At first, it was a joke. When I tried to wiggle free, however, I couldn't get out.

            It’s a warm, sunny day towards the beginning of July. I’m still in early elementary school. As usual, I’m spending the day at my grandma’s house with the rest of my family. My cousin and I break off on our own, as we frequently do. We decide we want to play a game. We want to pretend that we work at a restaurant that makes cheeseburgers. Before we can get to putting the burgers together, we gather our supplies: paper, scissors and colored pencils. We make each part of the burger separately: the buns, the cheese, the patty, the lettuce, the tomato, but most importantly, the purple onion.

            Nobody else is in the house except for my cousin and me. The only person nearby is my grandpa, who’s outside working in the garden. When my cousin and I start our game we, for some strange reason, think burgers are made on a conveyor belt. We decide to use the treadmill that my grandma had recently purchased and put in her basement as our make believe factory belt. Around me was the old, rickety bunk bed that my uncles used to sleep on when they were in high school and a semi-new reclining chair. The floor is hard except for a big, red rug placed in the middle of the room.

            At first, my cousin and I take turns, putting one of the small, paper pieces of the “burger” on the treadmill, pushing it forward to the other person who would then assemble the “burger.” We do this for about 15 minutes--not sure how we don't get bored. Then, when it’s my cousin’s turn again to assemble one of the paper cheeseburgers, she isn't paying attention and the purple onion falls inside of the treadmill. This is where the main story begins.

            At first, she tries to remove it. She lies down on the hard ground that has a few pieces of cat litter scattered here and there, which makes it very uncomfortable, and tries to reach her arm in to get it out. She tells me, “My arms are too big. You try to get it.” So, of course, I listen to my older cousin and do as she tells me. I reach my arm into the treadmill, going all the way to my shoulder, and grab hold of this meaningless paper onion which, for some reason, I think I absolutely need to get back. I laugh a little and pretend to be stuck, just to mess with her. Then, I actually try to take my arm back out and my heart sinks. Instant panic comes over me when I realize that I really am stuck. There’s cat litter jabbing into my arms and legs and I’m stuck there, arm stuck shoulder deep in the treadmill on the hard, tiled ground.

            Immediately, I start crying, hot tears streaming down my face. I’m yelling at my cousin, blaming her for me being stuck. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” and “HELP!” seem to be the only words I can get out in between sobs. I lie there twisting and turning, probably looking like a fish out of water. After she just stands there and looks at me funnily for a while, almost like a deer in headlights, my cousin runs outside to “look for my grandpa." I’m still lying on the ground dramatically when she leaves. I 100% think I’m going to have to get my arm amputated that very day. Then, all of the sudden, I feel like I’m the main character in some superhero movie. I pull as hard as I can for awhile and eventually I’m able to wiggle myself free.

             Now that I look back on it, though, I must have just been really over-dramatic because my arm was left with only a few scratches that sort of resembled a barcode that you would find on an object from the store. When I was able to get over the tears, I got up and went outside to find my cousin to tell her I was free and also to get my grandpa for help. When I got outside, my grandpa was right there in the garden, so I'm not sure what my cousin was doing. I told him what happened and he, rightfully so, seemed very confused. Him, being the old-fashioned man that he was, decided it would be best to wrap my arm up with duct tape to cover the scratches. To this day, I still have the scar and the story to tell.