I walked to the dentist today, first appointment in ten months. As I playfully kicked the crisp orange and yellow leaves covering the wide sidewalk, my left foot uncovered a depression created by erosion next to the concrete, a few inches wide and deep, just as my right foot stepped towards it. My brain didn’t register the danger fast enough to redirect my foot: my ankle turned and gravity started tugging me down. In that familiar slow motion, every second I thought I'd caught myself in time, only to realize anew that my latest effort was failing. At every point of contact: knees, then hands, gravity wasn't finished with me. The twist flipped me over and I felt my left temple strike a granite stone. I hope I don’t pass out! Coming to rest flat on my back, staring up at the yellow tree canopy, I automatically scanned my body. My Red Cross first aid training kicked in: never move the victim except for immediate danger. But I sensed that there were no broken bones and my pride propelled me back up on my feet. I wanted to lie quietly for thirty seconds, but I started walking quickly, hoping to forestall any Good Samaritan motorist on Bedford St from stopping or worse yet, calling the EMTs.
As I walked, I reviewed my injuries: slight burning on the heel of my left palm: no blood. Scraped knees: no blood seeping through my tan pants. Do I dare touch my temple? Gingerly I raise my hand and discover dry hair. My hearing aid was dislodged but hadn’t fallen to the ground.
It brought me back to a dramatic fall in Sacramento, California four years ago. After Annie’s and Shawn’s wedding in Utah, I took the night train to Seattle. Leaving Salt Lake City around midnight, I travelled west all night and soaked up the Sierra Nevadas the next day. Arriving at Sacramento around 4 p.m., I had to wait until midnight for the northbound train to Seattle. Learning that Old Sacramento was very near the train station, I cut across a parking lot, as directed. Looking straight ahead towards the old city, I tripped over a concrete parking berm. In about three stages I thought I’d averted disaster only to continue in the course gravity insisted on sending me.
I cut my chin and bled quite a bit. I got some napkins at a bar to sop up the blood and walked around Old Sacramento for a few hours with my hand cupped to my chin. I discovered that the wound would reopen if I moved my mouth, so I didn’t talk to anyone. A kind shop keeper at a hot dog stand gave me two small bandaids. I still have the scar. You can't negotiate with gravity.
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