A bit of tile fell from a building today and landed less than a foot from me. When it shattered I covered the top of my head with my hands, which didn’t accomplish much.
Once I was walking through the woods after a storm and heard a tremendous “CRACK” from above. I looked up to see a large branch coming straight down, and I dove. It missed, just.
Another time, I parked a car at the top of a steep driveway and got out to check the mail. But I forgot to pull the hand brake, which I realized because I detected motion behind me. It was the car, starting down the hill. I lunged for the open door, hung halfway out, my legs dragging along first pavement and soon leaves, and I made a futile effort to pull the brake. We stopped when we hit a tree.
One more? I was biking down an absurdly steep hill with no brakes, on purpose, for the fourth time. The first three times had been such fun. This time I hit a bump, caught air, did a half-flip, landed on my back and shattered both my helmet and my collar bone. I didn’t always wear a helmet in those days.
My late grandmother once saw someone she hadn’t in years. Here is what she said:
“YOU’RE still alive?”