So I get back to my house after spending the afternoon watching some football at a friend's. Let me back up. I spent the afternoon at a friend's parents' house sampling a cornucopia of beers while watching my fantasy team routinely dominate its opponent. As tends to happen in such circumstances, I had too much beer, not enough food, and not enough water.
When it was time to go, I got into my car, keys in hand, put on my seat belt and prepared to drive home. I couldn't get the car started. The car was fine, but I couldn't turn the key. It was sunny and warm and the car was hot; my palms were sweating badly. I fumbled for the window switches, pushed all four down, and stood up in the seat to get the sunroof button with my head. I used to do that, I couldn't reach the ceiling with my arms.
My friend came out of the house and began to load up his car for the drive back to Boston. I was still sitting in my car, parked in front of the house on the street. I'm sure he noticed me, all of the others had long since left. As if answering my prayers, he didn't look my way.
I wiped the sweat from my hands yet again, placed my right hand on the key and turned. It started so easily. I had even thought I might need to ask my friend to start it for me. What would he think? Would he tell me I shouldn't be driving? Maybe he'd be right? A huge relief came over me.
So I drove home. It went fine. It was almost an hour drive, some on the highway, on which I rarely drove.
It was dark when I got home. I pulled into the driveway a bit tired from the day and the drive. I turned off the ignition, popped open the door, and swung my legs over to get out. I stood up and paused a few seconds to stretch my legs and get acclimated after the drive. It was very windy at my house that night. As I began to move towards the house, a few feet away, I carefully turned to shut the car door.
I had just shut the door when a gust hit me from the front, my knees locked up, and I began to fall backwards. There's no stopping once I start to fall. Quick aside: I was at a neighbor's house in the living room when a friend in the kitchen pushed the cork out of a bottle of champagne. It flew twenty feet and hit me in the forehead. The shock was enough to lock up my legs and send me to the floor.
Suddenly I found myself lying in the driveway, neatly between the car and a flower bed. I turned myself over in the dirt and prepared to get up the only way I knew how. I tried to get both arms firmly planted with back arched and elbows locked. Holding in this position, I began to pull my knees forward, inching along one at a time. I didn't make it. My elbow gave out and I fell back to the ground, face in the dirt. I tried again. Same thing happened.
I rolled over, looked into the sky, and tried to collect myself. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. At least the weather is nice.
I don't seem to recall the thought that prompted my actions. But I began to push myself towards the back door. On my back. I tell you what, get on the floor and push yourself across the room on your back. Don't lift your head off the floor. Now go outside and do the same across the lawn.
That's what I did. Inch by inch to the back deck. Fortunately the back deck is only about the height of a large curb. Having said that, it was very difficult and painful to first get my head and then begin inching my torso onto the wooden surface. I do not recommend dragging your neck and back over the sharp edge of a wooden deck. But I made it.
I pushed a bit further to the door. I positioned myself in front of the screen and sliding glass door. I'm not sure if I knew that the door was unlocked when I started this whole process. I don't recall any moment of silent prayer from my back; I must've known.
Laying on the deck, feet to the house, I pushed the sliding screen door out of the way. Again, to get the full effect you're going to have to recreate this yourself. Somehow I got my foot up to and in the door handle. Or maybe I didn't. Couldn't I have pushed open the door with my shoe on the glass? Either way, I managed to slide the door open with my feet. And I'm almost in. I begin to push myself over the threshold. It's that sharp metal housing you see at the base of a sliding door. It’s digging into every inch of my spine as I snake my torso into the house.
And then I'm in. I take a moment to breathe on the dining room floor. I can't believe I made it. But it's not over. Exhausted and ready for a heavy sigh of relief, I still have to get to my feet. I begin to push my way to the carpeted living room. I couldn't get up on the hardwood; I knew this.
Under normal circumstances, all the way up until I moved out, I was able to get to my feet on the carpet. So I tried, the same way I had in the driveway. Not even close. Much worse than it was in the driveway. This had happened before, when I was drinking, or it was late, or for some reason I just didn't have the strength.
So I rolled onto my back once again and pushed myself over to the leather chair. I was going to do this the same way I had done the rest. I lay on the floor with my head at the base of the chair, (ottoman really) and tried to lift up my head and push with my legs. I got into a sitting position against the ottoman and continued to push, flopping my body further up the chair and into an almost-seated position. I kicked away the ottoman, and planted my feet on the floor before leaning forward with hands on knees, ready to stand up.
I thrust myself into the standing position and stood still, trying to find my balance and calm my nerves. I stepped slowly towards the back door, pulled it shut, sat down at the counter and gulped down some water. Time to find some dinner.
My keys were in the driveway. I didn't get them until morning.
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