Salt on an open wound.

When I was fourteen my dad told me that salt is a coagulant, and if I ever have a cut that won’t stop bleeding if you put salt on it it will assist in stopping the blood flow. What he failed to mention was how the phrase “pouring salt on an open wound” came to be.

Kevin’s neighbor was out of town and it was his job to watch the house and gather the mail. There was also a vacant house across the street from him that was going on the market soon. So, naturally, we made a plan to sneak out at night and go into his neighbor’s house and look around, and to break into the house across the street. I had just returned from staying with my dad for the summer in South Carolina and always returned with a trunk load of fireworks because the types you could purchase there were superior to what was sold in Florida. And even with a big purchase of mortars and rockets I always returned with simple Blackcats, BottleRockets, and M-80’s.

I heard Kevin tap on my window, I had already removed the screen while I waited for him. I handed him my bag full of explosives and BB gun as I climbed out my window. He always met me at my house because his dog was a barker. We usually timed our adventures according to the lunar cycle, we liked it dark with a new moon so it was harder to see us in the shadows, but tonight the moon was full with a cloudless sky. It might as well have been dawn it was so bright. I slid my window shut.

We walked the fence line that cut down the center of the multiple half acre properties, hopping the occasional fence without a gate. We made it to the cut through back yard, the one with a treehouse platform in the back corner. We climbed onto the platform to discuss our strategy. But first, my quick draw, Kevin said. He laid on his back and I pulled my BB gun out of my bag and handed it to him. With both hands and arms outstretched he held the gun above his chest looking at the sky. He exhaled and turned his head to the right sighting the neighboring back porch light over the wooden privacy fence. His chest raised with another deep breath and with a slow exhale he dropped his right arm. As it hovered just above the decking he pulled the trigger. The pop of the air chamber sent a small copper ball whizzing through the chilled night air. Almost instantaneously the yellow porch light exploded with a dance of glass on the concrete patio. We cheered silently, climbed down and headed to his neighbors house.

Kevin dug into his pocket and pulled out the key to the garage door. The door brushed over the floor leaving an arc of dirt. The table next to the entrance to the house was piled high with mail, Kevin was told there was no need to go into the house while gathering the mail. We tried the door, it was locked. We tried the key, it didn’t work. We looked around the garage and Kevin found a rogue piece of wire and bent it into a hook. He slid it behind the door latch and while pulling on the handle he yanked the wire. The door flew open causing Kevin to stumble backwards. I caught him before we both crashed into the galvanized metal trash can.

We walked around careful not to move anything. We used the bathroom. We got bored. Locking the door we pulled it shut behind us and tossed the wire on the floor. We felt like ninjas as we darted from shadow to shadow crossing the street to the abandoned house. As luck was on our side that night, Kevin hit the porch light with one quick draw move, luck was on our side, the back sliding glass door was unlocked. We were in with no effort. We bounced around the rooms. Looking in all the closets for any other vagrant hooligans that may have stumbled upon the gold mine that was this vacant house. None were to be found.

Standing in the living room Kevin reached up and removed the glass bowl covering the light on the ceiling fan. He dug around in his pocket again and pulled out a lighter. Toss me a packet of Blackcats he said. I unshouldered my bag, pushed aside the thin wooden sticks that were the tales of the bottle rockets and tossed him two packs of tightly wound firecrackers. Kevin instructed me to stand over in the corner. He placed the firecrackers covered in thin red paper under the milky white glass bowl leaving only the fuse sticking out. Are you ready he asked? I nodded. He lit the fuse laying on his belly and rolled away leaving his back to the coming explosion.

Firecrackers that go off in an enclosed space are loud. Firecrackers that go off in a dark space are extremely bright. The glass bowl exploded covering the carpet with shards of all sizes. Neither one of us could hear or see, but we were both laughing. Kevin rolled over to stand up. Mother Fucker! I heard him yell through the ringing in my ears. I just cut myself.

The moon was shining in through the glass patio door and I could see black pouring down Kevin’s arm. He touched the flap of skin and pushed it back up holding it tight as blood made its way through his fingers. Fuck. We both said in unison.

Grab your bag. I think I’m okay. Let’s run back over to my neighbors and find some bandaids. Kevin was always calm in any situation.

Not trying to hide we ran across the street. Kevin pulled the key from his pocket smearing blood across his jeans. We were in the garage. I found the piece of wire and after three tries managed to open the door to the house. Kevin made it to the bathroom and turned on the faucet, bright crimson drops fell on the floor. The water in the sink turned a dark pink as he ran his wrist under the stream of aerated water. I went and found some paper towels and then started digging under the sink looking for any kind of bandage.

Cleaning all the blood off his arms Kevin looked at me and for the first time ever in our friendship I saw fear in his eyes. It won’t stop bleeding, he said. His face was ghostly, whiter than usual against his red hair. I unrolled another handful of towels and handed them to him. I have an idea. I remember something my dad told me. I’ll be right back.

I ran to the kitchen and found the blue cylinder with the little girl in a yellow rain jacket carrying an umbrella that I was looking for. It was heavy in my hand as I ran back to the bathroom.

“That’s salt,” Kevin said. “Yeah, my dad told me it’s a coagulant,” I said. “Are you sure?” Kevin asked. “Yes. My dad told me if I’m ever bleeding and it won’t stop you can use salt to stop the bleeding. Why would my dad make that up?” I pushed back. “Okay, let’s do it then,” Kevin said as the sink edges continued to gather red splatters. “Rinse it off one more time and pull back the flap of skin to make sure it gets down into the cut,” I said.

Kevin ran his wrist under the water, grabbed some paper towels and dried the skin all around the gash. I held the cardboard tube of salt at the ready with the metal spout aimed just above the jagged flap of skin. Kevin took the pink edge with a chunk of flesh attached and raised it away from the crimson hole and blood started to flow immediately. I tilted the container and salt cascaded over the metal tip and a river of white crystals filled the gash and turned into a glob of goo. Kevin’s other hand slammed down onto the top of the vanity. I looked up to see every muscle in his neck straining, his face twisting with agony.

“It’s working! Holy shit are you okay,” I asked with a fear filled whisper.

“p a p e r t o w e l,” Kevin panted.

The flow of blood was down to a drip. The salt covered his arm and was a mound of solid red crystals covering the gash. Kevin took the paper towels and squeezed his wrist with the full strength of his grip. Kevin’s back hit the wall and he slid to the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks. That was the only time I ever saw Kevin cry.

We sat in silence for forever. Kevin whispered he’d return tomorrow night to clean up the mess. He wanted to go home.

The next day Kevin came over to my house wearing a long sleeve shirt even though it was ninety-five degrees outside. I could just see the hint of white bandages under the cuff of his sleeve. We sat in my room playing Risk.

“I couldn’t tell you last night but that hurt so bad I wanted to grab your face and push you through the wall head first,” Kevin said.

I laughed. Kevin did not.

“No seriously, it took all it had in me to not break every bone in your face. I’m glad it worked. Because you were about to die,” Kevin said with no expression.

Kevin wore a long sleeve shirt for the rest of the summer and into the first week of school always with the edges of a bandage just poking out of the cuff of his sleeve.