I used to be so jealous of Cathy and her Slip 'N Slide. Even though I used it as much as she, I still coveted one of my own.
I can still sense the rush of diving downhill onto the long yellow strip of plastic. What could easily have been mimicked by taping several garage bags together seemed more appealing in the bright banana color for $29.99.
The garden hose would drizzle water onto the plastic in a swimming snake-like motion. The exhausting heat and humidity of the northern Virginia summer would disappear in an instant. I would clench my teeth in a painful smile as the small twigs and branches skimmed my skin underneath the plastic -- leaving me with red scrapes and scratches all over the front of my body.
It was phenomenal.
I felt a similar rush a couple weeks ago on my way home from work.
It was nearing midnight as I left the tv station. I walked to the Lincoln Center subway station on 66th Street.
As I headed down the second set of stairs, I felt the heel of my right cute boot catch the stair as I lifted it away.
Time seemed to slow down.
The next few millionths of seconds took an eternity. I was fully aware that I was now falling - face forward - down the flight of stairs.
I stopped abruptly at the bottom with my chin used as the brake.
"Miss! Are you alright?" asked a man repeatedly.
I assume he was a tourist as no one else was running to my rescue.
I said nothing and just lay flat taking an internal inventory:
Are my ribs broken?
Can I feel my legs?
Is my face bleeding?
Will I have to go to the hospital?
"I'm okay," I quietly uttered.
I pulled myself up into a seated position and felt a huge bump beginning to form on my chin. My back hurt. My stomach seemed to have twisted and dropped. And my legs felt as if they'd had a visit from Tonya Harding's old boyfriend.
I picked myself up, thanked the man for checking on me, and slowly headed onto the train.
I realize that I'm totally lucky. In fact, I have no idea how I walked away with just scratches and bruises. People die that way.
"Yeah!" my brother agreed. "Remember 'Exorcist?'"
I went home and told my roommates what happened. I was most interested in the feedback from Robert, who's in residency at Columbia Presbyterian. I sat in my room with a bag of frozen peas under my chin and uttered into the hallway, "Robert? I think you should know... I fell down the stairs..."
He rushed in and began firing questions:
Do you remember everything? Did you black out? How badly do things hurt? Can you move alright?
Now I look with disdain at the sign warning "Hold Handrail! 75% of subway injuries are caused by slips, trips, and falls!"
In the past couple weeks, the bruises on my leg have gone from purple, to blue, to green. The knot on my chin is now the size of a kidney bean. I am now a big fan of holding the handrail. And I no longer covet Cathy's yellow piece of plastic.