A little more of the story.
Anyone in my family would tell you I could never leave well enough alone, could never be satisfied until I’d gone too far. Must have been true. This time I pushed myself so far into the tube I was out of control from the moment I let go of the sides.
I struggled to keep my arms over my head and my legs together, but the force of the water was too strong. I flopped and wallered around, knowing I needed to either get straight with the current or right with the Lord.
My right foot flew out and smashed the edge as the tube spit me out. I felt the jagged metal slice through my heel, felt the meat gap open. Tumbling downstream, head over hind end, I was helpless to do anything other than hold my breath and hope.
Some would have prayed, but I figured God had bigger fish to fry. After all, black men were being beaten to death in Mississippi, Mr. Johnson was fighting a War on Poverty, and "that damn Barry Goldwater" was running for President. God didn't have time to waste on one foolish little girl cutting her foot off on a bridge culvert in the backwoods of southern Missouri.