Member-only story
How to “Take A Fall”
“Getting Up” is Next
I fell last year. Bad.
Actually, I tripped, and I flew, and then I fell. In the street.
How the Hell Did That Happen?
There was no ice, no errant stone in the road. In a half-step, the toe of my boot scraped the pavement. Gravity momentarily betrayed me, and cast me face down on a crosswalk. It was like I was dreaming as my body took flight and then dropped so hard that when I landed, I felt soldered to the surface.
It was an infinity of only seconds until I realized where I was. I was horrified by the possibility that at any moment I could be covered in tire tracks. But traffic stopped. Hands reached down to assess the damage and raise me up. My pants were torn, my knees were bleeding and already swollen. My hands, that had heroically tried to break my fall, were pocked with dirt, and stung as I clutched the hands of strangers. One guy who fancied himself a neurologist, kept sticking his hand in my face and instructing me to follow his unevenly moving finger.
Finally, acceding to my insistence that I would be able to get myself home, the crowd dispersed and the traffic started up again. I shook as I limped home. Registering the full force of what had just happened, I kept mumbling, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened, except…
