I looked into the bowl and wondered why the potatoes were streaked with pink. Then I felt it. The throbbing jolts of pain running up my fingertips into my upper arm. I looked at my hand and it was covered in blood. Mom nearly fainted when she saw me. She hugged me and screamed for dad. He came rushing down and they carried me to the sink to inspect the damage.

It didn't look as bad as it felt. The pads of my fingertips had been shaved off and a couple of my fingers were sliced open. Dad wrapped ice around my hand and mom held it up in the air to slow the bleeding, on our way to the emergency room. I remember thinking, if only Mrs. Rodgers, my 3rd grade teacher, could see me now. She was always scolding us because we never raised our hands before we talked.

Eva thought that was funny. She was lying against me, with her bandaged hand up in the air. Was this another incident of mandoline recklessness? No, Eva did everything correctly. The mandoline slicer was secured to the table and she was using nice even strokes with the vegetable guard. It's just that the damn zucchini got caught up and her hand slipped forward.

Everything is okay now. She's all stitched and bandaged up with a belly full of ice cream. That's what mom and dad gave me when we came back from the hospital. A big bowl of ice cream. Unlike Eva, I didn't deserve it. I was very reckless that day. Mom and dad repeatedly reminded me to use the vegetable guard, but I didn't listen to them. So they never let me use the mandoline slicer again.