. Children’s brains, which already perceive the world around them in ways adults can could only hope to remember, are far more likely to disassociate in what doctors have called more “creative” ways.
~
I leaned back against the awning wall, shaking. I had lost track time. Had my dad been gone five minutes or five hours? Maybe the park had closed and we were stuck there until morning, only to be found hours and hours later. The world around me spun, and it took all of my energy to stay conscious. The slanted raindrops created a shimmering cloak enveloping the night sky, making it nearly impossible to focus on any one object. Were the raindrops swirling or was it the sky? Was it me? Had the wind really been that loud? I winced as a particularly loud gust buffeted our little cobblestone sanctuary and Dana squeezed my hand tighter. Then, a voice.
~
One of the more fascinating ways in which children’s brains disassociate to cope with injury or trauma is through hallucination. Specifically, hallucinations involving ideal situations (according to The Guardian). If a child is afraid of something in their surroundings, the child may hallucinate a superhero removing the immediate threat. If a child lacks proper nutrients, they may hallucinate a banquet filled with savory meals and thirst-quenching drinks. Or, if a child is injured and alone without an trusted authority figure around to take care of them, they may invite a friend to keep them company. A friend they’ve never seen before… or a very real friend: one who the child already trusts and is able to project their feelings upon. In a sense, the brain conjures up a sort of guardian angel to keep the child happy and safe until real help can arrive.
~
“Katie!”
I jerked up, blinking furiously. Suddenly, my dad rounded the corner, and he let out a cry of relief, bending down to envelop me in his arms. Behind him, a sour looking woman followed in tow, pushing a massive adult-sized wheelchair before her, its seat already having collected a sizeable pool of water. When she saw me she grimaced, pulling a clipboard from its hiding spot on the back of the chair. She suddenly cleared her throat, glaring at my dad as he scooped me up, attempting to deposit me in the chair. “Sir,” she intoned. “You’ll have to sign these release papers if you wish to borrow company property to transport your daughter.” My dad nodded distractedly, pushing me and the wheelchair out from under the stoop and back into the elements, quickly moving down the street.
“I’ll sign it on the way.”
The park employee jogged to catch up, calling, “Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to sign the papers before using park equipment for medical emergencies!”
Muttering quiet obscenities under his breath, my dad reached back and snatched the clipboard and pen out of her hand, continuing to push me towards the park gates. After a few moments, however, his pace slowed and he turned towards the woman, his eyes flickering angrily. “What is all this?”
The park employee continued to stare at him, nonplussed. “These are the forms you have to sign in order to accept medical aid from Sea World. You do want the wheelchair, don’t you?” Above, the sky flashed followed by a deafening boom.
“There’s a whole packet here! There’s gotta be more than ten pages!” Far, far removed from the conversation and the world alike, I sat in the wheelchair, staring mutely at my bloody legs. The adults’ words flew above my head and up into the clouds where the wind carried them to some other distant land. Back here on Earth they meant nothing to me. I simply sat and stared. The blood was now dripping down the chair’s legs as well as my own, the park’s florescent lighting turning my leg from white to red to yellow. Close behind, Dana and Bailey trotted to keep up with us.
“I’m sorry sir, but it’s company policy.”
My dad said some words at her that I didn’t understand and then thrust the clipboard back into her arms, reaching down and pulling me out of the wheelchair. “We don’t have that kind of time, my daughter needs to go to the hospital now!” And, with Dana and Bailey trotting to keep up, off we proceeded on foot.
~
I remember making it to the hospital just fine. After a 20 minute car ride I was rushed into the emergency room. There, I remember the doctor telling my parents (which included my mom at this juncture, who by this time had gotten the call from my dad and joined us at the hospital) that the skin on both my knees had been too shredded by the fall to even hope to attempt pulling together to try and stitch them. Instead, he gave me antiseptics, a large Band-Aid, and an Otter-Pop, and I was on my way.
It wasn’t until nearly a decade later that one summer evening, as I was chatting with my dad, laughing over past injuries that I came to find that Bailey was never actually there with us. In fact, she was with her family in Missouri during our trip and had never set foot in Florida, let alone joined us on our vacation to Sea World. Instead, in an effort to cope with the pain while my dad left us to go get help, my young developing mind had fabricated the presence of an entire human being to keep me and my sister company: someone older and more mature – someone that I cared for and trusted. This was the first and last time my brain afforded me such a strange luxury.
Even fifteen years later, I am still not entirely sure what happened in my frontal cortex that day. Perhaps it was trauma-induced hallucinations; my mom likes to say it was an angel that took Baily’s form to watch over me; perhaps it was just a random park goer who was very real and just happened to look very similar to my cousin Bailey. Either way, nothing of the like has ever happened to me again, and, hopefully, if I am lucky, it never will.
Works Cited
Bell, Vaughan. “Childhood Hallucinations Are Surprisingly Common – but Why?” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 7 June 2015,
https://www.theguardian.com/science/2015/jun/07/childhood-hallucinations-common-research-psychotic-schizophrenia-why.
Boksa, Patricia. “On the Neurobiology of Hallucinations.” Journal of Psychiatry & Neuroscience: JPN, Canadian Medical Association, July 2009, https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2702442/.
Pollock, Anastasia. “The Brain in Defense Mode: How Dissociation Helps Us Survive.” GoodTherapy.org Therapy Blog, 8 Sept. 2017, https://www.goodtherapy.org/blog/the-brain-in-defense-mode-how-dissociation-helps-us-survive-0429155.
Procter, Levi D. “Shock - Critical Care Medicine.” Merck Manuals Professional Edition, Virginia Commonwealth University, Sept. 2019, https://www.merckmanuals.com/professional/critical-care-medicine/shock-and-fluid-resuscitation/shock.
“Syncope (Fainting).” Www.heart.org, The American Heart Association, 30 June 2017, https://www.heart.org/en/health-topics/arrhythmia/symptoms-diagnosis--monitoring-of-arrhythmia/syncope-fainting.
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KATIE BERNHARDT is a senior pursuing a Baccalaureate degree in English with a minor in Creative Writing and Spanish. This piece was selected by Professor Jacqueline Cason.