Breaking

 Breaking

 I broke my right arm when I was twelve,
 my humerus, specifically. I had what's called a cyst,
 a hole filled with liquid instead of bone. I would come home
 from baseball practice, arm hanging limp and useless—
 growing pains, my parents said. When the bone finally cracked
 it wasn't from the swing of a bat but throwing a ball made out of string.
 The energy intended for the ball was too much for the bone;
 the ball absorbed what it could, and what remained
 filled the bone to breaking.