Taking a Hit

When I was in grad school (an eon ago, I sometimes think) I had a brand-new pickup truck*. I had bought it new two weeks before I started graduate studies, and it was (and remains) the only new vehicle I'd ever had. I treated it like, well, like a brand new vehicle. A Ford Ranger long-bed with an automatic transmission and all the bells and whistles like air conditioning.

My Polish Grandmother never drove. Once, the boys tried to teach her how to drive, and she wrapped the pickup truck around a tree. Never again.

So perhaps it is understandable that my mother thought about the truck the day I called my mom from school and said, "Mom, I ran into a tree".

"Oh my god! Is the truck OK?"

... "Mom, the truck wasn't involved. I. Ran into. A Tree."

... (giggle)... "How ... how did you do that?" ...(giggle)

The story is that I was walking, quickly, across the quad, angling from the art department towards the Student Union across the grass. I ducked under the low branches of a smallish tree, the only tree on this patch of lawn, and slammed skull-first into a strangely pruned limb, as thick as my arm. It knocked me back a couple of steps, and I saw stars, but nothing seemed broken, so I continued on, got my lunch, and sat down to eat it. A couple of young men in suits and bow-ties made a half-hearted attempt to sell me a copy of the Watchtower, but were easily (too easily) sent away. Usually I had to argue with the Nation of Islam guys to convince them that as a member of the Jewish community I wasn't really interested in financing Islam, but this time they gave me odd looks and went on to the next table. I finished my lunch and headed back to the art department, where I was prepping to teach my class. One of my students was early, and he looked at me and said," Uh, Cara? Your head is bleeding."

It didn't require stitches, and was just inside the hairline, but it explained the odd looks.

Now read this. I laughed myself silly.

*that truck would be the one that we sold to our neighbors last year after buying the minivan. I had owned my truck for over 15 years, and it had about 160,000 miles on it. But aside from a few small dents, torn overhead upholstery, and a crack in the dashboard where one of my sculptures fell over, it looked about the same as it did in 1992.