One day, when I was in year 8, I came home from school and told Mum that I had been knocked unconscious - albeit only briefly - after falling backwards from an undisclosed height.This was a lie.
It was true that I had hit my head (and hit it quite hard) after falling backwards, but unconscious? No. It just felt like a much snappier lead sentence for the story. Mum did what all good mothers should - she didn't ask probing questions, but only expressed the deepest concern. And life went on very nicely for some time.
16 years later, the Universe saw fit to pay me back for this dishonesty. Unfortunately for me, the punishment came in the form of yet another blow to the head. (Why so many blows to the head?)
See, I was walking up the stairs in the Subway at Greenwich, after having just purchased a delicious Jamaican-themed sub from a Polish sandwich artist. For some reason I was feeling a strong sense goodwill toward all men, so when I saw a group of people descending the narrow stairway I stood to one side and let them pass; they obliged with a smile and a thank you.
Now, armed with that springy step which often accompanies such self-congratulatory courtesies, I bounded up the stairs. If I could, in retrospect, choose a different verb with which to climb the stairs, I would probably choose 'meander', or 'float'. But I did neither - I bounded. And I hit my so hard on something I don't even know the name of. It was definitely a piece of building, and it was definitely jutting out above the stairs in a dangerous way. It just adds insult to injury that I can't even name the perpetrator.
Needless to say, I bled for some time, and felt quite shook up - and then drowsy for some time after that. Almost as if I had been mildly concussed.
Touché Universe, touché.
