a moment

Cell phone in right hand, purse in left. The softness of my white linen pants brushing against my calves as I walk offsets the tightness of the black strappy wedges I've only worn once before. Three quarters in the meter should get me to 6:00. I locked the car, didn't I?

When Gough hits Market, I think I go right, but I will have to check to see. Damn, I'm five minutes later than I thought but at least I got a good parking spot.

Ok, so besides Angela, who will I know at this dinner?

My left toe catches on something. My right foot steps forward at an awkward angle, and my left foot hurries to counteract the motion. Cell phone in right hand, purse in left. I can't stop myself; my wedge shoes are curved to help me rock forward with every step, so I rock forward: right, left, right, and then I am down. Left knee first but I don't feel it. I clutch at the building to my right. Will I be able to stop? No. My left hand flings forward. For some reason I clench my teeth, hard.

Didn't make it.

"Oh!" a woman exclaims behind me. "Are you ok?" She is hurrying up to me. I am sprawled, semi-kneeling. Cell phone in right hand, purse on the ground. That it stupid; the purse is unzipped and open. Am I panting?

"I really thought you were going to make it," she says as I roll backwards so I can sit on the sidewalk.

"Yeah," I say thickly, "I thought I was going to make it, too."

"Oh!" she exclaims again, while fishing through her purse. "Don't get blood on your nice white pants!"

Where is the blood? She is reaching towards my face with a kleenex. Shit.

Ok, so my chin hurts. I look down and see the blood dripping into the valley of my cleavage. "Hold on," she says, and hands me another kleenex. She is now chattering about how she has tripped on that same spot in the sidewalk before. I press the kleenex to the stinging spot on my chin. I need to get up. My head hurts. "You need some ice," she declares.

"I am going to try to get up," I say. I put my left hand out, still pressing against my chin with my right. Cell phone goes into the purse. Ow. My left knee makes it hard to get up. That's the knee I've hurt before.

The woman walks forward with me. I move very slowly. There's a convenience store just a few yards away with a dirty table and chair sitting outside it. I sit in the chair, while the woman goes in to ask for some ice. No ice, I hear. She comes back out. "I think I have some band-aids." She rummages in her purse. I think I am panting. "Wow, you're really shaking," she says. "Do you want a cigarette?"

That is the last thing I need. I tell her no thanks, that I am just going to Zuni for dinner but perhaps I will not be dining after all. I stand. I am shaking.

She hands me the band-aids, and I thank her again. She was kind to spend so much time with me. She turns down a side street and is gone. I reach Market and turn right. I am half way down the block before I realize I am heading in the wrong direction. Why is no one looking at me? I am pressing a bloody kleenex to my chin!

I turn around and walk the other way. I might not make it through the intersection before the light changes, but I can't go any faster. I am limping more obviously now. Those windows on the left are probably the restaurant. I glance at the people sitting near the windows. I must be quite a sight. Where is the damn front door? I walk past the valet and go inside. The two young men at the front look like they don't know if they should throw me out or be scared of me. I tell them in a shaky voice, nearly crying, that I was supposed to be here for dinner but I've had a little accident. No, I don't know who in my party made the reservation. I am a little late. Can you read the names for me? No, I don't know who made the reservation. I am going to try to call Angela.

The phone rings twice. Angela answers. "Angela, could you come to the front right now?" Poor Angela is confused. I repeat myself. I see her face appear amongst the dining crowd, deep into the restaurant. She is really confused. I sigh in relief when she says she will come. I ask the boys where the ladies room might be. God. I have to walk past everyone in the bar?

Angela looks quite pale. She asks me what happened and I tell her. I am probably not going to join them for dinner, so sorry, and the opera is probably a no-go. She walks me to the ladies' room.

In the dim light of the bathroom we try to get a look at my chin. It is still quite bloody. I have dirt smudged in a long crescent from my chin to my left temple. Drying blood cascades down my chest. Angela wets a paper towel to wipe at my cheek, while I wipe at my front. It is a miracle no blood has ended up on my white linen pants. Why is my voice so shaky? "I am so embarassed," I tell Angela. Will I need stitches? Neither of us can tell. I encourage her to go back to dinner and express my regret that I will not be joining the party. She helps me put on the band-aid that the woman had given me. I sniffle deeply, and I limp slowly out of the restaurant, thanking the boys at the front for their help.

My knee is throbbing by the time i reach my car. Where to go, home or hospital? I call my mother, the ex-nurse. "How big does a laceration have to be to need stitches," I ask her. "What's wrong?" she asks, in a fatigued voice.

****
In the ER I sit waiting to be evaluated by a triage nurse. My band-aid has soaked through, and I am dripping again. I grab a paper towel from my purse that I had pilfered from the restaurant bathroom, and press it against my chin. I think of the "little guy" from Fargo trying to leave the Minneapolis airport parking lot. Laughing makes my head ache even more.
*****

8 x-rays, 1 tetanus shot, and six black nylon stitches later, I leave the ER over 5 hours after that moment on the sidewalk. My teeth suspiciously fit together better than ever, and my tongue seems to get caught between my molars when I speak. The knee the triage nurse deemed "crunchy" is probably not broken, but a re-evaluation when the swelling goes down is probably in order. I am starving, having not eaten since breakfast. I shudder in the cold fog blowing down Sacramento as I cross the street to my fortunately close-parked car. I wait to avoid a speeding Muni bus. Thank God I didn't get a parking ticket.