6 Feb 2011
Not Running From Anything
It springs from the scraggly bushes of Old Man Crump’s house on the otherwise well kept, tree-lined street of Harvard Avenue. It is, at once, a dog, a lion, a beast leaping over the sidewalk and into the street; it darts toward my three year old daughter who bends to pick a flower from our neighbor’s lawn. Instantly infused by adrenaline, I scream and move to save my baby from a certain horrible mauling. Damn, my legs won’t work--I can’t run--I’m moving in slow motion--no, not now--the beast pounces--I scream-- gasp and wake up. Oh crap, not again; heart pounding, covered in sweat, I take a drink of water and turn on the bedroom TV. As I settle down I close my eyes, shake my head and grunt. The reality is; I would not have reached her anyway. I literately, can’t run. I had both my hips replaced a few years ago and I have never run again. Not that I ever was a Forest Gump type of runner anyway, and looking back at my misspent youth I probably ran away from more than I ran to. However, now I find myself in the unenviable position that if attacked; I have to deal with it. I am too crippled to run away, so I would have to stay and fight. I don’t want to fight anymore; I am just too damn old. I think about buying a gun but in the mean time I simply smile more often and to a larger number of people. My road rage personality is softening as I place my handicap placard on my rearview mirror. I don’t think I am turning into a coward; I hope my disability is merely helping me become a better, more tolerant person. It feels strange to now be considered the nicest guy in the neighborhood. I probably was in consideration anyway, because it can be a very scary here on Harvard Avenue.
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