Sprained My Ankle  I have sprained my left ankle. It begins to swell and turn red. Two young men who are trainers or doctors are there. One of them does most of the examining. He looks at my ankle and says it is hot. He presses it in a few places, which hurts. He tells me I have a broken ankle. He shows me what has happened inside my ankle by taking the interior structure out of my right leg. First he pushes some liquid/ice cube-like content and it moves up along my leg from the ankle. He says there should be a different amount of this substance there: that is how he knows it's broken. The interior structure of my right leg consists of thin tubing, a few joints, and a couple of stretched springs in the ankle. The man starts putting these together to show me. I see this and complete the ankle spring system. I explain to the two men, and others who are there, including my old neighbor Natasha Lens, that I have had trouble with this ankle in the past: I sprained it a few years ago. It was a bad sprain in November or December, and then I sprained it again in March. I have been active on my ankle, playing basketball. I tell them it is still sore in the morning when I get up. The doctor who hasn't said much says that it sounds like a misdiagnosis when I first injured it. I say the doctor then told me we could get an X-ray, but I didn't have any money. It is time to leave.  There are ants all over the ceiling. I say to everyone the Tarro ant killer is on the shelf of cleaning supplies. I need to bring two cards with me. One card is mine. The other an old woman dropped off for her son, whom is one of the other workers. I ride in my truck towards the driveway of the place. My brother Wally is in the driver's seat. I am in the middle. I tell Wally to drive and while I shift gears. We pull out of the driveway and go west down 3rd Street in Oak Valley past the Milk Stop and some vegetable stands. I am then on Wally's shoulders, and he is carrying me. We go by young wives that are part of the Carter Church Parish. Wally can't carry me anymore, and lets me down. We walk home, up the hill. I am limping. My mom is on a 10-speed bicycle. She comes down the steps and turns to meet us. She asks why I'm limping, but doesn't seem too concerned. I tell her I sprained my ankle.