Kay in the downstairs bedroom

“Kay’s trip”

    Last week started with a fall. Bad way to start a week. Could’ve been worse, though. Could’ve been me.

I was talking to Big Al on the phone when I heard a low moan coming from somewhere inside the house. Since Kay was the only other person with permission to be in the house, I figured it was her. Or she. One of ‘em.

Oh, and I also deduced that it was Kay, because anyone else would’ve screamed. Kay can’t scream. She can barely yell. Did I marry well, or what?

So, I’m still on the phone. Right? I told Al I’d have to call him back ‘cause Kay was in some kind of trouble. I tossed the phone to the side and hurried down the stairs where I found Kay on her back by the front door. I thought that odd.

I immediately surveyed the scene and determined that she wasn’t real bad-hurt. Had she been bad-hurt I would have said something other than “What are you doing?”

I soon learned that, while descending the stairs, Kay counted one step too few. In other words, she stepped for the floor prematurely and ended up facedown on the rug by the front door. Though she doesn’t remember how, she managed to miss the corner of the cabinet on her way down.

She ended up with a busted lip, a cut on her nose from her glasses, a bump on her noggin and a scrape on her knee. Before I could help her up, the phone rang. It was Al wanting to know should he call Lifeflight. He was only halfway joking. I plopped Kay back on the ground and explained the situation to him. That’s the kind of brother I am.

For the next couple of days, Kay took it easy while I took care of her and everything else. You could do a lot worse than have me for a nurse. – Just a second. I’ve gotta write that down. I’ve got the start of a song here. In fact, if I repeat it enough, it could BE the song. Songwriters are big into repetition. Have you noticed?

Where was I? Recovery, right. At one point Kay said something I considered a bit disturbing. She suggested we sell the house and get a one-level place. I’m thinking it was the medication.

 The girl trips just the one time and she’s ready to sell the house. Me? I have a good trip at least once a year. On the rooftop, down the stairs, off the ladder, over the hedge… and all of this was during the same fall. (I joke. Only the rooftop and hedge were related.)

Anyway, after all my ground-to-air experiences, does Kay suggest we sell the house in order to save my life? No. All I get is “Honey, you need to be more careful.”

Granted, my falls are different than Kay’s one time deal. When Kay fell, it all happened fast. She steps and then THUD! My trips are the kind that slow time. They begin with me thinking:

What’s happening here? This doesn’t feel normal in the least. Oh, no, this could be really gad, I mean bad. I can see me now. I’m in the bed in the back bedroom with tubes in at least three orifices. Kay is at the mall. She’s put a stupid bell on the nightstand, like she’s going to hear that.

    I go through an entire gamut of stuff. -- Will I still have the ability to enjoy cashews? Will there be people in the room talking about me like I’m not even there? -- “How’s he doing, Kay? Do you think he’ll have any use for the boxer-briefs I got him on his birthday?”

 Eventually, I find myself on the ground, in the hedge or straddling the railing. And, I’m relatively unscathed. I’ll live to trip again. If I could focus better, I’d see my guardian angel over in the corner filling out a report. That’s got to be a tiring job.

I really believe Kay’s angel saved her, too. She missed a couple of sharp corners and ended up plopping down right there on the rug. Could’ve been so much worse. I didn’t tell her that, though, ‘cause it might add to her thought of selling the house.

I like this place too much. Besides, I’m not sure I could survive the ordeal of breaking in a new roof.  

end

You can reach Mark at mark@rooftopwriter.com