Legend of a fall

Okay. The last week has passed, and in the last few days so have the cliché queries the sympathetic comments, the rhetorical questions and all of that.

No, me and my girlfriend didn’t get into a slugfest; nor did I dare to take on a burly bunch of bikers at a local tavern. Didn’t walk into that proverbial door by accident.  I didn’t back-end some slow-driving goober along U.S. 31, and, as it were, there was no failed athletic attempt to be heroic at the end of the game.

Truth is, I fell in my driveway while taking that olive-drab, 96-gallon behemoth our city officials describe as a trash container. Near dusk, I attempted to navigate a full load of my personal flotsam, jetsam and wood planks to the end of the driveway. But that journey took a turn. And drop.

Lost my footing down that heavy rock trail half-way to the curb. Feet slid out like an errant ice-skater and dropped heavier than three large sacks of Idaho spuds. Boom! Face down flat against the heavy, sharp-edged gravel. Like any neo-geezer I lay there stunned for a few seconds. Then insult crowned injury.

At the last moment, the hinged lid arced down and slammed into the back of my head. Then, for extra measure, it slapped my neck and ears a second time.

This was silent movie comedy at its best: Chaplin, Harold Lloyd nor any of the Marx (Karl and Groucho) brothers could have equaled this slip at their best.

But there was no audience.  Not a soul heard my wimpy, whispered call for help. Save but my Labrador, Patrick, who seemed somewhat indifferent to my situation. Eventually, I stood and spit blood from my mouth and rubbed my gums to ensure the fangs were intact. I stumbled into the bathroom ER for quick triage and treatment, then slumped down on the toilet seat to give thanks brains and eyeballs weren’t popping out my skull. Then my roommate returned to balefully gaze at me and lick my feet.

By dawn, the swelling and cuts rendered me to a visage of a blind man going two minutes with Mike Tyson, or some modern version of Dorian Gray. But it was still a work day. I was not my usual bellowing, sarcastic and curmudgeonly self. An unusual day for my colleagues.

But the wounds have healed for the most part. Most noticed my facial changes politely and without notice and when they did, with eyebrow-raised sympathy.

So, there it is.  Be careful about the way you throw away things in life.