I heard his grandmother call out from the kitchen, “Who’s out there?” and Zeke pushed me away from him, as if he was trying to hide me from her. My feet were still firmly planted, and I stumbled backward. I dropped the backpack and then tripped over it, and then I was falling down the steps of the porch, one arm behind my back and the other reaching out for balance. I heard this snapping sound, felt this unbelievable wave of pain, so sharp that I gasped, but nothing came out of my mouth. My face hit the ground, my teeth biting into the dirt, and my mouth was instantly numb. After a second or two, I tried to stand because I was so embarrassed of myself, but I fell right back down. I must have had a concussion, had blacked out for a second, and I kept trying to understand why I couldn’t get up, why I kept sprawling around in the grass behind Zeke’s grandmother’s house. And then I heard Zeke make this sound. It was so deep, a kind of retching moan, like a cow had been hit with a sledgehammer. And I was so afraid for Zeke. I tried to call out for him, but I still couldn’t make a sound.

“Frankie,” he said, “oh god, oh my god, oh god, oh my god.” And he kept talking but it wasn’t even real words, just sounds, little grunts, barks.

I finally rolled onto my back and sat up, and I realized that my left arm was snapped in half, just flopping around. It didn’t hurt exactly, not like I expected—I guess I was beyond that kind of pain—but it also didn’t feel like it was a part of my body. It was this thing that I didn’t need, but I couldn’t get rid of it. The backpack was still caught on one of my feet, a strap hooked around my ankle, and I used my good arm to get myself free. I took a deep breath and then stood up. I looked at Zeke, but he didn’t come for me. That was worse than the broken arm, that he just stood there. He was crying, I could see that, but he wouldn’t come any closer. There was a moment when he suddenly seemed to come back inside of himself, to realize what he’d done.

“I’m so sorry, Frankie,” he said.

And I wanted to say that it wasn’t his fault, that it was an accident, but maybe everything is an accident. Maybe nothing in the world is intentional. Maybe everything that has ever happened and ever will happen is some dumb mistake. So who cares if you apologize?