When I was ten years old, I walked home from school every day. I made a habit of shortcutting between buildings or hedges, through neutral property between residences, to make my trip take as few steps as possible. The shortest distance in a particular segment of my walk carried me right over a storm drain cover, like the one Alice dances on. A small step up, one across, one down. It was so automatic to me that I barely looked at where I was going except when crossing a street.
One day, the cast iron cover had been partly pulled to one side. I have no idea by who or why. But when I stepped up on it, the thing turned sideways and looked down to see my feet and legs dropping into a dark space down a concrete tube. I had a split second to do it, but I managed to catch myself on the rim of the hole, pressing down with both hands, bracing myself just before I’d have fallen in entirely.
But the precariously balanced cover began to shift back once my weight was sliding off it, and it began pivot shut… to squeeze my thighs between the heavy iron lid and the concrete frame it rested on. The thing was very heavy, and squeezed me painfully.
I must have had an adrenaline surge… because I found the strength to heave my self up and out before I’d have been severely pinched between lid and frame. I managed to rip my jeans, lose a shoe into the depths, and scrape my knees and calves badly.
I had a lot of ‘splainin’ to do when I got home. But I really think I was in mortal danger there for a moment. You never forget a close call like that.
I never walked over one again, much less danced on one.
When I was ten years old, I walked home from school every day. I made a habit of shortcutting between buildings or hedges, through neutral property between residences, to make my trip take as few steps as possible. The shortest distance in a particular segment of my walk carried me right over a storm drain cover, like the one Alice dances on. A small step up, one across, one down. It was so automatic to me that I barely looked at where I was going except when crossing a street.
One day, the cast iron cover had been partly pulled to one side. I have no idea by who or why. But when I stepped up on it, the thing turned sideways and looked down to see my feet and legs dropping into a dark space down a concrete tube. I had a split second to do it, but I managed to catch myself on the rim of the hole, pressing down with both hands, bracing myself just before I’d have fallen in entirely.
But the precariously balanced cover began to shift back once my weight was sliding off it, and it began pivot shut… to squeeze my thighs between the heavy iron lid and the concrete frame it rested on. The thing was very heavy, and squeezed me painfully.
I must have had an adrenaline surge… because I found the strength to heave my self up and out before I’d have been severely pinched between lid and frame. I managed to rip my jeans, lose a shoe into the depths, and scrape my knees and calves badly.
I had a lot of ‘splainin’ to do when I got home. But I really think I was in mortal danger there for a moment. You never forget a close call like that.
I never walked over one again, much less danced on one.