A little scar on my lip reminds me

Petra Novakova School of Social Studies Usti nad Labem
When I was six we lived in a panel house. Just two doors from us lived a Romany family. They had a daughter Monika and a son Mirek. The family was decent, clean and hard-working. The children attended school regularly. A normal family.
I used to play with Monika at the playground.
Like any girl I liked to dress nicely as possible. One day I put on a skirt and very modern slippers with wooden soles and went to the playground. I wanted to have a swing on the jungle gym. But I slipped and fell down, lost my breath and bit my lip.
Monika’s mother was looking out of the window and saw me lying on the ground. She ran to me, put a wet cloth to my lips and struck my back so that I could catch my breath again. Then she took me home.
I was very grateful to her, and so were my parents.
Monika’s and Mirek’s family moved away, and I don’t see them anymore; I don’t even don’t know where they live.
But I remember that day: a little scar on my lip reminds me.

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