Monday, July 24, 2006
Live to Tell
There's an incident from my childhood that sticks out very clearly in my mind. It was when I was 6, during the years of my life that I remember being the happiest and most idyllic. We lived in Portland, Oregon at the time, and just down the street was a huge park for us to play soccer in or get lost in the wooded trails. We played Kick the Can with our neighborhood friends and picked blackberries from the bushes at the end of our street so our mom could make us pie. We swam in the Willamette River and my yellow banana-seat bicycle was my ticket to absolute freedom. My best friend lived right across the street from me. It was at her house that I discovered MTV and in her living room that I attempted to dance just like Madonna in Like a Virgin.
One day, we had all been at her house and it was time to go home. Looking both ways before crossing the street was essential and when we saw that a car was coming, my sister held my arm to stop me from crossing. I was positive that I could beat that car and took off sprinting across the street, the car bearing down on me, the driver not aware that I had chosen that day to prove that I could cheat death.
Midway across the street, I tripped. And fell flat on my face, arms and legs sprawled all over the asphalt. The car came to a screeching halt a few short feet from my prostrate body. My sister scooped me up and hustled me across the street, while the driver recovered from the shock of nearly killing me.
I still remember the view from laying flat on the road and seeing the angry grill of the car narrowly stopping in time.
I should have died that day.
But instead, I'm here. In New York City. Fucking up my life more and more everyday. Dealing with the kind of shit I secretly fantasized about dealing with, but never imagined the reality would be so far from the fantasy.
Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes you just might get it.
One day, we had all been at her house and it was time to go home. Looking both ways before crossing the street was essential and when we saw that a car was coming, my sister held my arm to stop me from crossing. I was positive that I could beat that car and took off sprinting across the street, the car bearing down on me, the driver not aware that I had chosen that day to prove that I could cheat death.
Midway across the street, I tripped. And fell flat on my face, arms and legs sprawled all over the asphalt. The car came to a screeching halt a few short feet from my prostrate body. My sister scooped me up and hustled me across the street, while the driver recovered from the shock of nearly killing me.
I still remember the view from laying flat on the road and seeing the angry grill of the car narrowly stopping in time.
I should have died that day.
But instead, I'm here. In New York City. Fucking up my life more and more everyday. Dealing with the kind of shit I secretly fantasized about dealing with, but never imagined the reality would be so far from the fantasy.
Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes you just might get it.
