Last Wednesday night, I got an email from my mother in which she sheepishly explained that, while at a film festival over the previous weekend, she had been walking down the stairs, missed a step, stumbled, and ended up crashing into a doorframe, and finally ended up on the floor.
My sister was the one who actually alerted me of the email; Lynne had sent a quick skype asking, "did you see mom's email?" which turned into a little conversation. My mom tends to write somewhat cryptically, so for a few minutes my sister and I tried to piece together what had exactly happened. Which flight of stairs? At the cinema? Why did my mother write that my uncle had been extremely helpful over the following days (through the rest of the weekend) but had no mention of my father, who was there the whole time?
At any rate, I have not yet spoken with my folks, so will clarify things later on during this weekend, I am sure. Fortunately, the final line of my mother's email was, "I am ok," which is pretty much sufficient for me. If mom says she is ok, then she is ok.
Later that evening, I thought further about the email, because my mother frequently has complained when she is not informed of any "incidents." For example, my grandfather had fallen once or twice in the past, and had never told my mother about it. True, he was in his 90s at the time, and any fall was kind of a serious thing. However, both times he was ok. I think my mother worried more about NOT being informed immediately than by the fact that he actually fell.
As I have previously mentioned in earlier posts, my mother tends to be a worrier, particularly about things way beyond her control. Over the christmas break, my nephew discovered that my toes can do something weird, which he found totally cool and gross all at the same time. He proudly announced to the rest of the family that Uncle B's toes could do something cool because I had broken my foot once (or twice) playing football, which prompted my mother to immediately ask for all the details, completely concerned about what had happened to me (and my foot). I ended up creating a story, which I think was a combination of multiple events, since I am not really even sure when or how or what I did to put my toes in this condition, though I do believe it was football related. Ultimately, it has been my primary excuse for NEVER wearing sandals, and I have left it at that.
My point is that my mother has always wanted to know as soon as possible when something happens to a family member, a friend, or pretty much anyone, for that matter. However, when something happens to her, she does not just run out and tell everyone. Like my grandfather, I tend to let events (notice I use the plural!) quietly pass before relating any details, especially if it was not something that serious. After all, there is no reason to create any unneccessary worry. So, my mother pretty much did the same thing: she told us after the fact, once things were seemingly ok.
This all brings me to Thursday morning. It was just before 6, and I was headed for the U-bahn. I bought my ticket, then walked down the first flight of stairs, then rounded the corner and got to the escalator. It had been a bit drizzly outside, so the souls of my shoes (Chucks) were wet. I was singing "happy birthday" under my breath (Thursday was a special day) when suddenly, my feet shot out from underneath me, and I fell hard on the downward escalator stairs. As I am not the smallest guy there is, this was not the quietest of falls. Fortunately, the only person in the vacinity was at the bottom of the stairs, and she was wearing her headphones (apparently on full volume).
I yelped "shit" in surprise, but quickly got myself vertical again, feeling fortunate for two things: first, that no one really saw it happen (the woman ahead of me had her back to me), and second, that my hands were not in my pockets. (I learned in the past years the importance of walking down stairs or riding escalators with the hands NOT in the pockets).
By the time I rounded the corner to the platform, I was smiling; the whole thing was pretty funny. That said, I could feel where the teeth of the steps had dug into my calves and back. I quickly remembered Pablo's story of the guy in Madrid who had also wiped out on an escalator, but he had cut his head open and ultimately required medical treatment.
Once I got to the train station, I boarded my train and went straight to the lavatory to inspect any potential damage. Indeed, I have some little escalator teeth marks on my calves and back, and here, a few days later, I can certainly still feel the impact. But, it is still funny. A wipe out that was not too serious and without complete and utter embarrassment.
By the time I got to work, I wanted to tell people about the event, but it is one of those stories that needs to wait for the right time and audience, like a Saturday morning blog.
That said, I will leave the tale out of the next conversation I have with my mom.
Watch that first step, it can be a doozie.
See you out there.
bryan
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