A foot of frozen precipitation came in one night. Icy rain followed by ice pellets followed by old school snow poured and poured, bending trees, crushing shrubs, layering the ground like robes of thick, blown insulation. I shoveled for most of the next day, digging out our cars, driveway and sidewalk. I scraped the refrigerated deck behind our house until exhaustion settled in. The next day, I figured, soreness would bring my best Quasimoto impression. I had no idea how spot-on that thinking would prove to be.
About 10 pm Rudy, our Jack – in an effort to relieve his bladder – decided to brave the steps that lead from the deck to the backyard. The deck is approximately fifteen feet off the ground, not unlike a forest fire tower. It is a long way down those back steps, unless they are frozen. Ice makes descending them much faster.
I heard thuds and whumps and smacks echo in the cold dark. The fall knocked a muffled “arf” out of Rudy as he lost traction on his four-paw drive. I ran out onto the deck, slipping on three inches of solid ice, catching myself on the grill. Rudy lay half submerged in the snow below. He was about a yard from the end of the steps, covered in white and frosted like a doggy Popcicle. I could see a quivering leg. I called his name. Nothing. No movement. I slid over to the top of the stairs and looked down. Before I could call his name again, my feet were over my head. I knew I was in for an ugly ride.
At times like this, you understand exactly why God gave humans butts, the bigger the better. A good, solid butt is exactly what a person needs at a moment like this. A butt is the perfect padding, a biological shock absorber, the difference between a bent tailbone and a broken one. Unfortunately, my butt vacated the seat of my pants a long time ago as with most men my age, so I was buttless against the coming tragedy.
My kidneys hit the corner of the top stair first. It felt like a linebacker had caught me on a route across the middle. I grabbed air, but found no handle. I was on my way down in the roughest way, cursing plumes of breath blew from my mouth. Each step gouged deep into my organs and bones. Ribs and elbows and the aforementioned tailbone banged wood, liver traded places with pancreas, shoulder blades collected splinters, intestines coiled and tried to choke my stomach, skin peeled off in patches, brain matter bounded off skull, bruises were generated in places I haven’t noticed in years. Sharp edges lunged into me as if I was being beaten with a 2×4. It sounded like the Blue Man Group was putting on a show in our backyard. Rudy was conscious now, awakened by the ruckus, covered in snow, his ears perked, his eyes wide, watching me fearfully headed in his direction along the same angry path he had taken.
In an odd way, it was funny, I started to laugh, fairly certain that I would break something, eventually, maybe everything. I just kept falling. The exposed head of a nail ripped my finger as I reached for the rail. I kept falling. More laughing. I extended my legs to purchase some friction. Nothing. Knees bent at unintended angles, my head bounced off craggy ice attached to hard wood. Four steps from the bottom, I managed to gather my energy in a burst and find a way to do something fairly stupid – I am not even sure how I did it – but I turned a flip. Not a tiny, little pansy flip, but a flip like guys do off of a high dive platform.
I have done some fairly stupid physical things in my life, yet I am still able to show up for work regularly without much trouble. This tumble was impressive even when measured against some of my more egregious acts of violent insanity. Had I been in the Olympics, I am sure I would have nailed at least a 7 for the flip; just for attempting it, if not for the beauty of it. As I rolled through the air, I caught sight of Rudy in the snow. His eyes were bulging, stunned at my ability to make it this far without a body part coming loose. He watched me flying towards him and leaped out of the way just in time for my face to impact the white powder. The rest of me was not far behind.
Neighbor’s lights came on. I heard a voice in the distance yell, “What the hell was that?”
I landed in an awkward heap, legs akimbo, arms outstretched like I was signaling a touchdown. I waited for the pain and it didn’t disappoint. It hurt like a good punch in the nose. Rudy limped over and began licking the snow off my face. He was pretty sure I was dead, I think.
If anyone had told me that I would loose my grip on icy stairs, fall fifteen feet, hitting every protrusion available on the way down – and do a gainer at the bottom while face-planting in a foot of snow, I would have said that you were crazy. I did it and can still type about it.
I was happy as hell that I walked back up the stairs laughing and only feeling like a whipped fool instead of being carted away on a backboard.
I now have the valuable knowledge that next time it snows, Rudy can just pee on the carpet, because I am not going to assume he will make it down the hockey-rink-deck-stairs. I am also not going to prove that I, most assuredly will, make it down those same stairs, one-by-one, rib-by-rib, bruise-by-bruise, scratch-by-scratch, splinter-by-splinter, cut-by-cut. I just don’t need another story that badly.
Tags: Personal Stories, Rudy